Out Through the Attic Read Free

pitched in where she could, getting just as dirty and sweaty as the rest. But everyone kept the secret. They all knew the risks but believed in what they were doing.
    When they were done, and the submersible was ready, they set themselves upon the real work. They made the right contacts, paid the right riverboat captains, and sent out a promise of freedom.
    Their passengers came in ones and twos—usually men, occasionally women, and sometimes children. All of them were escaped slaves, but the fear in their eyes turned to hope as soon as they saw the name of the submersible.
    Freedom.
    Abigail and Billy set the escapees up in the tunnel under the house, fed them, clothed them, and kept them warm. Every month or so, when there were enough, Billy would steal them away in the Freedom and make the 120-mile trip from the boathouse all the way to Evansville, Indiana.
    Abigail, on the other hand, never made the journey. She had a dreadful fear of water, so bad that she could only get as close as the doorway to the boathouse. Even the thought of getting near the Mississippi sent her into fits. It was the only weakness Billy ever saw in her, but he never judged her for it. She was always there to see the escapees off and welcome him home.
    For almost two years this went on, becoming a happy routine.
    They laughed together and kept up appearances in the farming community.
    They made piles of sandwiches and gallons of lemonade for a journey that wasn’t their own. And they used a submersible designed by a Confederate, paid for by a white woman, and built by a negroto grant freedom to those who had none.
    July 17 th , 1864
    Abigail ran a pale, freckled wrist across her forehead, shifting a red lock from green eyes. “With the group from this morning, how many does that make?” she asked, cutting another thick slice of bread from one of the loaves she’d baked that afternoon.
    “Seventeen,” Billy replied as he fried up another batch of peppered bacon.
    “Did you check her out?” she asked.
    Billy chuckled. She knew damn well that he always checked out the Freedom before a run. “Last night, Abigail,” he replied with feigned irritation. “She’s as ship-shape as the day I finished putting her together.”
    “Just checking,” she said innocently.
    He could see her trying to hide her smile. He nudged her with his elbow. “You’re terrible!” he shouted, and the broke into fits of laughter.
    It took them two hours to finish the sandwiches and wrap them in clean, white butcher paper. They spent another two hours squeezing lemons and pouring lemonade into a row five-gallon jugs.
    The setting sun had turned the kitchen burgundy by the time they finished. Billy walked into the pantry and knocked on the back wall three times, then two, then three again. Shifting a dusty bag of sugar from where it sat on a high shelf, he pulled a small lever set into the wall. With a click, the secret door he’d built swung open, revealing a dark stairwell. Pale lamplight shone from the tunnel below. He heard people shuffling around, and then two dark, nervous faces peeked around the corner.
    “Tyrell, Jacob.” Billy nodded. “Can a few of you come up and carry our vittles down to the far end of the tunnel?”
    “Yeah, Billy,” Tyrell called up. “We’ll be right up.”
    “And start loading up the boat once everything is down there,” Billy added.
    “Yes, sir!” Jacob replied nervously.
    “You don’t have to call me ‘sir,’ Jacob. Billy will do just fine.” Jacob had arrived that morning. With all the preparations, Billy hadn’t had a chance to talk to him.
    Jacob gave a sheepish grin and then disappeared the way Tyler had gone.
    Billy started moving the jugs into the pantry when he heard a young boy shouting out front.
    He exchanged confused looks with Abigail, and they both rushed to the front window.
    In the dusk outside they saw a young negro boy running up the steps.
    “Miss Abigail! Miss Abigail!” the boy yelled as he