Out Through the Attic Read Free Page A

pounded on the front door.
    It was Keenan Holly, the fourteen-year-old son of a family that worked a patch of land at the edge of Abigail’s farm.
    “Lord, child!” Abigail cried, opening the door. What has got you in such a state?”
    “It’s Anderson! He’s coming! He KNOWS !” The boy was frantic.
    “Anderson?” Abigail asked, bewildered.
    Billy knew there was only one Anderson who could terrify Keenan like that. “Bloody Bill Anderson,” he said with grim certainty.
    “Oh, God ,” Abigail whispered.
    Billy kneeled down and put his hands on the boy’s shoulders. “Calm down, Keenan, and tell me what happened.”
    “I was in town, getting some cloth for mamma’s new dress. I overheard some soldiers talking in the General Store. I tucked outta sight so’s they wouldn’t see me and heard the whole thing.”
    “Heard what?” Abigail asked.
    “Anderson’s men captured an escaped slave west of here. The soldiers said the slave was tough, but they got it outta him.” Keenan’s voice dropped to a whisper. “He told them he was headed for the Watson farm.”
    They were silent as the reality sank in.
    Bloody Bill Anderson had earned his name by killing anyone sympathetic to the Union. He’d butchered whole families and burned churches to the ground with the congregation still inside. There had been skirmishes between Union and Confederate irregulars all across Missouri since the start of the war. They were always brutal, and the reprisals horrific.
    Right up until that moment, Billy and Abigail had been able to stay out of the war, contributing to the cause in their own way. Now the war was knocking on the front door.
    Billy stood and looked at Abigail, fear in his eyes.
    She turned, stepped out onto the porch, and looked down the road towards Sikeston.
    “Abigail?” Billy said quietly. The last traces of sunlight had turned the clouds black and burgundy.
    Like distant thunder they heard Anderson’s armor rolling, a deep, mechanical groan mixed with the shriek of grinding metal. Six electric lights came around a low hill a mile away, splitting the deepening gloom. A line of torches bounced along behind Anderson’s large, armored machines.
    Without turning she said, “Billy, you need to get them out of here. Now .”
    “You’re coming with us this time, right?” he asked, fear and panic rising in his chest.
    She turned and shook her head. “No, I’m not.”
    His eyes went wide. “But Abigail—” he started.
    “Even if I could set foot in the Freedom ,” she said calmly, cutting him off, “I’m not leaving my home. And I’m not leaving these people behind to that monster. Without me all of the farm hands would go right back onto the auction block, and you know it.”
    Billy couldn’t argue. Abigail was a widow with no children. In her absence, the farmhands would enslaved by her neighbors. He’d seen it happen before. The surrounding landowners would swoop in like vultures and pick the place clean.
    “Anderson might kill you,” he said quietly.
    She stepped up and put her hand on his arm. “Not even Anderson would murder an innocent woman. If the escapees and the Freedom aren’t here when he arrives, he has no reason to do anything.”
    Billy was trapped, and time was running out. He shook his head, doubt filling him to overflowing.
    “Then I’m staying,” he said desperately, his eyes meeting hers.
    “You know you can’t,” she said gently. “You’re the only one who can get the Freedom up to Evansville. Would you sacrifice all of them,” she asked, nodding towards the pantry, “just to stay here?”
    Billy’s heart broke. “No,” he whispered. His shoulders slumped and he stared at the floor.
    “Keenan,” Abigail said, turning to the boy. “I need you to do something for me.”
    “Anything, Miss Abigail.”
    “Take my horse. It’s in the barn. Ride out to every family on the farm and tell them what’s happening. Tell them to be ready to pack up and go if all of