Last in a Long Line of Rebels (23 page)

I sat up and stared at Patty. “Oh my gosh!”

“What?”

“Wait here.” I threw the covers off and jumped out of bed. My parents' light was still on, and I burst into their room.

“Lou!” Daddy said. “What in the world?”

“I know what we can do with the gold,” I said. “I know the plan!”

“I'm sure it can wait until the morning. Your mama just got the baby down.”

“It's okay, Tucker,” Mama said. “Go ahead, Lou. What do you want to do?”

I sat on the edge of the bed. “Can we give it to Isaac? So he can go to UT?

Daddy looked thoughtful, then grinned. “Sure. I couldn't think of a better use, myself. I'll call him first thing tomorrow. Now, get back to bed, it's late.”

“Okay.” I headed toward the door.

“Lou,” Daddy said.

“Yeah?”

“I know we say this a lot, but we are proud of you. That was a tough decision.”

“You know Mayhews,” I said softly. “We're made of steel.”

Patty and I lay still, listening to the sounds of the house settling. I'd filled her in on my idea for the gold, and now I could tell she was drifting off to sleep.

“Patty?” I whispered.

“Yeah?”

“If I tell you something, do you swear you won't tell?”

Patty rolled onto one pointy elbow and yawned. “Sure.”

“Okay,” I said, whispering. “I think Benzer is kinda cute—arggh,” I screamed into my palm.

“Uh, duh. You've been totally crushing on him for the last year.”

“I have not!”

She lay back down. “Of course you have. And he follows you around like a love-struck puppy. Geez. How can you not know this?”

I could feel my face turning red in the dark. “Really?”

“Yes, really. Now, can we go to sleep? I need my beauty rest. Some of us don't have boyfriends yet.”

I rolled over and closed my eyes. The thought of leaving the house and going to a new school still felt like a giant weight pressing on my chest. So why did I have a huge grin on my face?

Bertie made a big deal about breakfast, even going as far as to drive to the Grey Motel to bring back a platter of their biscuits and chocolate gravy. Patty and I came downstairs in our robes. Technically they were both mine, but she wore the same one every time she spent the night, so we'd come to consider it hers.

Benzer and Franklin sat at the table looking rumpled in their wrinkled T-shirts. In fact, everybody looked a little rumpled, except Bertie of course, who was dressed in tight black pants and a black T-shirt with
DIVA
written across her chest in rhinestones.

Bertie and Daddy were doing most of the serving. They'd planted Mama in a chair and forbidden her to move a muscle.

“Mama, what's got you so quiet?” Patty asked Aunt Sophie, who was usually running in high gear before most of the adults had swallowed their first sip of coffee.

“I'm worn slap out,” she snapped. “Didn't y'all hear that baby crying last night? I swear, it took two hours to get him back to sleep.”

Bertie put a handful of cheese into a pot of grits. “Boy, I'd forgotten how grumpy you are in the morning, Sophie,” she said.

“You'd be grumpy too, with three hours of sleep.”

“Mother, Sophie,” Mama said, holding her hands over her ears, “if you wake up the baby, I'll show you grumpy.”

“Can I have some ketchup?” Benzer asked.

I passed it over, then pulled my notebook out of the robe's pocket. “Mama, have you guys decided what you're naming the baby?”

“Still not Peyton, but we've been thinking,” Daddy answered, sitting down. “Your mama had a good suggestion.”

“We thought perhaps it was time to bring the name Walter out of retirement,” she said, smiling at me. “What do you think about that? Our very own Louise and Walter.”

“Ooooh,” Patty said, “maybe y'all can get married.”

Franklin rolled his eyes at Patty. “You are such a twelve-year-old.”

“I think that's a great idea,” I said. I drew a line next to my name on the genealogy chart and wrote in my brother's name. “Walter was a pretty good guy, I guess. He was sort of a hero after all. At least Louise seemed to think so.” I frowned. “But it just seems weird that we won't be living here, especially being named after them.”

“Well, I think what you're doing is awesome,” Benzer said. “My family would have never given that kind of money away.”

“Of course not,” Bertie said, plopping into a chair. “Yankees have no sense of history.”

“Bertie!” I said. “Remember we were going to stop with all the name-calling?”

“Oh, dear, excuse me.” She gave me a knowing look. “I'm sorry, Benzer. I'll try and limit my prejudice against Yank— er, Northerners to the homely ones. Will that work?”

“That depends,” he answered. “Have you ever met a Yankee you didn't think was homely?”

“Just one, but you give me hope for the whole lot of them.” Bertie winked. “I declare, you two, with all the bad habits I have, you choose this one to break?”

The back door opened, and Isaac came in. “Morning.” He placed a casserole dish on the counter. “From my mom.”

“Isaac!” I yelled. “Did you hear?”

He turned to me and smiled. “I did. Your dad called me this morning. That's what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Won't Coach Peeler freak when he sees you playing for UT?”

Bertie lifted her coffee mug in a toast gesture, drawing everyone's attention. “Congratulations, Isaac. And speaking of Coach Peeler, guess what I heard while I was at the motel this morning?”

“What?” I asked.

“Doris said the school board was calling an emergency meeting after Lou's interview got everyone talking. People are sick of the superintendent letting Coach Peeler slide.”

“It's about time,” Daddy said.

“I'll bet twenty dollars he's announced his retirement by Friday,” Bertie said.

Patty held up her hand to give me a high five. “I still have to see your interview. I heard your hair looks insane.”

As everyone laughed around us, Benzer leaned closer. “I'm sorry you're going to have to move,” he whispered. “But we'll still hang out every weekend.”

I nodded. “I won't be the girl with the oldest house anymore, but I'll still be a Mayhew. I guess that's good enough.”

Benzer rolled his eyes. “Duh! I could have told you that a long time ago.”

“Lou,” Isaac said, “about the money—”

The doorbell pealed the chorus of “Rocky Top” throughout the house.

“
Rocky Top,
” Bertie started, and we all joined in, “
you'll always be, home, sweet home, to me!
”

“Don't wake the baby,” Mama said, going to the door.

“Walter,” I called after her, “his name is Walter.”

“Tucker, I hope you can take that doorbell with you,” Bertie said.

The door swung open, and Mama walked back into the kitchen. On her heels was George Neely.

From the diary of Louise Duncan Mayhew
April 1864

We received news that the Yanks were camped a few miles away. Olivia hid the most important things behind the bookshelf, while Molly and I rolled a barrel with our food stores into the woods. We could barely finish for staring over our shoulders like frightened deer. Before long, a group of about 20 rode into the yard, firing their muskets, and walking through the house as though they owned it. We were fortunate that they found little to interest them other than our last silver cup and our candle wax.

B
enzer, Franklin, and I stared at him. I couldn't have been more surprised if Mama had walked inside with an alien on her arm.

Mama offered her hand to Mr. Neely. “Good morning. I don't believe we've met.”

“George Neely, historian. How do you do?” He nodded at everyone. “I believe I met these young folks recently, at the museum and . . .” His voice trailed off when he got to Patty, as if he was trying to place her.

Patty had sunk so low into her chair that she was in danger of falling onto the floor.

“I'm sorry to barge in on you this morning, but I was just having breakfast at the motel and heard the most extraordinary thing.”

“Mother!” Aunt Sophie said. “You couldn't even make it one day.”

Bertie raised her eyebrows. “No one told me not to say anything.”

“It was more of an unspoken rule, Mother.”

“Well, that's the craziest thing I've ever heard,” Bertie said with a sniff. “You can't break an ‘unspoken rule.' That's why they're spoken.”

“So it's true?” Mr. Neely said, coming to hover over my chair. “You really did find it?”

I pushed my plate away. “I knew it! I told the rest of them that you were looking for it too. Well, you can forget about it. It's already been given away. Every last piece.”

“What?” Mr. Neely looked like he was going to keel over.

Isaac motioned him to take a chair. “You look like you need to sit.”

Mr. Neely sank onto the ladder-back chair. He really did look ill. “I don't understand. Was it in such poor shape? Who did you give it to? I could help. I know people who specialize in that type of conservation.”

Bertie sipped her coffee. “Are you crazy? The gold is in fine shape. All thirty-seven pieces look like they were minted this morning.”

He gasped loudly. “That many pieces? Oh, my goodness, I've got to call the museum. They are never going to believe this. But that's not what I am talking about—please, tell me about the diary.”

I stared at him, puzzled. “Wait. Weren't you looking for the gold?”

“Oh, heavens no. I would have never believed it was still around, not after all these years. I would have thought it had been spent ages ago.” He looked around the table at our confused faces. “No, I've been searching for the diary.” He pulled a worn piece of paper out of his shirt pocket and held it up for us to see. “This is a copy of a letter written by Miss Olivia McDonald to her colleagues at Vanderbilt in the year 1884. In it she mentions quite clearly a diary kept by her cousin, Louise Duncan Mayhew. I did my doctorate on Olivia McDonald, you know. Quite the forward thinker for her time.”

I leaned back in my chair and pulled the diary off the buffet. “Do you mean this diary?”

Mr. Neely let out a high-pitched squeal. “Can I see it?” he asked breathlessly.

Without a word, I handed it over.

“Is he gonna cry?” Benzer whispered.

“Shhh,” Mama said, kicking him under the table.

It wouldn't have mattered what we said, since he wasn't listening. He was staring at the diary like he'd found his long-lost love. He turned the pages carefully. “Oh, just look at this. It's in wonderful shape.” Looking at me across the table, he asked, “Where did you find it?”

“It was in the old chest we got at the Tate Brothers auction.”

“My goodness, right under my nose,” he said, stroking the pages. “After all this time, here it is.”

“If you wanted to know about our family, why didn't you just ask?” Mama said.

“I did make inquiries the night of the museum opening,” Mr. Neely said. He looked at Daddy. “But I was told your family didn't want the past revisited.”

“Oh,” Dad said, grinning sheepishly. “I guess in hindsight that wasn't so smart.”

“Dad!” I reminded him. “Didn't your grandfather say it was important to remember our history?”

“You're right, Lou. You should never be afraid of the past. It's how we learn.” He shook his head. “I should have known better.”

I smiled. “It would be nice to learn things every now and then without having to hide in a closet!”

Mama nodded. “I agree. Lou is old enough to be told the truth, even when it's not particularly pleasant.”

Bertie stood and held out a plate to Mr. Neely. “You might as well eat something while you're here.”

“Oh, I couldn't eat a thing,” he replied. “I'm much too excited. Have you read it? Did it mention anything about the Underground Railroad?”

Bertie dropped the plate with a thud. “The Underground Railroad?”

Mr. Neely nodded. “We know that Olivia McDonald was heavily involved in helping slaves, and since she stayed here for a time, we were hoping to prove she used this house as a station.”

I shook my head. “It mentions her trying to help slaves, but I didn't see anything about using the house.”

“That's unfortunate. Not surprising, as most people were too careful to write about it, but still one can dream,” Mr. Neely said.

“May I see Olivia's letter?” Bertie asked. “I'd love to have a copy for our museum.”

“Of course.” Mr. Neely handed the worn piece of paper across the table, and Bertie picked it up, reading silently.

Patty had recovered enough that I could almost see her whole head. She pointed to a picture on the back of the letter. “What's that?”

“Oh, those are some of my research notes. That is the mark of Samuel Bunting,” Mr. Neely said. “One of the slaves Olivia helped escape.”

“Why would he need a ‘mark'?” Benzer asked.

Mr. Neely smiled as Mama handed him a biscuit. He said, “Slaves weren't taught to read or write, and that mark is how he signed his name. After he was freed, he became a renowned silversmith, and the bunting is how he marked his pieces. Some of his earlier ones are quite valuable.”

I leaned in closer to look. “I've seen that mark.”

Everyone turned to stare at me.

“You've seen that particular mark, Lou?” Daddy asked. “Where?”

“In a couple of places, I think. C'mon, I'll show you.” I pushed my chair away from the table and stood. Everyone stood with me and followed me down the hallway. I led them into the parlor, where my slave chest was.

Mr. Neely gasped. “So here's the famous slave chest!”

I pointed to the carving. “Isn't that the same bird?”

“My word. Look at the detail!” Mr. Neely exclaimed. “If this is a real Bunting, it has to be one of the oldest pieces I've seen.”

“I thought he was a silversmith,” Isaac said.

“Yes, later. But he was a talented furniture maker as well.”

Mama ran a hand across the top of the chest. “I can hardly believe it. You said you'd seen it a couple of places, Lou. Where else?”

“Here.” I moved to the bookcase and tugged on the corner to reveal the room behind.

“Has that room always been there?” Aunt Sophie asked, wide-eyed.

Daddy laughed. “It's why we can't keep secrets in this family. We figure it's where the family hid valuables during the Civil War.”

I turned on the light and pointed to the corner. “It's over near the floor.”

Mr. Neely moved forward and knelt as everyone crowded around him, blocking out most of the light. “I'd have to take an impression and have it authenticated, but it looks like his mark to me!”

The room was just as hot as ever, so as soon as Mr. Neely had finished looking around, we moved back into the parlor.

“So if this Bunting fellow was here, scratching birds in our hidden room, surely that points to this house being used on the Underground Railroad,” Bertie said. “Right?”

Mr. Neely took a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped his brow. “It takes a lot to prove these things, but if the bunting can be authenticated, I believe in time we'll be able to say yes with a great deal of confidence.”

“Time is the one thing we don't have,” I said, frowning. “The county is planning on tearing down the house.”

“Tear down this house? I don't understand,” Mr. Neely said.

“Yeah, me neither,” I said dejectedly. “But they're stealing it through eminent domain.”

Mr. Neely shook his head. “Oh, no, this won't do. Destroy a house of such historical significance? Never!”

Franklin cleared his throat. “I've been hoping to get Lou's house onto the National Register of Historic Places. Perhaps that would be easier now, in light of the recent discoveries.”

“I should say so. I am an official Tennessee review board member for the National Register. If this house doesn't qualify, I don't know what would!”

“Would that really be enough to stop them?” Mama asked.

“My good lady,” Mr. Neely said, “I'd camp on the governor's lawn before I'd let them tear down this house!”

“Wow, Mr. Neely,” I said, “you're the best! This means I get to stay!”

“And I'm going to get my badge!” Franklin crowed.

“And Isaac is going to play for Tennessee!” I said.

“Best summer ever!” Benzer said. “And Pete Winningham can stick it—you won, Lou!”

“Lou,” Isaac said, “that's what I've been trying to talk to you about. I can't take all that money!”

Everyone got quiet, and I stared at Isaac in disbelief. “What are you saying? You have to. It's the plan!”

He smiled. “What I mean is, I'd like to just use part of the money.”

“Part?” Daddy asked. “But how will you pay for school?”

“I figure with some of the money, and by working at the university, I can afford tuition for one year without too much trouble.”

“But what about the next year?” I asked.

He shrugged. “I'm giving myself one season to show Coach Fuller what I can do. If I can't get a scholarship after that, I'll transfer.”

“Oh, you will definitely get a scholarship, but the money is yours. I'm happy to give it all to you.” I grinned. “Especially now that the house is saved.”

“Well, what do you think about donating the rest of the money to the new minority scholarship fund? I'm not the only person in town that could use help. The town's actually raised a lot of money, and with this, it will go a long way in helping other kids get to college.”

“That would be awesome!” I said.

“Whoo, if that don't get your fire started, your wood is wet,” Bertie said. She smiled at Isaac for a moment, then came to give me a hug. “Child, what kind of prayer was that, anyway?”

I hugged Bertie, then Sophie, Daddy and Mama, Isaac, and even Mr. Neely.

“I'd better get back home,” Isaac said. “My mom's calling everyone she knows to tell them I'm playing in the SEC. I keep telling her I'm just a walk-on, but she's convinced I'm their new star player.”

“It's only a matter of time,” Daddy said.

The grown-ups asked us to clean away the breakfast dishes while they got more coffee and went into the den to make plans.

Benzer punched my arm lightly. “You must be feeling great—Isaac's going to UT, and you saved your house.”

“Me?” I asked. “Don't you mean we?”

“Yeah,” Patty said, helping herself to a leftover biscuit. “I believe I helped. Without me, you'd still be stuck under George Neely's bed.”

“I agree,” Franklin said. “It was an excellent team effort.”

“We did it,” Benzer corrected himself. “And now we'll still have this house to hang out in. Cool!”

I looked around the kitchen. The counter had a small scar from where I'd tripped once and hit the corner with my tooth, and a portion of the wallpaper was peeling. It was where my high chair used to sit, and Mama said I'd skinned half the wall before they got me eating solid foods. Bertie's mugs, all with funny sayings, hung on hooks behind the sink. It was the most beautiful kitchen I'd ever seen.

“Hey,” said Franklin, piling a stack of plates into the sink, “let's go outside where the stump used to be. Come on, Lou. Maybe you missed some gold.”

“I'll meet you out there,” I said. “I've got something to do first.”

They laughed and ran out the door. I stopped at the entry to the den and listened as George Neely read from the diary, the words of Louise Mayhew drifting through the air. Bertie interrupted him to ask a question, and Aunt Sophie snored softly in a chair. I saw Mama and Daddy leaning against each other on the couch, seeming happy just to watch everyone.