Chapter 08
Ft. Drum Military Reservation
New York State
October 2011
Seven more buildings later and Spencer was starting to go a bit hoarse. But everything was organized now, or as organized as something like this could be, and the powers in charge were much happier than they had been. "Nice." Emily said as they stood back on the tarmac and surveyed the scene. "This should work."
"I hope so." Spencer said. "I know you're all looking for signs of Stockholm syndrome. I'm not identifying with our captors, but the other victims really are good people for the most part. They deserve their own lives."
"I'm sure they'll find that." Hotch said.
"Teacher!" Someone called from the direction of the Parson building. They turned that way and found the housekeeper coming out with two of the children. She was wearing the common dress of the women here, a loose cotton dress, a smock-like pinafore over it in creamy white linen and a bag of a hat which completely concealed her hair. She was waving to get Spencer's attention. "Teacher!"
Spencer waved her over. "Hello Housekeeper. How are you holding up?"
"This is insane." She was in her late 40's or early 50's, confident, command presence, neat as a pin in her unusual dress. "I didn't think freedom would be so confusing. Hopefully we'll get some organization going soon. The children wanted to give you something to remember them by and I was wondering if I could speak to you for a moment."
"Of course."
The team stepped away to give them some privacy. "Okay, that is adorable." Emily said as the children gave him a picture.
"That's Reid for you." Morgan said with a chuckle.
"What are your plans for this afternoon?" Hotch asked him.
"Feed him and take him to medical for a once over." Morgan replied. "He seems all right to me but they worked him over at one point, I think we should be sure. I'm playing it by ear after that."
"All right. Garcia is working with the IT people here on the records they discovered. JJ and Rossi are still at the hospital with Seaver."
"Anything new on that?"
"They're keeping her for a few days, she's been having contractions off and on." Emily said. "Apparently she can't identify the father. We're going to have to use DNA."
"Damnit."
"Has anyone told Reid yet?" Emily asked.
"I don't think so. I told him we found her and JJ and Rossi were with her, that's all." Morgan waited with the others while Spencer finished up with the Housekeeper, ending with hugs all around, then they joined him in the shadow of the building. "Did you know Seaver is pregnant?"
Spencer stopped and stared at him, a look of horror coming over his face. "No." He said. "It...it wasn't me. Excuse me." He turned and walked quickly into the building.
The others looked at themselves and followed, until he hit the bathroom door at a dead run. They hung back when they heard the sound of him being noisily sick. "That's unexpected." Emily said.
"My, ahem, gut is telling me that he's not going to want to talk about it." Morgan said.
One of the women approached them. "Excuse me." She said. "Is Teacher all right?"
"Um, probably." Emily said. It was an opening and she took it. "He just heard some disturbing news. A friend of ours was being kept on another farm, like you all were. She's pregnant."
At that the woman's demeanor shifted. Her hands knotted in the coal grey apron many of them wore over their shapeless smocks and she looked down at the floor. "We don't discuss such things." She said. "Excuse me." With that she moved away.
"Uh huh." Emily said. "That's interesting. All these children and they don't talk about pregnancy?"
"We need to know more." Hotch turned and looked at Emily. "Let's go see what we can learn about their culture."
Parson Plantation
Grindstone Island
St. Lawrence River
New York state
Hotch and Emily returned to the farm where Spencer had been held, tapping in to the social capitol he held with the people there in order to get what help they could in learning more about the slave culture on the island. The foreman and the housekeeper had kindly sent along two guides, a couple of nineteen year olds who claimed to be apprentices to the woodwright and the baker. Both of them were friendly and open, in this innocent, sunny way that went more with farm kids than with imprisoned slaves. The only bad part was that neither of them had names, or wanted them.
"You don't have to use a name if you don't want to." Emily said. "What would you like me to call you? 5729?"
"Five is fine."
"Well, Five, I prefer to be called Emily."
"Really?" Five turned bright red. "All right."
"Most people call me Hotch." Hotch said. He looked at the boy. "What would you like us to call you?"
The boy rubbed the back of his neck shyly. "Most folks call me Seven."
"Seven it is. Can you show us around?"
Neither of the young people had ever been in the big house. Hotch and Emily weren't as interested, by now the island was crawling with every law enforcement officer anyone in the region could spare. A team from the NYPD was gathering evidence in there, they would get the reports later. The same was true of the Overseers house. "What's that back there?" Hotch asked, pointing to a structure on a concrete pad covered with a corrugated tin roof behind the Overseers house.
"That's the whipping post." Seven said. "That's where they take you if you cross them."
"Oh." Hotch said.
The working compound proved to be much more interesting. This was their home, this large cluster of buildings with everything from the horse barn to the main kitchen. None of these buildings were electrified, although they were thankfully plumbed, and for the most part the place was run on 19th century technology. They decided to split up, Hotch getting a detailed tour of the wood shop and Emily pausing in the bakery for a sample of some truly amazing wood-fired bread. "You made this?" She asked.
"Uh huh." Five replied. "Bread is the first thing you learn. I'm working on biscuits now. I'll get them properly flakey yet."
"I'm sure you will. Can I see where you live?" Five nodded and led Emily out that way. As they walked she could see the farm fields, heavy with the harvest, rolling off toward the forest on the horizon. "You know, this place really is beautiful."
"I never thought about it until today. Does every place off the island look like where we're staying?"
Like a military base? "No, some can be uglier, but a lot of it is this beautiful."
"Huh. Might be interesting to see someday." Five led her one of two courtyards, both gated, set side-by-side. "This is the single women's bunkhouse." She said, as she opened the door to one of the rooms around the courtyard.
Emily was faced with a long room, with battered wood walls and floor, and a tin ceiling. A large, potbellied stove at either end would provide heat and hot water. Between the two were two rows of wooden bunks, two beds per bunk, ten on a side, for a total of room for forty women. The room was painfully tidy, each bunk neatly made up, the items in the cubbies at either end of the bunk carefully folded and put away. "Which bed is yours?" Emily asked.
"This one." Five led her to a bottom bunk about a third of the way down and settled on it. "And this is my cupboard." She nodded to the one that faced the center aisle.
"May I?" With Five's permission she took a look in there. A shelf on the bottom set aside a space for shoes, of which Five had one pair other than the sandals she was wearing. On that shelf were her meager belongings, a small basket with yarn and knitting needles, and a small box. "What's in the box?"
"My mending kit." She blushed. "Seven made it for me."
"Oh, that's sweet." A few more of those shapeless dresses and dark aprons hung from a bar in the center along with a winter coat. There was a shelf above which held what were likely undergarments and mittens and such, and there were two hats on top. On one side a bar held a towel, on the other a hook held a nightdress. And that was all. All this girl had in the world and it would fit in one suitcase. I have more in my go-bag, Emily thought. "And all the single women live here?" Emily asked as she looked around. "What do you mean by single?"
"Without children. Once you have your first baby you move to the Mother's house."
"One of the women back in the hall said you don't talk about pregnancy."
Five chuckled. "That's not true; we talk about the babies all the time."
Huh. Something didn't add up.