bedroom for myself?” asked Thomas.
Mr. Small nodded. “Your room looks over the front lawn,” he said.
“Does it have a secret door?”
“We thought it best that you and the boys have good, solid rooms. Mr. Pluto chose rooms that I would have chosen,” his father said. “Better not tamper with the walls until you see how the tunnels and passages fit together.”
He could at least let me have a secret closet, Thomas thought.
Still, he was eager to see the room, to put his possessions in order.
He thought, If that Satan, Mr. Pluto, has made it stiff and cold, I won’t sleep there until it’s fixed the way I want it.
Thomas’ anger at old Pluto flared up and cooled. His thoughts shifted to what his father had said a moment before about the secret tunnels and passages.
“Papa, how do the tunnels fit together?”
His father explained that they were all of a plan. “Eventually, they lead in the same direction, to the same place,” he said.
“But what if an enemy of the slaves knew that?” Thomas said. “He could just wait at that place, because sooner or later he was bound to catch somebody.”
“No, Dies Drear knew what he was doing,” said Mr. Small. “Let the tunnels meander like a maze, with subpassages and dead ends. Have the same sign or symbol marking the main passages, a sign that only the slaves would understand. And let the slaves reach that one place where there would be people waiting to carry them quickly in many directions going farther north. No, it wasn’t likely that at the time anyone knew for sure what was going on in this house.”
“Papa,” Thomas said. He gulped down his milk to show that he had eaten. “It’s still light out. I just want to see how the house looks all the way around. I won’t go far.”
His father smiled and said, “What is it you’re looking for and why are you in such a hurry?”
Thomas wanted to tell his father exactly how he felt, but how could he say it? He didn’t want to pry.
Papa, I feel you are keeping something from me.
Could he say that?
Papa, I see on your face that you are worried. You didn’t like it either, that Mr. Pluto arranged our house.
“I’m not looking for anything,” Thomas said at last. “I just want to try to figure out which rooms have the passages, after I’ve seen the outside. Like now, I know this kitchen isn’t right. I haven’t looked at it good, but I can tell something’s wrong.
“Please, Papa,” he said. “When it gets dark, I’ll come inside.”
Mr. Small took a deep breath. “You have perhaps an hour,” he said. “Darkness has a way of falling down on you around here. It doesn’t give you time to wander home, as it will in the South.”
Thomas sat still for a second. He had a quiet vision of home. Springtime would be everywhere, and black crows sat all day, thick and shiny, in the fresh furrows of the fields. Just as the last sun slid out of the foothills, when you couldn’t tell the crows from the earth, the birds flew in a mass into the air. The tips of their feathers caught the last sun, Thomas remembered. Their wings were blue and silver sails, like pinwheels. Then, the crows grew quickly smaller. The light slipped off them; the sound of them slid out of the sky. And the coolness of dark flowed over the hills. Thomas would walk from the pines to home with the night coming like liquid behind him.
He left the kitchen without another word to his father. Outside, he felt ready to explore. But he was unsure of the night that could trap him, and he was sad that he would never again walk those hills of home.
Chapter 6
THE GRAY-PAINTED veranda closed in the house on all sides. As Thomas crossed it, back and forth, he felt it separate him and the house from everything beyond it. Many times he walked the veranda, looking for loose or trigger planks. He did find a few creaking boards. Stepping on them hard, pulling at them, jerking at them, he at last decided they concealed nothing.
Whoever
Mr. Small nodded. “Your room looks over the front lawn,” he said.
“Does it have a secret door?”
“We thought it best that you and the boys have good, solid rooms. Mr. Pluto chose rooms that I would have chosen,” his father said. “Better not tamper with the walls until you see how the tunnels and passages fit together.”
He could at least let me have a secret closet, Thomas thought.
Still, he was eager to see the room, to put his possessions in order.
He thought, If that Satan, Mr. Pluto, has made it stiff and cold, I won’t sleep there until it’s fixed the way I want it.
Thomas’ anger at old Pluto flared up and cooled. His thoughts shifted to what his father had said a moment before about the secret tunnels and passages.
“Papa, how do the tunnels fit together?”
His father explained that they were all of a plan. “Eventually, they lead in the same direction, to the same place,” he said.
“But what if an enemy of the slaves knew that?” Thomas said. “He could just wait at that place, because sooner or later he was bound to catch somebody.”
“No, Dies Drear knew what he was doing,” said Mr. Small. “Let the tunnels meander like a maze, with subpassages and dead ends. Have the same sign or symbol marking the main passages, a sign that only the slaves would understand. And let the slaves reach that one place where there would be people waiting to carry them quickly in many directions going farther north. No, it wasn’t likely that at the time anyone knew for sure what was going on in this house.”
“Papa,” Thomas said. He gulped down his milk to show that he had eaten. “It’s still light out. I just want to see how the house looks all the way around. I won’t go far.”
His father smiled and said, “What is it you’re looking for and why are you in such a hurry?”
Thomas wanted to tell his father exactly how he felt, but how could he say it? He didn’t want to pry.
Papa, I feel you are keeping something from me.
Could he say that?
Papa, I see on your face that you are worried. You didn’t like it either, that Mr. Pluto arranged our house.
“I’m not looking for anything,” Thomas said at last. “I just want to try to figure out which rooms have the passages, after I’ve seen the outside. Like now, I know this kitchen isn’t right. I haven’t looked at it good, but I can tell something’s wrong.
“Please, Papa,” he said. “When it gets dark, I’ll come inside.”
Mr. Small took a deep breath. “You have perhaps an hour,” he said. “Darkness has a way of falling down on you around here. It doesn’t give you time to wander home, as it will in the South.”
Thomas sat still for a second. He had a quiet vision of home. Springtime would be everywhere, and black crows sat all day, thick and shiny, in the fresh furrows of the fields. Just as the last sun slid out of the foothills, when you couldn’t tell the crows from the earth, the birds flew in a mass into the air. The tips of their feathers caught the last sun, Thomas remembered. Their wings were blue and silver sails, like pinwheels. Then, the crows grew quickly smaller. The light slipped off them; the sound of them slid out of the sky. And the coolness of dark flowed over the hills. Thomas would walk from the pines to home with the night coming like liquid behind him.
He left the kitchen without another word to his father. Outside, he felt ready to explore. But he was unsure of the night that could trap him, and he was sad that he would never again walk those hills of home.
Chapter 6
THE GRAY-PAINTED veranda closed in the house on all sides. As Thomas crossed it, back and forth, he felt it separate him and the house from everything beyond it. Many times he walked the veranda, looking for loose or trigger planks. He did find a few creaking boards. Stepping on them hard, pulling at them, jerking at them, he at last decided they concealed nothing.
Whoever
Similar Books
