Page 9 of Signed, Sealed, and Smitten
“Thank you. That was thoughtful.” I’m not surprised. It’s Charm 101.
“You figured out the Wi-Fi?” he said.
“No, I ran a hotspot off my phone. Why don’t we start with getting me logged in for real?”
“How about if I text it to you?” he says.
I refrain from an eyeroll and rattle off my number for him. It could be a ploy to get my number, but it’s not unheard of for trustees to have the line for the museum director, especially when there’s no established landline yet. A few seconds later, a text with the network name and password comes through on my phone. I log in and find a strong signal. “Great, ready for a tour.”
“Let’s start right here,” he says. “Fun fact—the most valuable of my grandfather’s rare books are in storage because he would never let them be degraded by exposure to sunlight. If it’s on the shelf in here, it has sentimental—not monetary—value, or it’s a later edition or replica, all easy and cheap to replace.”
Instead of answering him, I walk to the drapes and open them again. I should have known Foster would have made sure his historically significant pieces would be properly cared for.
Jay smiles. I notice he still hasn’t brushed his hair, which is floppier than it was on Saturday and annoyingly adorable.
“What else should I know about the library?” I ask.Focus on business, Ms. Hopper.
“Only that it has a secret passage.”
I widen my eyes. “No.”
His smile gets bigger. “Oh, yes.”
He walks to a corner, the one that shares a wall with the butler’s pantry. He pulls out a book near shoulder height and reaches for the back of the bookcase. I hear a click, and he pulls on the side of the shelf to swing it outward, like a door.
My jaw drops. “This is literally the only thing that could be cooler than a rolling ladder.”
“Come see.”
He doesn’t have to tell me twice. I’m halfway there before he finishes the words, and I peek around the edge to find a square shaft with bolted rungs leading up. The space is about four by four feet, but it’s too dark to see how high the ladder goes.
“I love it,” I say. “Can I climb it? Is it safe?” I’m already reaching for the first rung.
Jay laughs behind me. “No hesitation, huh?”
“Are you kidding me? When confronting my first secret passageway?”
“You can climb it,” he confirms. “I’ll be behind you. Take it all the way to the top.”
I start up, my mind racing with the possibilities for why this was installed. “When was this built?”
“My fifth great-grandmother, Sarah Cutler Foster, was a Quaker and an abolitionist. She recorded in her journal on April 3, 1862, that she refused to meet her ‘marital obligations in any form’ to her husband, Wilbur Gaines Foster, until he built a place they could hide people escaping enslavement.”
“This was a stop on the Underground Railroad?” I can’t believe I didn’t know this. But as I climb and the passage grows darker, I run through everything I know about theinvolvement of Massachusetts in the abolition movement, and it doesn’t compute.
“Sarah wanted it to be, but it was too far outside of the Boston network.”
“That makes sense.” The route through Boston took freedom seekers to Montreal, largely. To head to Serendipity Springs would have been a time-consuming detour for anyone traveling by foot, which most people escaping slavery were. “Did Sarah record whether she was terribly disappointed by this?”
“She did not. But she did state the date of completion for this secret passageway.”
The amusement lurking in his tone gives away the punchline.
“As a student of history, I deduce that old Wilbur got it done in record time so ‘marital obligations’ would resume?”
“They did have five more children, the first born barely nine months after Sarah wrote with satisfaction that the project was complete.”
I laugh as I reach for the next rung. Women have sometimes had to be innovative in claiming their power. Above me, the barest line of dim light appears. “Do I see a door a few more rungs up?”
