Chapter 7
From the Diary of Martha Smith
November 25, 1863
This is my first entry since everything happened. Since my baby came into the world and brought with her tremendous pain that made me hallucinate what it must be like in hell. She came into the world quiet and reserved as though she already knew the cruelty lurking above this basement”s surface. But almost as soon as she was with us, I was not. I was sick with fever, murmuring nonsense to Virgil and Jane as they tried to tend to me and the baby without alerting anyone of our troubles.
It was only when Virgil broke down and told Mr. Sheridan how ill I was that things started to get better. I have to guess I might have died had he not confessed.
Every day, Mrs. Sheridan brings medicine, foods with herbs, and tea. In the dark shadows of the basement, she holds my baby and dotes on her as Jane, Virgil, and I get some much-needed rest. There is a kindness in Mrs. Sheridan’s eyes that I hardly recognize.
We’ve been here for nearly ten days. It’s far longer than we’ve ever stayed anywhere since we left Georgia. I keep expecting Mr. and Mrs. Sheridan to tell us it’s too dangerous; to throw us and the baby into the snow. The baby and I won’t survive out there. Maybe Jane and Virgil will. But even that idea makes my blood boil: my sister and my husband allowed a second chance together while me and the baby died. I have to fight. Maybe I will beg the Sheridans to keep us till spring. It’s unlikely to happen. But I am at their mercy.
November 26, 1963
Now that I am getting better, the days feel endless.
Since our escape, we’ve always had a sense of movement, of fear. And although it’s been wretched and terrifying, we haven’t been forced to sit with the reality of what we’ve done or where we’re going until now. Everything we’ve ever known is behind us. And there’s no way to know if we’ll reach Canada safely.
To distract ourselves, I’ve begun teaching Jane and Virgil how to read and write. The Sheridans have four children upstairs and plenty of books for beginner readers. Jane has been jealous of my ability to read and write for years. Before I got pregnant, I worked in the big house for the lady of the house and her teenage daughter, who took pleasure in reading and writing and decided to teach me. I was embarrassed about this. Having preferential treatment was a lovely thing in many ways. But it made me feel like a house pet. And it made the people who worked the fields jealous and hate me.
But teaching Jane and Virgil is not as easy as I imagined it. Jane grows irate and gives up quickly. I think she wants to say horrible things to me but always looks at the baby and thinks better of it.
My baby will grow up learning to read and write. What a joy that will be.
November 29, 1863
Late last night, we planned to leave the Sheridans. There was a warm spell, a surprise this late and this far north, and Virgil decided we needed to make a leap to the next safe house. It was our never-ending journey toward Canada.
Mrs. Sheridan had let it slip that there were people from the South on the island looking for people like us. Her voice wavered. She was terrified for her family. People can only do the right thing until they destroy themselves doing it.
Mr. Sheridan arranged everything. A boat would be waiting for us at one in the morning on a beach a half-mile south of here.
But when Mr. Sheridan came to let us out of the basement room, he found me in a heap. My darling baby was as hot as flames. She’d gotten my illness. And her little body could hardly take it.
“You’re not going anywhere,” Mr. Sheridan said. He glanced at Virgil and Jane and set his jaw. A question hovered in the air between them.
I decided to answer for them. “You go,” I said.
Virgil and Jane gaped at me. Jane touched my hair.
“We can’t leave you and the baby,” Jane said.
“You can. Virgil is right. You need to get farther north.”
“We’ll send word about where we are,” Jane assured me after a strange pause. “You and the baby will be able to find us. It won’t be forever.”
I wanted to ask her how. But I also knew she was lying, both to me and herself, to make this easier.
Virgil, the only man I’ve ever loved, gave me a look that made my soul leave my body. It’s impossible to know the future. But I truly felt, at that moment, that I would never see him again.
Maybe he was too embarrassed to kiss me goodbye.
I watched Jane and Virgil slip out of the basement room and heard their feet creak up the stairs. I felt them leave the house and me behind. I wept quietly until Mrs. Sheridan came downstairs with supplies for the baby’s fever. We stayed up with her all night, doing whatever we could to calm her down and help her sleep. Mrs. Sheridan’s face was strained. I knew it was unlikely my baby would make it through the night. And then, I would have stayed here on the island by myself for no reason. I would have given up my husband and my sister for nothing.
Early this morning, Mrs. Sheridan disappeared and returned with the island doctor. I was shocked when he walked through the basement door with his medical case and his round glasses. I couldn’t believe Mrs. Sheridan had given herself up like this. But it was like she knew the baby would die without him.
He looked at me as though I were a ghost. Maybe I am. Perhaps we all are.
But he got right to work, tending to my baby as I watched on helplessly. I wondered if he was going to alert the people who’d come up from the South to trap us. Perhaps they’d arrest Mr. and Mrs. Sheridan. Maybe the children wouldn’t have anywhere to go.
Everything was a risk. Time felt like a sharp knife.
Miracle of miracles, the doctor helped. The baby fell asleep and is still sleeping now. Upstairs, I can hear the footfalls of the children as they scamper and dance and play. I have no idea what they look like or what their names are. Their joy is such a strange contrast to my pain.
I am alone in this basement. Alone in the world, save for this baby. I pray she’ll be all right.