It barely pierced the darkness beyond.“I think there’s more than one room,” he announced excitedly.He scrambled through, then turned and helped me cross the threshold. Madame wouldn’t be kept out, even though the only way through the hearth’s secret door was to crawl.“I kissed the Blarney stone. I think I can handle this!” she insisted with a huff.Once through, we realized the ceiling was much higher here than in the subbasement, and we all stood up. Stan moved the flashlight around and we saw wood-framed beds, their straw mattresses long since rotted away.Names, dates, and symbols were scratched or carved into the rough stone walls. An antique lantern hung from a railroad spike embedded in a rough wooden support beam in the center of the space.“‘Joshua from Ken-took-ee, Year of our Lord 1859,’” Stan read in a reverent whisper.“That was probably etched by an abolitionist,” Madame observed. “It was illegal to teach a slave to read or write. And because escaped slaves couldn’t read, they used symbols and picture codes, even elaborately sewn quilts to trace their secret route to freedom.”Madame nodded her silver head.“Thousands of slaves escaped before the Civil War,”
