The Mystery of the Keys

                  The Mystery of the Keys 


                                Chapter 1




      I feel elated to have finally realized my dream of owning this

fine, beautiful house.  This one hundred eighty years old

structure was far beyond all I could hope for.  I could not contain

the energy flowing through me.  Logan, my husband, was far

more reserved in his shared  joy.  It is so nice to have a man

around the house.  It is so nice that the man around this house is

Logan.

      During the perfunctory cleaning, I found a pair of very

ancient and very curious keys, in the junk drawer, in the

kitchen.  I placed them into my pocket and found that I was

fondling them constantly.  They became very familiar.  I knew

every groove, ding, and tooth in the pair of them.  My curious

nature had to know where and what these mysterious keys

belonged to.  What would they open?  What would I find?

      My fingers danced over them as if they were magic.  Maybe they would open a door to a magical world.  I simply had to find

the secret these keys held.

      My very old house, being new to my family, had been the

topic of much gossip. This, of course, only led to more

imagination, more ideas to expand.  Past owners had added to

the structure.  Sixty years ago, the second floor had been

enhanced with a wrap around balcony.  The job was beautifully

done and made to stay in line with the original design to the

primary structure.  Forty years later, a magnificent porch was

built to wrap around the first floor.  French doors led from  the

kitchen to the dining area that was formed into a semi-circle

that continued along until you reached the steps.  The wide

staircase enhanced the double doors and made a stunning

statement as it drew our eyes to the beautifully manicured lawn

and landscaping complete with a lovely gazebo.

      Entering the front door way, one could only gasp!  The foyer

and grand staircase were most interesting.  Walking straight,

passing along the side of the stairs we find ourselves

in the kitchen.  To our left, a door opened to the back stairs.  I

simply love the double stairs feature.  Forward is where the sink

is situated and to the far right, the entry opening to the pantry. 

Homes were built so exquisitely efficient back then.  There

seemed to be no wasted space; just roominess.  If at the kitchen

entry you made a simple right turn, you would find yourself in

the dining room. The ample window  reached to the ceiling

and just begged for Christmas decorations.  I was the one for that

job!

      I decided to get some coffee and toast and start to check this

floor for any tell tale signs that would lead to the strange

keyholes for my mystery keys.  When I cleaned up, I started to the

right of the rear stairs, in the kitchen.  Running my fingers over

the walls and slowly stepping along the hardwood floor, but so

far all my efforts were abortive.  Opening every cabinet and

looking and feeling for keyholes or any sign hinting that there

was a mystery to be found, I took a steady path till I reached the

pantry and continued my task.  Again there was nothing, that is,

until I reached the built in ironing surface.  Kneeling down and

palping the wall below it, I noticed something different.  It

sounded hollow.  The surface felt cooler to the touch.  I made

notes on the tablet in my pocket and moved to the dining room.

Now, with a smile on my face, and feeling a bit accomplished,

I began the same routine in the dining room.  Nothing seemed out

of the ordinary.  Moving from wall to wall, running my fingers

over the smooth surface it was obvious I would find nothing there

either.  Returning to the foyer I continued in like fashion, again,

with disappointing results, that is, until I reached the farthest part of the wall beneath the staircase.  Although I couldn’t quite

figure out what was different at this wall, I made notations and

in my childlike way drew a sketch of where the wall felt

different.  Working my way up the steps I felt no differences either

on the wall or steps as I stomped my way up.  The hall on the

second floor produced no alarms and I decided to forgo the

children’s rooms until I checked the Master room.  Standing in

the doorway, I perused the room with my eyes.  I tried to decide

what area would be best to start.  Without a second thought, I

began to empty my things from the wardrobe, onto the bed.  Once

it was barren inside, I began with flashlight and fingertips to

explore the interior.

      Suddenly, down low, where my shoes had been, my fingers

brushed a button.  I gasped as the back panel slid open into the

wall in which the wardrobe had been built.  Nearly flush

against the now opened panel was a crude door that had a

keyhole.  My smile was bright, now, as I realized the key in my

pocket fitted perfectly.  I slid it in and with but a few wiggles the

door opened easily into a vast darkness.  I shined a flashlight

into the darkness seeing but a few feet ahead of the door. 

Dramatically, cobwebs hung from the walls and ceiling as

though curtains had been hung for decorations.  Looking

down I saw steps.  Carefully, I stepped over the ledge of the

wardrobe and climbed down the seven steps, counting as I did so.   

The air was heavy and smelled moldy.  The chill made me glad I

had a sweater on.  I was shaky as I nervously started  up the  hall

seeing barely two feet ahead of me at a time. It was a long hall

and when I reached the end, a hall continued to the left and

right.  Against the wall before me there were trunks lined up

against the cold stone of the wall.  I counted seven trunks with

keyholes that all appeared to fit the second key on my pocket. 

      In spite of the coolness that created a chill in me, the air

made it difficult to breathe.  I moved slowly as I stooped before

the first trunk.  Taking the second key from my pocket, I slid it

into the trunk and opened it easily.  I heard the bolt move and

raised the lid, full of apprehension, having no way of knowing

what I would find. What was so surprising was I found very old

cookware in it. 

      Cast iron pans and a dutch oven, old place settings and

flatware brought a big question and I made a mental note to put

in my notes.  I stepped to the right and opened the second trunk. 

Moving paper aside, I found ladies dresses.  They were made of

rough cotton.  Colors were drab and faded and the style was older

than I could decide.  The mystery was growing and so was my

laboring breath.  Shutting the second lid, I headed back up the

same hall I came down and carefully crawled back into the

wardrobe.  I simply had to tell Logan  of my sleuthing and what

it had produced, today.  For now, I needed a shower and to begin

preparations for dinner.  My gang would soon be home toting

schoolbags with homework and papers to be signed.


                                        Chapter 2


      Following my exploration I felt as though I was showering

away the grime from my days toiling.  When the girls returned

from school, I was clean, dressed, and delighted to give hugs and

kisses.  Excited babble came from all three of them as they filled

me in on their day’s activities.

      Denise, now a sometimes sweet remnant of her pre-fifteenth

birthday, set right to getting snacks and starting homework.  She

is pleasant right after school and I don’t let this opportunity slip

through my fingers.

      Emily, our middle child, is by far the most loving.  Her only

desire as a nine year old is to become a ten year old.  She is not

quite as chatty and much more needy of hugs and cuddling. 

      Elizabeth, at six years old, is the new big girl in “real”

school.  She has taken to the life of a little student with pleasure

and ease.  Her only problem and greatest talent is her total inability to be quiet.  Lizzy will chatter on, and on, and on.

      I wanted none of our angels to know of my mystery since

none of them was too old to conjure up boogeymen and ghosts. 

Barely able to contain myself, till Logan came home, I immersed 

myself in time with the girls and getting dinner ready.  I was

grateful that the girls could not see my tamped down but still

very charged energy.  When Logan came through the door, I could

not hide a bit of it from him.  He could see I was not ready to

open up.  Our direct eye contact said, ”not until the girls go to

bed”.  Seeing Logan’s growing curiosity, helped me contain my

own need to tell him what had happened while he was at work. 

Does misery really enjoy company?  Just the thought of it made

me giggle. 

      Homework was done and signed without any snags and

showers weren’t dragged out.  I was happy for this one night of

ease.  As I started to get the young ones ready for bed and have my

nighttime chat with Denise, Logan was already into his routine of preparing a caraf of tea, however, I called over my shoulder,


“you will probably want coffee tonight”.  When I returned for our

evening conversation, Logan was in the den waiting for what

would prove to be our most unusual evening talk.

      As I entered the room, Logan was offering me a mug of coffee.

With a smile plastered on his face, he chuckled, “I can hardly

wait for this”. I began by taking the keys from my pocket and

handing them to my attentive spouse.  I explained that I was

hopeful to find the proper fittings to these keys that seemed to

mystify me.  I showed him my notes and explained why I had

emptied the wardrobe onto our bed.  Logan paid close attention

and showed an interest to my every word.  I finished by telling

him that the secret was indeed in my wardrobe but fell short of

telling him exactly what the secret was.  We finished the coffee as

I told my tale.  “Well, let’s put this caffeine to work”, Logan

declared as he took me by the hand.  Referring to my notes,

Logan led me first to the pantry.  He was intrigued by the obvious

differences that I had found. 

      When we went to the Master bedroom, I handed him one of

the flashlights that I had left on his dresser.  I crawled into the

wardrobe and pressed the button as I flashed a beam of light on

the back panel.  Exposing the door, I looked over my shoulder , to

Logan, “Can I have the flat key?”, I asked.  I slid the key into the

awaiting opening, turned it, and pushed the door wide open. 

Logan uttered a simple, “WOW”!  “Are you ready for this?”, I

asked.

      I climbed down the seven steps counting, again, as I

descended, Logan following behind me.  Holding hands, two

beams of light leading the way, we walked till we were standing

before the trunks.

      Beginning once again, with the first two trunks, Logan and I

went through the items.  As we moved along, unlocking the

remaining five, it was clear to both of us that history had happened here.  Clothing sorted by boxes for men, women,

children, shoes, bed linen. 

      Feeling both accomplished and somewhat solemn, Logan and

I, arm in arm, returned to the wardrobe and climbed through. 

While Logan showered, I removed my things from the bed and

stacked them in  the corner.  I grabbed a quick shower and

climbed into Logan’s arms.  We slept like two spoons without any

words of our experience. 

      When the morning came, Logan was already off to work. 

Getting the girls up presented no great difficulty and I was able to

delve into breakfast and lunches with ease.  The rest of the

morning went equally smoothe and before I knew it, all the girls

were seated on the school bus and on their way.

      I had big plans for my day.  I was headed to the Town Hall

for a copy of the original plot plans of my unique house.  The self

control it took to wait for the appropriate time scheduled to open,

had me lost in my own thoughts wondering what I might find.  What else might the plans reveal?  I drank nearly a pot of coffee

as I went over my notes, expanding on my own version of short

hand and had a pretty good accounting of yesterday’s discoveries. 

I cleaned up both the kitchen and myself. I was thrilled that the

clock had finally moved along so I could head out to my

intended destination.

      The clerk at the Town Hall was as cold as a witch’s tit; not

willingly helpful, which I found quite disconcerting.  After a bit

of haggling the  requested documents would be prepared.  I paid

the required fee and could return next week to pick up the

coveted plans.  My excitement was growing as I completed another

decisive action and when back in my car made more notations in

my growing notebook.  Now, waiting would be the hardest job. 

My next stop was to the Historic Society to do some research on

both the area and my home.

      Just walking through the door was a step back into time.  To

my left was a wall of the Roaring Twenties.  Looking to my right were miners.  Before me was a desk with an impeccably dressed

woman offering her assistance.  I told her I would like to see

information on the Underground Railroad, specifically in our

area.  With a sincere smile,  she led me up a flight of steps to a

room filled with pictures, documents and drawers full of

information. Mrs. Westford assured me she would be available to

help should I need any assistance.

      I started cruising the walls of pictures.  In some, I recognized

the area, as places surrounding our town.  Suddenly, staring up,   

in amazement, I stood before my own home.  It appeared to be lost

in time.  The caption below it said “Adaire Manor-1832”.

      Going to the catalog drawers, I searched for Adaire Manor,

grateful that it started with an “A”.  It didn’t take long before I

found an entire section of index cards loaded with information

and the locations of more expanded recourses.  For a half hour I

sat and took notes.  I felt like a school girl embarking on her first

date.  Finished, I returned to the impeccable Mrs. Westford, with

my notes.  This lovely woman was very sweet and led me

downstairs to an archive just full of facts, relative to my house,

the surrounding property and it’s original owners.

      By the time I completed my research and received the copies

that Mrs. Westford so kindly ran off for me, it was time to get

home for the girls return from school.  I placed all of the

documents I had received into the exta tote I had remembered to

bring.  Thanking Mrs. Westford, left for my car and drove home

just in time for the school bus to pull up.  I was so happy to see

my girls that I nearly knocked Lizzy over with the tote.  “What

you got in the bag Mommy”?  “Oh, I was doing some research for

someone”, was my answer.  “Why? you don’t work anymore”, 

Denise chimed in.  “Doing something special for someone, Denise,

is not returning to work”.  “Anyway, let’s get some snacks and see

what homework looks like tonight”, I said, as I ushered them

through the door. 

      Since the fourth and tenth grades were busy with MCAS

testing, there would be no homework for Denise and Emily for a

few days.  Emily offered to help Elizabeth with her numbers. 

Denise volunteered to go to her room. I started a pot of coffee and

started to peel potatoes.  I was running the day’s activities through

my mind and all I had accomplished.

      That night, sitting in the den with Logan, we sorted through

all the information I gathered.  “I am amazed at all you found”,

said Logan.  He smiled and kissed me on the nose.  I told him

about the plot plans: Logan left the room, returning with three

battery operated camping lamps.

      We locked the den door leaving our work for tomorrow. 

Being Saturday would mean more creativity in applying time to

our mystery.  It no longer held so much mystery as it did a need

to follow the evidence to some sort of conclusion.

      Saturday morning was bright and crisp.  The Autumn air

was blowing leaves around.  Logan had raking to do.  The girls

and I had Saturday chores to do.  Denise and Emily had beds to

make and breakfast dishes to wash, dry, and put away. 

Elizabeth washes the kitchen table and dusts the living room

and her own bedroom.  I could do all these things myself, in a

more timely fashion, but what would they learn from this? 

When we were all done, showered and dressed, there were drop

offs.  Denise was going skating and sleeping over her friend’s.

Emily, too, had a sleepover but it was also a birthday

celebration.  This left Elizabeth to be entertained.  We left the

den locked for the day and took Elizabeth on an outing made for

undivided attention for our baby girl.  By seven, she was sound

asleep and never awoke, even while I changed her pajamas and

tucked her in.

      Now, Logan and I were a pair of kids and our party was

waiting in the den.  Using just a little more control we changed,

made sandwiches and a pitcher of iced tea, than two pairs of

slippers padded their way to the den.  We settled in for a long

night of getting to know Adaire Manor and it’s original owners. 

 

     

      Chapter 3


      The information before us was amazing!  Logan and I

learned that the first owners of our home were Jeremiah and

Abigail Adaire.  They loved each other dearly and loved their

community of Hampton Falls.  Jeremiah was on the town council

and both he and Abigail were active in the community.  They

had no children of their own but were loved by all the children


in the area.

      Jeremiah began reading the publication ‘The Liberator’ and

the first article published in it on anti-slavery.  The article was

printed by the publications founder, William Lloyd Garrison,

known as Lloyd Garrison.  Jeremiah was impressed by the paper,

and specifically the anti-slavery article and continued to read

the publication throughout his life.  So troubled was he by the

article, he became a member of The New England Anti-Slavery

Society, at it’s inception in late eighteen thirty-one, founded by

the same Lloyd Garrison.  This affiliation created unsavory

attention to Adaire.  A number of times, the police came to his

home in search of harbored runaway slaves.  They never located

any evidence of such activity.

      The following Friday I was called to pick up the plot plans I

had ordered.  When we got them home we studied the plans

taking notes.  From what I could see, our property line had never

changed.  We would explore tomorrow.

      Saturday was cool but bright and sunny.  As usual, Denise

was out with her friends.  Logan and I took Emily and Elizabeth

to explore our sizeable property.  After an hour,  we found

ourselves on the south side of the property, a distance out, and

very overgrown with green foliage.

      Finally, we located the oversized and unlikely used mailbox. 

On top was a telltale black Sambo.  For what seemed forever, we

scoured the oblique-like structure when something happened. 



Logan pulled out a stone and the back creaked open. 

      While I took the girls in for a snack, Logan checked out the

secret opening.  After some time he came down the stairs from our

bedroom, creating a flashing smile to break out all over my face. 

After snacks we asked a neighbor friend to keep an eye on the

girls.  Pleased to take the girls for a few hours, we dropped Emily

and Elizabeth off so we were able to return to the structure. 

Logan, again, removed the stone.  We each took a camping lamp,

now waiting there for us, and I followed my man down the very

narrow steps till we were standing in a corridor much like the

one I had found.  Continuing down the passage, after a while we

found ourselves standing before the same old trunks.  We

continued straight into the right passage where, after a while we

found old beds.  There were no mattresses on them.  There were

nearly a dozen beds and three cradles.  Also, there were two

kitchen tables with chairs around them.  A wooden placard on


the first table was burned to read ‘We believe in a higher moral

conscious’.  In a chest against the wall where we stood, were

blankets and a journal listing all the souls that found sanctuary. 

Across the room, steps led to the pantry with a keyhole that was

exactly like the one that had opened the door behind my

wardrobe.



We unlocked the mystery
Of the keys



                        Epilogue


Logan took the day off on Monday.  In three trips we delivered the

seven trunks and the chest, still filled with their original articles

to donate to the Historic Society. Mrs. Westford was stunned,

amazed and delighted.  We arranged to have the furniture picked

up.  After school we told our girls all about our mystery and

promised they would see all the items at the museum.  Logan and

I decided to keep our hidden passages to ourselves for the safety of

the children. 

      We will always cherish the knowledge that our discovery

contributes one more Station to the documented two hundred

seventy-five New England Stations harboring our enslaved

population. 

      It is with great pride and emotion that we feel a part of the

Underground Railroad.
The Logan and Mia Woodleigh Collection 
Contributed 2010