by David Wood
A voice emanated from within the group of men; Dane couldn’t tell which. “Howdy boys.”
Dane looked in the general direction of the voice. “Hello to you, too.”
A different voice said, “I’m guessing you didn’t just stop by for the company.”
Chuckles and a guffaw followed this observation. The man who had spoken sat in a wheelchair, hands resting on the arms. He had to be at least eighty years old, most of his body wasting away. His face was still lively, round beneath half-inch long white hair. He wasn’t in uniform, but Dane got the sense that he was a marine.
Bones must have agreed because he said, “Semper Fi.”
The man smiled. “And you men must be squids. Maybe SEALs. There’s something about the cut of your jib.”
“Guilty as charged,” Dane said, “though we’re still in training.”
“You’re always in training, boy, don’t ever forget that. Now, what can we do for you?”
Dane met the man’s eyes. “Well first we should introduce ourselves. I’m Dane Maddock and my friend here is Uriah Bonebrake.”
Bones frowned at the mention of his given name.
“Uriah, huh? Guy with that name joining the Navy has got to think every now and then about disobeying an order.”
Bones laughed, knowing the guy was referring to the biblical Uriah whom King David ordered to the front lines of battle so he would be killed and David could possess Uriah’s wife, Bathsheba. “It’s been known to happen. Most people call me Bones.”
“A fitting name. People around here just call me Gunny.”
Dane figured if ever anyone seemed like a Gunny, it was this old marine. “We’re looking for information related to the Marshall family who lived in Hamiltonban around the time of the Battle of Gettysburg.”
Several pairs of eyes exchanged glances. Gunny didn’t display any reaction, but he took an extra moment before answering. “Hamiltonban. The Marshalls were a prominent family in the town in the nineteenth century. I’m not sure I can tell you any more than that. What exactly are you looking for?”
Dane looked at Bones, who gave an imperceptible shrug of the shoulders. Dane didn’t mind sharing information, but he didn’t want to sound crazy, either. He’d leave out anything about people trying to kill them.
“We’re looking for a document associated with Edmund Randolph, and we found a couple of clues that suggest it may have last been with the Marshall family around the time of Gettysburg. Possibly tied to a family named Hawthorne as well. We’re trying to maybe track down the properties they lived on, or even some ancestors.”
Gunny looked up for a second and then returned his gaze to Dane. “I get the feeling you boys aren’t telling this old marine the full truth.”
Dane’s gaze didn’t waver. “We may have left one or two things out. Circumstances have forced this research on us, and we’d prefer to have it impact as few people as possible.”
“Tell you what, son. I won’t go so far as to say I trust you, but in my line of work you learn to judge a lot of things in a hurry. I don’t think you’re likely to use information to hurt people who shouldn’t be hurt. There’s a guy who often comes in here, much older than me, he knows more about Hamiltonban than any man living. I can give him a call, though you may be waiting a bit. He doesn’t move the way he used to.”
Gunny whipped out a cell phone and dialed a number, turning away from Dane and Bones as he did. Bones leaned over to Dane and spoke in a low voice. “If even Gunny here has a cell phone, you and I have got to get with the times.”
“We spend all our time training except for the occasional leave. It’d be a waste.”
“What about the time we spend getting shot at by the Sons of the Republic?”
Gunny’s voice broke in. “If you ladies are done gabbing, you’re in luck. His grand-daughter says he left half an hour ago, so he should be here any minute. Pull up a couple chairs and tell us all what the squids are doing these days to make themselves feel more like marines.”
Dane found that despite giving lip service to the traditional marine superiority in all things, the old soldier listened respectfully to their stories about SEAL training. He nodded and laughed at Bones’ more colorful anecdotes.
“Men don’t change much. Maybe on the surface things are different, but change a few details and that could have been me sixty years ago. By the way, it looks like our friend is here.”
The ancient man hobbling towards them moved as if trying to lose a race with molasses. He leaned heavily on a cane in his right hand. When he reached a chair, he spent nearly a minute lowering himself into a seated position. Only then did he look up at Dane and Bones.
“Who’re you?”
Dane said, “Gunny here told us you were the man to talk to about the history of Hamiltonban.”
“Has that old fool been telling tales again? Ah well, I might remember a thing or three about the place. What do you say, Gunny?”
Gunny sounded respectful. “It’s up to you, Mort. These boys might not be the worst scoundrels to drag their ugly carcasses through that door.”
“High praise from the likes of you.” Mort looked at Dane. “What do you want to know?”
Dane repeated the information about the Marshalls and a document associated with Edmund Randolph. Mort scratched his chin. “Hmmm.”
He sat there unmoving for so long that Dane wondered if he had fallen asleep. Or worse. Eventually, though, he responded.
“Takes a while to access the memory banks these days. I remember something I heard from my grandfather when I was younger than you are now and he was older than Gunny here. Haven’t thought about that in a long time.”
He adjusted himself in the chair. “Small towns, you see, they have secrets. Back then even more. Some of the things that happened and no one ever heard about, well they probably wouldn’t stay hidden today. My grandfather loved to tell stories and I never knew how much was real. I’ll tell you the story and you do with it what you want.
“There were several Marshalls in town in the middle of the 19th century. Well respected folk, one was even a Senator. They had the occasional illegitimate branch of the family tree, though. It wasn’t uncommon, but unlike today it was something you didn’t make public.
“What my grandfather told me was that there was a conflict between one of the Marshalls and an outside family called Hawthorne. That name is what jogged my memory. Anyway, supposedly there was a big argument in the middle of town and the next day, Marshall’s house burned to the ground. Can’t remember his first name, maybe began with a ‘T.’
“They didn’t find any bodies in the fire, but neither he nor Hawthorne was ever heard from again. One of the elder Marshalls managed to keep any mention of the fire or the disappearance out of the newspaper. As time went by, there was sort of an unwritten rule not to talk about it except in hushed tones and not at all to outsiders. My grandfather said that folks from time to time swore they heard ghosts on the old property, which was why he told me the story in the first place.”
A faraway smile crossed Mort’s face. “Grandfather did love his ghost tales.”
Dane allowed him a moment and then said, “That’s a great story. It sounds like it must have its origin in what we’ve found so far. Any idea when this took place?”
A shake of the head from Mort. “He never said. It was always about the storytelling, not that kind of detail. After the war, of that I’m sure.”
Bones said, “Any idea where the property was that burned down?”
Mort raised his eyebrows. “That’s the million dollar question, isn’t it. All grandfather said was out by the start of the river. Probably means somewhere near the headwaters of the Chesapeake where the nature preserve is now. It can’t be in the nature preserve itself or someone would have found the ruins. There are maps from that era you could look at in the library. Not sure if that would help, as they tried to erase all record of it, like I said. It was easier to do back then.”
All at once, Mort looked tired and feeling all of however many years he had under his belt. Bones walked over to him and shook his hand. “That information is really helpful. By the way, what branch of the service were you in?”
Mort narrowed his eyes. “Navy of course, just like you. Only branch that pulls its own weight, though I admit Gunny’s people occasionally come through when the chips are down.”
Gunny let out a guffaw, which somehow seemed inconsistent with the image Dane had formed of him. “You boys may be about to witness some real combat.”
Dane took a step back and put up his hands in surrender. “We really appreciate your help. We’ll let you get on with your day.”
“On with our day? Are you kidding, we’ll be talking about your visit for weeks.”
“Months,” said Mort.
As Dane turned to leave with Bones, Gunny said, “There’s one more thing you should probably know. You’re not the only stranger in town interested in the Marshalls.”
Dane swung back. “Someone else came by here?”
“Not here and they didn’t talk to us. But word gets around. A half dozen of them flew in last night on a private plane. This morning at the crack of early they headed out in two cars and wound up at two separate places formerly associated with the Marshalls.”
“How do you know all this?”
“Son, there is no communication network in the world to compare to a bunch of old men with nothing to do. We could take the NSA to the cleaners any day of the week. Gettysburg looks big on the map because of the park, but this area and Hamiltonban are still small town in nature. Since the war, folks have been even more wary of outsiders than a normal small town.”
Bones held his hand behind his back and said, “Okay if your communication is that quick, how many fingers am I holding up.”
Without blinking, Gunny said, “Just one, but no offense taken”
Bones let out a bellowing laugh. “Gunny, you are one funny dude. Hey Maddock, maybe I should hang out with him instead of you?”
“He’s a marine, remember? They’d never let you show your face back at SEAL training.”
“Good point. So, Gunny, were either of these properties near the area Mort was talking about, the start of the river or whatever?”
Gunny looked at Mort who shook his head. “No. But I wouldn’t even bet someone else’s paycheck they don’t wind up there eventually.”
Dane said. “We appreciate the heads-up. I have a bad feeling we know who these guys are. You probably want to steer clear of them unless you’re armed.”
Gunny nodded. “You boys take care of yourselves.”
With that dismissal, Dane and Bones walked back out to the Mustang. Dane said, “Gunny was talking about how they are even more wary of outsiders since the war. What war do you think he meant? Vietnam? World War II?”
Bones put a hand on his shoulder. “Maddock, think about where we are. There was only one war that impacted this area in a major way. He was telling us they’ve been wary since the Civil War.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“Well this is it.”
Dane and Bones had hiked through a short trail and then veered off the path to follow the final trickle of water to where it ended, ignoring the signs to stay on the trail. The snow meant that they didn’t see much, but they could tell the basic path of the creek. Fortunately the storm, which had hit Philadelphia had spared this area, and the snow was not deep. This was one of the origin points of the Chesapeake River.
“Right, but we need to keep going northwest. It’s probably in some other land in the state forest like Mort said, not right here.”
Bones shook his head. “This is not much to go on, but you’re right. We’ll keep looking until we find it or it gets dark.”
Time passed, but Dane really had no sense how long they were out there. He had learned not to bother looking at his watch when faced with this kind of situation; it just made things worse. They walked thirty feet apart with Bones slightly in front, scanning for any sign of an old house burned down over a century ago.
They had crossed a couple of roads, passed around the periphery of a few houses and probably covered five miles when Bones stopped and pointed a finger.
“What is it?”
“Does something look odd to you about those trees?”
Dane looked at where Bones was pointing. He’d seen so many trees in the past hours that they all blurred into one. These trees were all maples, which were quite common in the woods. But they were of uniform height and more importantly all in a row, at least twenty of them stretching for a hundred yards or so.
“Great catch Bones. Those didn’t just grow like that naturally, they had to be planted.”
“Like a driveway?”
They found one end of the row of trees and searched the area, but found nothing. Then they trudged to the other end and started doing the same thing.
Dane spotted something, which generated an inkling of concern. “Bones, did you walk over here yet?”
“Nope.”
“Well neither did I, but there are footprints.”
Bones joined him. “Looks like maybe the Sons beat us here. Should we follow them?”
“Could be them, could be someone else, but I can’t think of a better option.”
He removed the AR-15 from the sling in which he carried it. “We need to make sure we see them before they see us.”
“I like the way you think, Maddock.”
They followed the footprints, Bones leading Maddock by about fifteen feet. A couple minutes later, Bones veered off towards a nearby tree and Dane figured that nature had called. He looked down at his weapon and flexed his fingers against the grip.
When he looked back up, Bones had disappeared.
“Bones?” Dane didn’t yell, not wanting to attract the attention of the creators of the footprints. Hearing no answer, he made his way towards the tree. About three feet away, he saw the snow disappearing into a hole.
“Are you down there, Bones?”
After a few seconds, he heard the reply. “That’s affirmative, Maddock.”
Bones sounded irritated but not hurt, and Dane couldn’t help chuckling. “So you fell down a hole?”
“Maddock, I think I found it.”
“Found what?”
“I fell into some sort of structure with a dirt floor. Ceiling is about six feet high. It looks old, too. You should come down here.”
“Think you could get out if you had to?”
Dane saw Bones’ head appear about a foot below the level of the ground. “Sure. The roof actually feels solid except for the spot where I fell. I think a tree root weakened it.”
“Ok, stand back, then.”
Dane took out his flashlight, sat down, and slid into the hole. He landed easily, allowing his knees to bend and absorb what little shock there was. He could just about stand up without bumping his head, but in the beam of his light he could see that Bones had to stoop.
He had landed in a room about ten feet by ten feet square. Bones was moving down the one exit from the room, a hallway three feet wide. The walls were dark with age, constructed of stone with some sort of cement or mortar in the joints. The ceiling consisted of sturdy slabs of American Chestnut, still in surprisingly good condition considering over a century of wear. The floor was dirt, damp but still hard-packed.
“Bones, where are you going?”
“Dude, we’re searching for some old lost remnants of a burned down building and we fell into an underground structure. Seems like we should at least see if we can find any clues down here.”
Dane couldn’t argue with that. He followed Bones down the hallway, his flashlight reflecting off the wall. They came to an opening on the right, which led to another room similar to the first. Dane’s light revealed only bare walls and dirt floor, so they continued down the hall.
After passing several similar rooms, they reached an ancient oak door. A rusted lock nominally prevented passage, but on
e blow from the stock of Bones’ AR-15 sent it clattering to the ground.
“See, even locks are no match for Mama Bonebrake’s boy.”
“Just open the door, Hercules.”
The room beyond the door contained several pieces of furniture, including a bed and a couch. Layers of grime blanketed everything, but unlike the other rooms, it had the feel of a dwelling as opposed to a cellar. Bones put a hand on a small table next to the bed, wiping off the dirt.
“Hey, this looks like it’s been charred. Must be the old Marshall place we’re looking for.”
Dane chuckled. “And we literally stumbled into it.”
“You stumbled, I fell on my butt. Now that I think about it, if this was the basement of a house that completely burned down, it wouldn’t look like this. There would be more damage above us.” He gestured to the solid beams of the ceiling.
“Could be an underground shelter. Normally you only saw those in the nineteenth century in places with a lot of tornadoes, but they had them other places on occasion. Doesn’t really explain the fire damage on the table. Looks like the bed suffered from fire as well.”
Bones suddenly moved to one corner of the room. “What’s this?”
His beam illuminated a metal chest about three feet long and two feet high. Unlike the rest of the stuff in the room, no layer of dirt or grime adorned it. And the broken lock next to it was modern.
Dane shook his head. “I don’t believe it. A treasure chest.”
Bones grinned. “That’s almost as cliche as ‘X marks the spot.’ Kinda looks like someone beat us to it.”
Dane’s hand tightened on his Glock and the AR-15 felt heavier in the strap across his back. He swung his light around the room and saw another door across from the one through which they had entered. Then he saw the footprints forming a path in dust towards it.
“No way to tell when, Bones, but I think you’re right. Might as well open it anyway.”
