Dear Austin (3 page)

June 8, 1853

Dear Austin,

Possum, Jupiter, and I have had our first swim over at the swimming hole. The water was cold at first, but we warmed up, jumping off the rope swing. Harley Rush showed up and began to climb the hillside to Widow s Rock. You know how high that is, Austin. Only the best divers dare to go off it. When Harley got to the top, he called down to us, daring us to dive. We didn't pay him any mind until we heard a familiar bark and looked up to see Whistle coming round behind him! Whistle must have followed Harley up the trail while we were in the water.

Harley's bigger and stronger than the three of us put together. He's also got a real mean streak in him, and when he caught sight of Whistle, he pulled a piece of beef jerky from his pocket and held it out for him. Jupiter, Possum, and I were all whistling for Whistle to come down. But that hound loves two things in this world: Jupiter and beef jerky. And as good as Jupiter must smell to him, I guess beef jerky just smells better.

When he put his nose in Harley s hand, Harley wrapped his arms around him and laughed.

“Looks like this dog is the only one brave enough to take my dare and dive off Widow's Rock,” he yelled down to us.

“Leave him be, Harley,” I shouted back up.

“I'll leave him be if one of you comes on up and takes his place. But if you don't dive, the dog does,” he threatened, holding Whistle out over the water. None of us doubted he'd do it.

I started to swim for the bank, but Jupiter grabbed on to my arm and pulled me back. His jaw was clenched shut and his eyes were stony with determination. I knew he'd made up his mind to go. Possum and I watched as he climbed out of the water, got into his britches, and made his way up the trail to Widow's Rock. When he got to the top, he stopped.

I held my breath, wondering what he'd do next, on account of I know that Jupiter is scared to death of high places. When he sits in the hayloft, he never goes near the window or climbs up to the rafters the way Possum and I sometimes do.

Jupiter lifted his arms over his head. Everyone grew silent as he closed his eyes. We waited. And waited, and waited some more.

“If you ain't going to do it, move over and let your dog here have a go at it,” Harley finally declared. “I ain't waiting all day.”

Jupiter took a step forward, and afore I knew it he had jumped! He shot down like a bullet to the bottom, and was pretty shook up when he surfaced, but Possum and I got ahold of him and helped him to the bank. We told him it was the bravest thing we ever saw anybody do!

Whistle had come back down the trail after Harley let him go, and he was licking Jupiter's face, thanking him, I suppose, for being brave enough to jump off of Widow's Rock.

Walking through the woods on our way home, we came upon some good lengths of hickory that somebody had cut and left. So we grabbed some rods and decided to make walking sticks out of them when we got home.

The next day when Jupiter's pa, Winston, was driving to the feed mill, he stopped his wagon by the woodshed to talk to Jupiter and me. Winston is a broad-shouldered man—do you remember?—with a row of pink stripes running down the side of his dark-skinned face. Jupiter's face is blacker than his father's but free of stripes, and Winston says that he intends to see that it stays that way.

Folks tell how Winston got those scars afore he got his freedom, when he was a slave. I like Jupiter's pa, ‘cause he always smiles when he sees us and asks, “How you menfolk doing today?”

When he asked us this afternoon, I told him how we wanted to do some whittling, as we had some hickory cut.

“A good whittler needs two things,” Winston said, taking a length of hickory from my hand. “First, you needs patience > ‘cause you can't hurry de wood. And second, you needs what dey call a ‘whittler's eye.’”

Jupiter and I looked at each other and squinted our eyes. “Like this?” I asked.

Winston laughed and shook his head. Winston laughs real easy, especially when he's around menfolk
like Jupiter and me. “Unless you have a notion to lose a few fingers, I think it best if you keeps your eyes open,” he said. “With a whittler's eye, a body can see clear through de wood to de thing it is he wants to whittle. Once you can see that,” he said, “all you have to do is shave off de extra wood around it.”

Jupiter and I got out our knives and stared hard at the hickory rods we had chosen. I am making a walking stick for Reuben, since you said he likes to wander through the woods picking berries and leaves for his concoctions. I will bring it with me on the wagon train next spring. I wanted to fashion the head of a pirate for the handle. But so far it looks more like a turnip with a nose!

Jupiter's stick is coming out much better than mine. He is making a smaller walking stick for his sister, Darcy. He's decided that the top of the stick should be shaped like a bird, a nightingale. I wish you could see the two little wings he's carved. They look so light and feathery that you'd expect them to start flapping!

I wonder what Darcy will say when she sees her
stick. I guess she'll probably start to sing! I don't imagine Reuben will sing when he sees old turnip head, but I hope he likes his stick enough to make use of it.

Your brother, Levi

June 16, 1853

Dear Austin,

I am still being tortured with dancing lessons, but I've been bearing up as best I can. The only good part is -when I get Tessa Buckman as my partner. Yesterday I had no flies on my head and only stepped on her feet twice, so I think I made a fair impression.

This is a short letter, as I have been helping Possum and his pa bring in their hay, and I am mighty tuckered out at the end of the day. We're not big enough yet for pitching, so Possum and I have been raking. Today Possum's pa showed us how to use the big bullrakes. It was tricky at first, but we finally got the hang of it and raked right alongside Nat, the hired man. Nat's all right, ‘cepting he ate some beans that were talking behind his back and we had to keep our distance!

We've been holding our club meetings up in Possum's barn. Since we've decided to make you an honorary member, Austin, I guess it's all right
for me to tell you what we're planning. First off, we're going to hunt down the thieves that got away from Miller's store. Next we're going to find out about the mysterious light at Preacher Tully's place. And last we're going to find a remedy to stop hiccups. Possum and Jupiter don't mind my affliction so much, but if we decide to take in new members, well, I just figure it would look more dignified if our president could face danger without hiccupping.

So I'm needing your help, Austin, not with tracking down the thieves or uncovering the mystery of the light. Those will be easy tasks. But curing my hiccups—now, that's another matter altogether. It's akin to trying to put socks on a rooster. I just don't know if it can be done. Miss Amelia says that I'll outgrow the habit, but I -was hoping you'd have some suggestions until I do.

Last night I had a bad nightmare. I dreamed that I found the thieves. But I was hiccupping so much that they just laughed and picked me up and carried
me to Widow s Rock and threw me off. Do you ever have nightmares, Austin? Do you think I can outgrow them, too?

Your brother, Levi

July 15, 1853

Dear Austin,

It was good to get your letter. Thank Reuben for the hiccup cure. Jupiter and I spent all afternoon picking elderberries and pine needles for the tea. I drank five cups and didn't hiccup once (of course, I wasn't nervous about anything at the time, so I guess I'll just have to wait till I am and see what happens). Miss Amelia wanted me to write and ask if Reuben has a favorite pie recipe he would be willing to share. The pie social is coming up, and Miss Amelia is determined to win first place this year. She says that your Reuben is “a gem,” on account of he knows all about making good pies and curing the hiccups.

Today as Possum and I were weeding the garden, we heard Darcy singing as usual out back in Widow Needly's summer kitchen. But what wasn't usual was the song she was singing. “Add two cups flour, half a cup lard, half a cup cornmeal…” It was the flapjack recipe from the widow's recipe book! Darcy, who's never been to a proper school, was reading! Miss
Amelia says that down in Maryland where Jupiter and Darcy were born, it is against the law to teach a slave to read or write. Our state of Pennsylvania is free, but the trouble is there are no schools for col-oreds close by.

Later when Nelly Hepple came over with the wool she had spun for Miss Amelia, she stopped in the yard to talk to Possum and me. I asked Nelly if she knew about Darcy's reading. She said that Darcy had been pleading to learn to read, so Nelly's older sister Hannah had been teaching her, using the family Bible. Nelly said that once Darcy got the hang of reading, she didn't want to stop.

I can't think why Darcy should not be allowed to learn to read and why she's got to plead to do it. There's plenty in my class who would plead
not
to do their schoolwork. I don't know how there can be a law that keeps folks from learning. I wonder at the men who thought up such a law and why they were so determined to keep a young girl from reading the Bible—just because of the color of her skin. It makes no sense, Austin.

I never heard anybody make a song out of a recipe for flapjacks, and when Darcy started to sing it again, Nelly had to use her handkerchief to -wipe her eyes, on account of Darcy had made “two cups flour and half a cup lard” into the sweetest, saddest song you ever heard.

Sometimes I can't help thinking about Darcy and Jupiter and how different their lives are from mine, all because of what they look like. I think about the nightmares I've been having, almost every night, and wonder what kind of nightmares Jupe must have.

Your brother, Levi

P.S. Miss Amelia wrote down her recipe for teacup pudding, and so I am including it. She says to tell Reuben that if he soaks the raisins in brandy, they will plump up nice.

July 20, 1853

Dear Austin,

Today Possum and I were over at Miller's store waiting for Miss Amelia to do her shopping. The usual bunch of old men were sitting out on the porch talking, chewing, spitting, and puffing on their pipes. When Possum and I sat down on the porch steps to eat our rock candy, we heard Old Man Potts going on about the new coach due in from Richmond.

“They say it makes twelve miles an hour!” he claimed.

“Are you sure you're not confusing it with an iron horse?” Mr. Tanner asked.

“I'm not talking about the railroad, Jeb. I'm talking about a regular coach with four horses. Living, breathing horses.”

“Not living for long, traveling at twelve miles an hour!” Mr. Tanner snorted. “What's everybody in such a durned hurry for, anyway? They're liable to addle their brains moving at those speeds.”

“Expecting
that
one ought to quicken his step,”
Old Man Potts said with a nod toward the street. I looked up to see Winston loading a wagon in front of the feed mill.

“Why is that?” Mr. Tanner asked.

“Word is that a couple of slave catchers are due in on this coach,” Old Man Potts said. “Andyou know how they hate to return empty-handed.”

“But he's not a slave,” I spoke up. “Winston is a free man. He has it in writing.”

Old Man Potts looked over at me and shook his head. “I don't expect those slave catchers will be much interested in writing, son. My guess is they're interested in one thing and that's color. They're looking for black hides.”

I have to tell you, Austin, I felt my rock candy stick in my throat on hearing those last words of his.

“You can't blame the plantation owners,” someone else was saying. “What with so many slaves running off, why, it's liable to ruin them.”

“I still contend it's a sinful business.” Mr. Farber sighed.

“You're right on half a count,” Old Man Potts
said, spitting a wad of juice from his mouth. “It is
biuineJo.
Those cotton men are only protecting their investments. And with that Fugitive Slave Law passed in ‘50, why, they've got every legal right to take back what belongs to them by law.”

“They may have the law on their side,” Mr. Farber said, “but the law hasn't stopped the Underground Railroad. And once a slave gets a ticket north on that train, there's no stopping him.”

Miss Amelia called from inside the store just then for Possum and me to fetch her baskets. All the way home Possum and I kept our eyes on the ground, wandering about this Underground Railroad. Possum even tried putting his ear to the dirt, hoping to hear the iron horse's engine, but he couldn't hear anything excepting dirt, which as you know is pretty quiet.

I am worried about those slave catchers and wonder why they are looking for slaves above ground and not below. I suspect they are looking for some kind of secret door that leads to the Underground Railroad. I hope they leave Jupiter's pa alone.

Tomorrow Jupiter and I are going to make up another batch of Reuben's hiccup remedy tea. Possum found an old whiskey flask in his grandpa's attic. We're going to fill it with the tea, and that way I can keep it on me for emergencies. Best be getting to bed, as my lamp is low on oil.

Your brother, Levi