Tomorrow's Sun (Lost Sanctuary) - By Becky Melby Page 0,22
phone, and tried not to appear as impatient as the kid gnawing his thumb to the bone. He studied the ceiling. Bead board, identical to the wood used for the sliding door below, painted pale blue. In the corners, dirty cobwebs dotted with shriveled egg sacks swayed in the warm breeze. He tried to imagine sitting in a rocking chair sipping lemonade on a swept-clean porch, acting natural while a runaway slave slept in the room below, waiting for cover of night.
Emily’s doubts seemed to have vanished. There was no other logical explanation for the trapdoor. No one would place the entrance to a root cellar under a porch. But it wouldn’t take much to turn an existing cistern into a secret hiding place.
“I see it.” Adam stepped into the foot-deep hole. He brushed the remaining dirt from the door. “Give me the broom.” With the care of a trained scientist, he brushed away debris then threw the broom onto the porch.
Lexi dropped to her knees. “Pull it up.”
Adam looped two fingers into an iron “U” hook. One end of the square stone lifted then tipped. “Ouch! Man!” He stuck his finger in his mouth and looked up at Jake. “It’s too stinkin’ heavy.” He stepped out, face pale but focused on the stone.
“Let me see that.” Emily held out her hand.
Adam pulled his finger from his mouth and held it up. A right-angle tear in the skin quickly outlined in red. “It’s nothin’. Jake, can you lift that?” A drop of blood splashed to the floorboards.
“I’ll get something.” The screen door whined as Emily opened it.
Wrapping his finger in the bottom of his shirt, Adam pressed his lips together and glared. “I’m fine!”
Jake stepped into the opening and hefted the stone. The underside was scraped and scarred. He flipped it out of the way.
Adam pulled his flashlight out of one of his numerous pockets. He’d just flicked it on when Emily returned with a washcloth and a Band-Aid. With a look of impatient resignation, Adam let her wash his wound.
Jake’s gaze lingered on her fingers, on the almost artful way she tore open the bandage. “You’re very skilled at that.”
“I ran a preschool for three years. Before that I taught art at a junior high.” She aimed a smile at Adam. “We did wood carving and stained glass.”
Adam’s frustration seemed to morph into mere impatience at her touch. The contrast of Adam’s rough, reddened skin against the ivory smoothness of hers transported Jake to a fantasy world where his life wasn’t on hold. What would it feel like to—
“What’s that?” Lexi pointed to something stuffed into one corner of the recess.
With slow, careful movements, Adam pulled it out with his left hand. A frayed strip of cloth, once blue or purple, now faded to a pinkish gray. Tiny, discolored flowers, just barely discernable, dotted the fabric. “Wow. This could have been part of a dress worn by a slave.”
Lexi nodded. “Maybe it belonged to Mariah.”
“Can I see that?” Emily slid her hand under the strip of cloth. “Wait here.” She flew down the porch stairs faster than Jake had seen her move yet. The shed door whined on its hinges. She was back in seconds, carrying a wooden box. “I found this the other day. Look at the fabric on the back of this. I think it’s the same.” She held a crudely fashioned, glass-fronted shadow box.
“What’s in it?” Lexi touched the glass. “A dog collar?”
Emily nodded. “Jake found a picture of a dog that used to…” Emily’s voice faded. She angled the box toward the light. Her lips parted.
The same surge of emotion reflected on Emily’s face coursed through Jake as he stared at the rounded metal—two half circles bolted together on one side, lying slightly parted on the other. Deep scratches marred the surface. Jake locked eyes with Emily.
Adam exhaled through pursed lips. “This wasn’t made for a dog, was it?”
The fragile pages trembled in Emily’s hand. She rested the one she’d already read on the cover of her T-shirt bin and read the others.
November 17, 1852
Papa is free. Cousin Jonathan says he only intended to put the fear of the Lord in him. If he understood the fear of the Lord, he would know that is why we do this. If he truly knew his cousin, he would know Papa will not stop. That is why I am taking it upon myself to redirect our mission.