Chapter Eight: Joseph Discovered
Lettie Anderson descended the cellar steps quickly. She had a lot of work to do and she meant business. For eight years, she had been a maid for the O’Toole’s—the only servant the family had, even though Mr. O’Toole could certainly afford more. Lettie knew that Mrs. O’Toole has asked her husband on numerous occasions whether they might not bring in a new servant or two. But Mr. O’Toole had always steadfastly refused, saying, “There’s no reason we can’t do some of the work around the house ourselves.”
But the problem was that they never did. Mrs. O’Toole was Virginia born and enjoyed the gracious life. She was more comfortable giving orders than taking things into her own hands. And Mr. O’Toole was always off at the bank, even evenings at times. And of course the two boys, Ryan and Matthew, were next to useless. They were nice boys—no doubt about that. But they were no help in the kitchen. And when she sent them on an errand to fetch this or that, they almost always got distracted and came back hours later, usually having grabbed the wrong thing. She seldom bothered asking them for their help any more. She knew things would go better if she just did everything herself.
And today the flour needed dragging up from the cellar to the kitchen. It was a job she hated, her with her bad back, but it had to be done. You couldn’t leave the flour in a basement for very long.
Lettie glanced quickly around the basement. It was dimly lit in some places, completely dark in others. She went directly toward the flour bin but could see from several feet away that it was empty. Where had those fool delivery boys put the flour? Wasn’t it obvious where it should go?
She moved into the dark side of the basement, her eyes darting back and forth. Suddenly, she heard a soft, shuffling sound. “It’s those pesky rats again!” she thought to herself. “I told Mr. O’Toole that we were going to need a couple of new cats around here.”
But as she reached for the broom standing in the corner, she distinctly heard another, louder sound. A box over in the darkened corner had moved slightly.
“Now what kind of varmint do we got?” she said out loud, clutching the old broom with both hands and starting to move in the direction of the sound.
Suddenly, a pair of eyes was visible in the dim light. Someone was there. He stood up quickly.
“Don’t hit me! I ain’t done any harm!”
“Yankees! We’ve been attacked by Yankees,” screamed Lettie as she bolted up the cellar stairs. “No, Lettie, No!” It was Ryan, with Matthew behind him, standing at the top of the stairs. As Lettie charged ahead, Ryan gently put his hands out to stop her.
“It’s all right!” said Ryan in a soothing voice. “He’s not a Yankee. He’s a friend—a friend of ours. His name is Joseph Smith.”
Lettie’s eyes narrowed as she examined Joseph, who had stepped out into the middle of the basement. “Is he a runaway slave?” she whispered loudly to Ryan.
“No, he’s not a slave at all. He’s a freeman,” said Ryan reassuringly.
“Then what’s he doing hiding in our cellar?” Lettie asked suspiciously.
“He’s hiding in our cellar because he’s got no place else to go,” replied Matthew stepping forward to pat Lettie on the arm gently.
“How’s that?” said Lettie. “Everybody’s got some place to go.”
“Not Joseph,” Matthew said quietly. “His father was taken away by the detectives two nights ago. And if Joseph goes back home, they’ll get him, too.”
Lettie put her hands on her waist. “Why is that? How come the detectives are after him and his father? What’d they do wrong?”
“They did nothing wrong, Lettie,” Ryan said firmly. “It’s just that they want to leave Richmond and I guess someone doesn’t want them to go.”
“Want to leave Richmond?” asked Lettie as she turned back to glare at Joseph. “What for? Afraid of the Yankees?”
“Mr. Smith and Joseph are afraid of what’ll happen to them if they stay,” replied Ryan.
“Well, I don’t know what you boys are talking about, but I’ll tell you right here and now that this black boy can’t stay in my cellar,” said Lettie firmly, folding her arms across her chest as if to finish the conversation once and for all.
“Look, Lettie,” said Ryan, “he’s got to stay, at least for a while. He spent last night in a deserted warehouse with no food and water. He can’t stay there again. Maybe when his father comes back…”
“If the detectives got him, he won’t be coming back,” Lettie said solemnly.
“You don’t know that, Lettie,” said Ryan. “You’ve just got to have a little patience.”
“Patience? You of all people, Ryan O’Toole, should not be lecturing me about patience.”
“I’m not lecturing you, I’m trying to…”
“Doesn’t matter,” said Lettie angrily. “I’m telling you that that boy cannot stay in this house! I’ll bet your mother and father don’t know anything about this.”
“No, they don’t, Lettie, but…” began Ryan.
“There are no ‘buts’, interrupted Lettie. “I’m going to tell your mother about this—right now!”
“Not mother!” Matthew cried. “She’ll have a fit.”
“Of course she will,” said Lettie smugly, “and so she should.”
“Now look, Lettie,” said Ryan in his most reasonable tone. “If you just calm down a little, everything will be fine. Look, I’ll tell Father when he comes home tonight, I promise. But don’t you tell Mother. It’ll just upset her for no reason.”
“No reason? She…” began Lettie.
“No reason.” Ryan shot back. “There is no reason for anyone to get excited about this. I’ll tell Father about this tonight and everything will be just fine.”