Guide Me Home (8 page)

The cut end frayed and made stringing it through the belt loops a challenge, but she got it done without a murmur of complaint. Then she tied a knot. Not the best knot he'd ever seen. It'd likely work itself loose midway through the tour. But he wouldn't retie it for her. Wouldn't be seemly even if she was dressed up like a scarecrow.

“Ready now?”

She nodded.

“No, you ain't. Put yo' jacket on.”

She did.

“Got gloves?”

She rustled in the trunk and found some old cloth ones that had sure seen better days.

“Good. Put 'em on.” He waited while she tugged on the raggedy things, then barked, “What about chalk, some watuh, an' a lantern or candles?”

Her brown eyes grew round as acorns. “Um…no, sir. I don't have any of those.”

He scowled even though he'd known she wouldn't come prepared. How would she know? But if he was hard on her today, she'd always remember. “Lucky for you I do. You don't nevuh—an' I mean nevuh—go in the cave without bein' prepared.” He patted the items. “All o' this is life-savin' equipment, Reb. We's accountable for them who go in the cave wit' us. We gotta have what we need to keep 'em safe. Don't you nevuh come down here again 'less you got rope, watuh, an' at least a pocketful o' candles an' lucifers wit' you.”

“Rope, water, and candles. Or a lantern. And matches. Yes, sir.”

“An' you don't nevuh go in all by yo'self. Only wit' me or one o' the othuh guides. You hear?”

She nodded, blinking fast, and he knew she was thinking about her brother.

He cleared his throat and gave her arm a clumsy pat. “Good.” He dug a match from his shirt pocket and lit the wick on his lantern. He settled the globe in place, held the lantern out in front of him, and fixed her with a serious look. “Now, you stick wit' me. We's goin' in.”

The girl's face went pale. Sweat beaded all along her upper lip. Her eyes grew round and fear filled. For a moment Tolly thought she might turn tail and run. But she sucked in a big breath and nodded. “Yes, sir.”

She followed him like a brave soldier, but he felt her breath on the back of his neck. Short, panting breaths that told him she was as scared as a rabbit facing a fox. But she matched him step for step as they eased down the gaping, uneven tunnel that led to the cave. The sun's light and warmth faded away. Cool, pungent air surrounded them. A smile grew without effort behind his thick beard.

Tolly pulled in a slow, deep breath, letting his nostrils flare as he took in the cave's perfume. If he could, he'd live down here instead of coming and going. Down here it didn't matter if a man's skin was black, if he was born to former slaves, if he'd never gone to a real school. The cave accepted all, embraced all, challenged all. Moving through the dark passageways made him feel close to his pappy, his grandpappy, and mostly to the One who'd created the tunnels, caverns, and flowing rivers.

He didn't say a word as he led Rebekah along the familiar underground path. He talked to the tour groups. Them who took the tours expected him to tell everything he knew about the cave, and he knew plenty, so he talked plenty. And he jested. Answered their questions—even the ones he thought foolish. But today he wanted Rebekah Hardin to focus on the cave, not on him.

The lantern's glow skimmed the walls and formed a halo on the ridged ground. A shadow from the solid bottom filled the center of the halo. If a person watched the shadow instead of the halo, he would trip every time. Tolly hadn't tripped in years, but he heard Rebekah stumble a time or two. He held his tongue. Better to let her learn by experience.

By the time they left the long entry tunnel and entered a side shaft dubbed the Church by a slave named Stephen Bishop before Tolly was even born, she'd quit tripping and was moving as smoothly as a cave spider. He couldn't resist flashing a grin over his shoulder. Her expression drew him to a halt.

She stopped, too. “Is everything all right?”

To his surprise, tears gathered, and he had to blink to clear them. How long had it been since he'd gotten to see the wonder of Mammoth Cave reflected in someone's eyes? Oh, the tourists, they exclaimed about the long passages, the eyeless creatures swimming in the underground rivers, or the trunk-like formations left behind after years of mineral-rich water dripping down. They jabbered with glee when he let them scorch their names on the ceiling with a candle's flame or paused to watch a cave spider catch a cricket in its web. But so many of them didn't take the time to look—to really look—at the glory of the cave. Their excitement was for themselves. A selfish excitement.

But in Rebekah Hardin's eyes, he saw something different. Something deeper. He couldn't resist turning her question back on her. “What you say? Ever'thing all right?”

She turned a slow circle, her gaze drifting from the ceiling to the floor and then back to him. “Yes. Everything's fine.”

If he'd had any uneasiness about hiring her, it faded clear away in that moment. Girl or not, she'd make a fine tour guide. He just knew it.

Mid-May

Devlin

D
evlin shifted his homburg to the back of his head and sent a slow look from one end of the Mammoth Cave Hotel to the other. Mother would turn up her nose at the row of adjoined, painted-white clapboard structures with their shutterless windows and simple boardwalks. But a fancy hotel would be out of place in these woodsy surroundings. He liked the rustic appearance of the two- and three-story mismatched sections.

He grabbed the handle of his suitcase and followed the other guests who'd vacated the trio of stagecoaches. He smacked at his suit as he moved along the dirt pathway. The open windows of the outdated conveyances had allowed in a cloud of road dust that covered each of the passengers from head to toe. He hoped the hotel had a laundry service and hot baths. He might not be as finicky as Mother when it came to cleanliness, but neither did he care for the grit sticking to his sweat-moistened skin.

Devlin listened to the excited chatter of the other new arrivals while he waited his turn at the check-in desk. A smile tugged at his cheek. He wished Father were here to witness the eager throng. It seemed the rumors concerning the cave's popularity were not exaggerated. The yard teemed with people, some clustered near an open wagon, waving tickets. Others filled the benches lined up along the buildings' fronts. Still more meandered over the grassy yard. So many people…and all of them handing over their coins for the privilege of entering the cave. Devlin's scalp tingled as he envisioned the government's coffers growing, thanks to the acquisition of the cave.

“Next!”

Devlin stepped forward and placed his valise at his feet. Since the check-in desk was in an airy pass-through between buildings rather than indoors, he didn't bother to remove his hat. “Devlin Bale. I have a long-term reservation.”

The clerk searched a large notebook, sliding his finger along a row of penned names. His face lit. “Ah, here you are—Mr. Bale from the University of Kentucky.” He aimed a smile at Devlin. “Our cartographer, yes?”

He was technically the college's cartographer, but he nodded. “That's correct.”

The man gestured to the guest register and the ready pen and ink pot. “Please sign in, sir. We're delighted to have you with us. Mr. Janin left a letter for you.” He removed a sealed envelope from a little basket on the corner of the counter and gave it to Devlin. “He also instructed me to give you one of our cottages. You're a goodly walk from the dining room but close to the tour wagon pickup post. I trust you'll be satisfied with your lodgings.”

Devlin slipped the envelope into his pocket, dipped the pen, and signed the register with a flourish. “I'm sure I will be. Although I intend to spend more time in the cave than out of it.”

The clerk laughed heartily. “I suppose you'll need to if you plan to record all the explored passages.” He leaned across the desk and lowered his voice. “The guides say the tunnels stretch for miles under the ground. A fellow could get lost down there and never come out again.”

Devlin frowned. “Are you trying to scare me?”

He straightened so abruptly that his hair, slicked back with oil, bounced. “No, sir. You do what you need to with Mr. Janin's blessing. But as for me? I'm staying aboveground.” He pressed a key into Devlin's hand, leaned sideways to peer past him, and barked, “Next!”

Devlin gripped his valise and moved out of the way of a family with several boisterous children. He checked the leather tag on the key. The number two was stamped in gilt. He wove his way between other guests across the yard to a stretch of single-story connected cabins at the west edge of the property. He stepped up on the covered boardwalk and inserted his key into the lock on the second door. The lock clicked, and he entered what would be his home for the next several months.

Heavy shadows hid the space. He plopped his valise on the end of the bed, tossed his homburg next to it, then moved to the windows flanking the door. With a flick of his wrists, he whisked open the curtains. Light flowed in. He released a low chuckle. Had the clerk called this a cottage? In one glance Devlin decided the term
cottage
was far too grand.
Cabin
—or maybe
hovel
—seemed more apt when compared with his previous experience of hotel stays.

Log walls bearing a coat of whitewash enclosed a space perhaps twelve feet square, half the size of his room at home. A rock fireplace filled the center of one wall. Devlin doubted he'd make use of it. The May weather was exceedingly mild. Besides the fireplace, the cottage contained a bed draped with a striped coverlet, a small stand with a raised panel door, a tall bureau, a washstand holding a china pitcher and bowl, and a stuffed chair. The absence of a desk troubled him. Where would he do his drawing? And where would he store his surveying and mapping equipment when the boxes arrived on the next supply wagon?

A door and another window hidden behind slatted shutters divided the back wall. He crossed the plank floor, turning sideways to ease between the bed and the bureau, and folded the shutters flat against the log walls. His gaze met a rolling, grass-covered expanse leading to a thick cluster of aspens, pines, and oaks. A shimmering ribbon of blue captured his attention, and he rose on tiptoe to better see the winding stream. With a little grunt, he pushed the lower window upward and rested his elbows on the sash. A sweet breeze poured over him, and the melody of rustling leaves and trickling water reached his ears. Devlin sucked in a satisfied breath. He smiled. Ah yes, this would do nicely.

Leaving the window open, he sank down in the chair and retrieved the letter the clerk had given him. He opened the envelope, angled the pages to the sunlight streaming through the window, and read the missive typed onto a sheet of Mammoth Cave stationery.

Dear Mr. Bale,

Welcome to the Mammoth Cave Estate. I am delighted you've chosen to chart the cave's extraordinary tunneling as your senior project for the prestigious University of Kentucky. This letter is meant not only to welcome you but also to offer you necessary information.

I have assigned our finest, most knowledgeable guide to accompany you on your excursions into the cave. His name is Tolliver Sandford, but you may address him as Tolly. I assure you he will give you his full attention, will take you to every known nook and cranny of the Mammoth Cave system, and will guarantee your safety during the explorations. Tolly resides in the first of the staff cabins north of the dining room. Any of our employees can direct you to his cabin as needed.

During your stay please feel free to make use of our dining facility. Breakfast is served each morning from six until nine, a satisfying buffet is available every midday from eleven until one, and we offer the finest dining each evening from five until nine.

I also invite you to utilize our laundry services. Please leave whatever items require laundering beside your door. Our competent cleaning staff will carry it to the laundry room, ascertain it is handled promptly and respectfully, and return it to you the following dawn.

Hot water is delivered to the cottages every morning at six o'clock. If an earlier or later time better meets your schedule, please leave a note at the desk with any of the clerks. Your preference will be accommodated. Given your status as a long-term guest, you may make use of our bathing room once a week. Please reserve a day and time at the front desk.

I sincerely hope this letter has proved valuable to you. If you have further questions or requirements, please do not hesitate to inquire of any of the staff members. They are all at your service and will do their utmost to make your stay as comfortable and enjoyable as possible.

Your faithful servant,

Mr. Albert Covington Janin, trustee for the Mammoth Cave Estate

Devlin propped the letter on the bureau top for easy reference and then transferred his clothing from his valise to the bureau drawers. He arranged his shaving items and toiletries around the pitcher and bowl on the washstand. He started to move the washstand, which lurked next to the front door, to the corner to give himself a little more floor space. But whoever brought the hot water probably preferred it remain near the door for easy access. Last he placed his wind-up clock on the table beside the bed. He rolled the empty valise and propped it in the corner, behind the chair.

As he turned, he realized his accommodations lacked something besides a desk or worktable. Where was the toilet? He scanned the room, and he noticed the little door on the bedside stand. He cringed. Surely not…Holding his breath, Devlin eased the door open. He blew out the breath and let his shoulders sag. He hadn't made use of a chamber pot since he was a boy still in knee pants. The thought of using one for several weeks held no appeal.

Mr. Janin's letter instructed him to ask if he needed something, so he would inquire about toilets or, at the very least, an outhouse. If neither was available, he supposed he would be able to make do with the chamber pot. Father's candidacy was worth a little suffering. Although Mother would say being forced to use a chamber pot was hardly a little suffering.

He snapped the door closed, sealing away the offensive porcelain pot, and snagged his homburg from the foot of the bed. The lunch buffet was open and his stomach rumbled with emptiness. He'd locate the dining room, enjoy a hearty meal, and then spend the afternoon exploring.

Eagerness propelled him out the door. As he stepped from the boardwalk, the crunch of wagon wheels and the chatter of voices caught his attention. He paused and watched a wagon pulled by four horses approach. A black man with a full white beard and a sheeny top hat perched at an angle over his white hair held the reins. A young white man, smooth faced with a thick jacket bunched up under his chin, sat on the edge of the seat beside him. The bed overflowed with well-dressed, flush-faced, smiling men and women who were most likely returning from a tour. He'd try to sit near them at lunch and listen in on their reflections about their cave excursion.

The man drew the horses to a stop, then angled himself sideways in the seat and aimed a bright smile at those in the back. “Here you be again, folks. I surely thank you for yo' attention durin' the tour. If you di'n't get enough feastin' on the sights o' our Mammoth Cave, then you jus' go ahead an' sign up again. I'll be sure the spiders an' crickets an' bats are all ready to greet you anothuh time.”

Laughter rolled. The younger of the pair on the seat hopped down, trotted to the rear of the wagon, and began assisting the women and children to the ground. Before leaving the wagon, the men shifted to the front of the bed and shook the driver's hand, exchanging a few words and, if Devlin wasn't mistaken, pressing money into his palm. The driver bowed his head in thanks and joshed with the gentlemen, his smile never wavering. Devlin couldn't stifle a chuckle. The cheerful black man had every person in the wagon treating him like a long-lost uncle.

The last man climbed down from the bed. A child ran up to grab his hand. Then the child raised his other hand in a wild wave and called, “Bye! Thank you!”

“You's welcome, li'l man. You come see ol' Tolly again now, y'hear?”

Tolly…Devlin gave a start. He jerked his gaze to the driver. This must be the guide Mr. Janin had assigned him. Devlin hadn't anticipated being shown through the cave by an elderly black man who sported an Abe Lincoln hat. Not that he doubted Janin's glowing praise of Tolliver Sandford. The tourists' response to the guide spoke volumes about his joviality and ability.

Tolly gestured the younger man to the front of the wagon and stretched out his hand. “Here ya go, Reb. Yo' share o' the tips.”

The one named Reb drew back. “No, sir. I didn't guide anybody. I just followed along. You keep it.”

Tolly's forehead crunched. He bounced his hand. “Now listen here, Reb, I's downright tired o' arguin' wit' you. You's a 'ficial estate workuh now. I don't want nobody sayin' Tolly cheats his 'sistant. Take this. Twenty-five percent o' what they done gib me is s'posed to go to you.”