Chapter 3 #2
His understanding surprised me. Most people heard "Underground Railroad" and thought of secret tunnels, not the complex network of ordinary businesses and families who risked everything to help others find freedom.
We worked in companionable silence for another hour, carefully excavating what turned out to be a surprisingly intact root cellar. The entrance had been deliberately sealed with stones, and beneath them, wrapped in what appeared to be oiled leather, was a metal case.
"Oh my God," I breathed, my hands trembling as I helped Neil lift it from its hiding place. "This is it. This is actually it."
The case was in better condition than I'd dared hope, protected by the stone seal. Someone had taken great care to preserve whatever was inside, understanding its historical importance even as they hid it away.
"Should we open it here?" Neil asked, his voice reflecting my own excitement.
"We need to be extremely careful." I examined the case with the eye of someone who'd handled countless historical artifacts. "The documents inside, if they survived, will be incredibly fragile. Exposure to air after so long could cause rapid deterioration. Of course, if there isn’t anything in here of value, we don’t want to waste the time going back to the cabin just to find out all that’s in here is a box of rocks. "
Neil pulled a tarp from his pack, creating a clean workspace on the forest floor. It took a few tries to get the strong box open because of the rust on the edges, but he was able to open it up without jarring the inside too badly.
Inside, wrapped in waxed canvas pouches within a lead-lined strongbox, were dozens of documents. I tamped down on my excitement. It could just be the logging company's weatherproofing methods—designed to protect contracts from Vermont's harsh humidity.
The papers weren't pristine. I could see foxing at the edges, water stains that had seeped through despite the protection, and places where the ink had faded. But they were readable. Salvageable.
"We need to handle these minimally," I said, my training kicking in. "The waxed canvas protected them, but now that they're exposed to air, deterioration will accelerate. See how the edges are already brittle? We probably have a few weeks at most to properly preserve them."
The top document was a letter dated 1854, addressed to "Mr. J.
Miller" and discussing "shipments" and "packages" in language that anyone familiar with Underground Railroad codes would recognize immediately.
Below that, a ledger showing payments to workers with names like "John Smith" and "William Jones"—the kind of generic aliases used to protect escaped slaves earning wages for the first time in their lives.
But what made my hands tremble was seeing Ezra Thornton's name at the bottom of several receipts.
"What do they say?" Neil asked, leaning closer to look over my shoulder.
"I think this is what I was looking for." I could barely contain my excitement as I carefully turned pages. "Look—here's Ezra Thornton himself, signing for special deliveries to Miller.”
“Who?”
“Ezra Thornton’s whose led me here. He wasn't just aware of the Underground Railroad operations. He must have been actively involved."
I pointed to another document. "This correspondence between Miller and known conductors in Boston matches the dates in Thornton's journal.
When he wrote about 'moonless nights best for northern runs,' these receipts show large supply purchases the next day—food, blankets, shoes.
All the things escaped slaves would need for the journey to Canada. "
Neil's presence next to me was distracting in the best possible way. When he leaned down to examine the documents, I shivered.
"This one's interesting," he said, pointing to a map covered in symbols. "Those markers—I've seen some of them carved into trees around the mountain."
My excitement spiked. "Really? Where?"
"All over. Always thought they were old logging marks." He traced one symbol with his finger, careful not to touch the fragile paper. "But this one here is carved into a huge oak about a quarter mile from my cabin. And this one's on the trail to what locals call the old Sherman place."
"Trail markers," I breathed. "They were marking safe routes through the mountain."
He straightened, and I immediately missed his proximity. "Want me to show you?"
"Yes." The word came out more breathless than I'd intended. "I mean, if you don't mind. This could just be a wild good chase. But I think we’re on to something. Maybe we could find more definitive proof."
"Kim." The way he said my name made me look up from the documents. "I don't mind. Any of this. Helping with your research, showing you the mountain, having you here."
The admission hung in the air between us, loaded with implications that made my pulse race. The space between us felt charged with things I’ve never experienced. I wanted him and the thought made me quiver with anticipation.
"I should probably get these documents photographed," I said, forcing myself to focus on practical matters instead of the way Neil was looking at me. "Create digital copies before the originals deteriorate further. Especially these ones signed by Thornton. I need to match these up to his journal."
"I've got a scanner in my office," Neil offered. "I use it for blueprints and such."
I shook my head quickly. "That's incredibly thoughtful, but we can't use a regular scanner on these. The heat and pressure from the scanning bed, plus the UV light would accelerate deterioration. Documents this fragile need to be photographed with specialized equipment."
"A digital camera then?" Neil suggested. "I’ve got a high resolution one in my workshop for taking pictures of samples for potential clients."
"That could work for preliminary documentation.
" I considered the options. "We'd need to set up proper lighting, keep the documents flat without pressing on them, maybe use your workshop table.
It won't be archival quality, but it would at least capture the information before I can get them to a proper preservation lab. "
He was already packing the strongbox carefully in waterproof material. "I've got LED work lights that don't generate heat. We can set up a photo station."
“You have everything I need,” I said.
“You got that right,” he said.
Somehow, I didn’t think we were talking about preservation any more.