Young Whit and the Traitor's Treasure

by Phil Lollar

  “Who do you think wrote it?”

  “The boy, of course!”

  “How do you know it’s from him?”

  Johnny pointed at the drawing. “This is my diagram. It blew out of my hand when I first saw him and landed against the fence between the water tower and Granville House. Who else would it be?”

  Emmy shrugged. “The man in the cloak? He could have seen it, too, right?”

  “But why would he send me a note telling me he’s going to reveal who he is?”

  “I dunno! You’re the Sherlock around here!”

  He grimaced. “Are you saying you don’t believe he’s a ghost anymore?”

  “I still haven’t entirely ruled out that possibility,” she said with a smirk.

  “Well, I guess I’ll find out for certain tomorrow afternoon.”

  “You mean we will.”

  “Right.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  The next day crawled by. Pretty much everyone at school had heard about Johnny’s connection to G.W. by now, and everyone but Emmy avoided him as if he had the plague. Even the teachers were noticeably cooler. He didn’t care since he and Emmy were back on speaking terms, but he didn’t want his “traitor” status to affect her reputation as well.

  He would have liked to talk to Ben, but the custodian was always in the middle of a bunch of kids whenever Johnny saw him. They couldn’t even do their mop-name exchange.

  Wilson was cockier than ever now that his great-granddaddy had resurfaced to prominence, and he and his goons made mock retching sounds whenever Johnny passed by. Wilson was a little too cocky, though. When a teacher told him to stop making the noise, he sassed her and got put on detention after school.

  “At least he won’t be following us,” Johnny whispered to Emmy, who nodded with satisfaction.

  When at long last the bell rang, ending their final class period, he and Emmy bolted from their desks and raced out of the building as fast as they could. They wanted to get to the Granville House as soon as possible, but they also figured a fast exit would prevent anyone from following them. They made their way to the old mansion and slipped through the opening in the front gates. The overgrown trees and brush hid the afternoon sun and made the air seem thick and heavy.

  Emmy gulped. “So ... where to now?”

  “To the place where I first saw him,” Johnny replied determinedly. “This way.”

  Though Johnny had been on the grounds previously, it had been early in the morning with a fog all around. The afternoon shadings now made things look different. He and Emmy took a few wrong turns before he finally recognized the thicket of trees and the clearing where they could view the water tower. Johnny saw the wires from his experiment still hanging from the top of the tower, and the battery at its base. He knew he needed to return and complete the experiment when the next storm came.

  “Where is he?” Emmy whispered loudly.

  “I dunno,” he replied with a shrug.

  A murder of crows passed overhead, cawing loudly, which made Emmy jump and grab his hand. “It’s just birds, Emmy, not ghosts,” Johnny said with a grin, and she immediately let go, reddening.

  “Very funny,” she said. The crows landed in the clump of trees. “Should we call out or something?”

  But before Johnny could answer, they heard a snap and rustling from the clump of trees, and the crows took off in a frenzy of feathers, claws, and screeches. This time, Emmy grabbed Johnny’s whole arm, and he stiffened and gulped.

  “H-hello?” he stammered. “W-who’s there?”

  A figure stepped out from the thicket of trees and replied, “Well, it ain’t Sarepta.” He then threw back his head and laughed.

  “Ben!” exclaimed both Johnny and Emmy. They rushed to him.

  “What are you doing here?” said Johnny.

  “I could ask you the same question,” Ben replied.

  “We’re here to meet someone.”

  “Are you the man in the cloak?” Emmy blurted out.

  “Cloak?” Ben asked. “I don’t know nothin’ ’bout no cloak.”

  “Did you see a boy here, about my age and size?” Johnny asked, looking around.

  Ben looked even more confused. “I don’t know nothin’ ’bout no boy, neither.” He eyed them both. “Seems there’s a lotta stuff goin’ on I don’t know ’bout.”

  Emmy sighed. “You probably scared him off!” she declared. “And the man in the cloak, too!”

  Johnny showed Ben the diagram. “You didn’t send me this note?”

  Ben took it and looked it over. “Nope, though this explains why you’re here.” He examined the drawing more closely. “‘By J.A. Whittaker.’ You drew this?”

  Johnny nodded, still looking around.

  “It’s good. Gotta few design flaws, though.”

  “Really? Like what?”

  Ben pointed. “Well, see here, I’m not sure this is good buffering material, and this diode needs—”

  Emmy snatched the diagram and said, “Will you two forget the experiment?” She shoved the paper back into Johnny’s hands.

  “Right!” Johnny replied, looking at Ben. “If you didn’t write the note—”

  “And you aren’t the man in the cloak ...” Emmy interjected.

  “Yeah, then what are you doing here?”

  “I followed you,” Ben answered. “I tried to talk to you after school, but y’all run off too fast.”

  “Talk to us about what?” Johnny asked.

  Ben pointed at Johnny. “Your great-granduncle.”

  Johnny and Emmy exchanged looks, and he sighed. “So you know, too, eh?”

  “Ev’ybody knows now,” Ben replied, “thanks to Wilson. That boy’s mouth runs faster than an electric fan set on high.”

  Emmy giggled.

  Ben leaned in toward Johnny, eyes narrowed. “It’s true, then? Your great-granduncle was G.W. McClintock?”

  Johnny’s shoulder’s slumped, and he nodded. “It’s true. There’s a traitor in my line.”

  Ben shook his head. “G.W. McClintock was no traitor.” He beckoned them to follow him, and they headed back to the thicket of trees. “And he weren’t no liar, thief, nor coward, neither.”

  “That’s nice of you to say, Ben,” said Johnny, “but there’s only one account of the story, Thaddeus’s. He was the only eyewitness.”

  Ben stopped at the edge of the trees. “No, he weren’t. There was another one.”

  Johnny and Emmy were taken aback. “Who?” they said together.

  “Thaddeus’s slave,” Ben replied with a frown.

  “Thaddeus had a slave?” said Emmy.

  Ben nodded. “Yup, and he saw ev’ythang.” He disappeared into the thicket.

  Johnny and Emmy exchanged wide-eyed looks and scrambled in after him.

  From inside the thicket, they could see that what looked like a clump of overgrown trees and brush was actually an almost perfect circle of shagbark hickory and yellowwood, planted in even intervals. Shafts of musty light filtered through the branches and cast angular shadows across the mossy ground. Ben crossed to the center of the circle, and Johnny and Emmy joined him.

  Ben gestured. “This here is called Lover’s Circle. Long, long time ago, this was where proper couples would come a-courtin’. They’d read love poems and sing romantic songs. Then when the place fell into disrepair, the couples started goin’ elsewhere.” Ben looked at Johnny and said, “Tell me what you know ’bout G.W.’s story.”

  Johnny recounted the information they had gathered at the library, including the article on Thaddeus’s ghost, and what Wilson and the clerk had said as well.

  Ben shook his head. “Like I said, y’all got lots goin’ on!”

  “Okay,” said Johnny, “but what do you know?”

  “Well, according to the slave’s account, the first part of Captain Knox’s story is correct. Him and G.W. were supposed to take the Confederate gold to General Johnston’s army. The Yankees was all around, and they didn’t wanna
get captured and the Yankees to get the gold. So they buried it—right on this here spot where we standin’, in fact.”

  Emmy and Johnny both looked at the ground, stunned. “That’s amazing!” Johnny said.

  “Yeah,” said Ben, “but it’s after that where the captain’s story goes off the rails. See, it was Thaddeus who lost his nerve and turned coward, not G.W. It was Thaddeus who wanted them to steal the gold and hightail it outta there. It was G.W. who tried to stop Thaddeus. And when they scuffled, it was Thaddeus who shot G.W. in the head, which alerted the Union troops.”

  Johnny was shaking. He took a deep breath and whispered, “I knew Wilson’s story couldn’t be true!”

  Emmy put her hand on his arm and said gently, “Now, wait a minute. No offense, Johnny—or to you, either, Ben—but why should we believe this account of the story over Thaddeus’s?”

  Johnny glared at her, but he knew she was right.

  Ben nodded slowly and said, “No offense taken, Miss Emmy. It’s a good question and one that needed askin’. The answer is, I hope you’ll believe this account because of the name of the slave who wrote it.”

  Emmy looked confused. “I-I don’t see what that—”

  “His name was my name,” Ben interrupted evenly. “Huck. He was my granddaddy.”

  Emmy’s jaw dropped. “Your grandfather was Thaddeus’s slave?”

  Ben smiled. “Now, why you so surprised? Slavery only ended in this country seventy years ago. Most all black folk around here have a parent or grandparent or great-grandparent who was a slave. And they’s some older folks still alive who was slaves themselves.”

  Emmy’s face reddened. “I guess I never thought about it that way.”

  “Me either,” said Johnny softly. “But as much as I want to believe your grandfather’s version is the truth, it’s still his word against Thaddeus’s. There’s no way to prove it.”

  “You mean, because who’s gonna believe a former slave over a Southern hero,” said Ben, “even if the hero really weren’t one?”

  “Well ... yeah.”

  “That’s just what my granddaddy thought, too. And he was right. He tried to get the true story as part of the record. But the town officials didn’t wanna hear it.” He scowled. “Still don’t. Old feelin’s die hard.”

  Emmy sighed. “So, since we can’t prove it, we’re sunk.”

  Ben smiled again. “Not so fast, Miss Emmy! If you can both be just a lil’ more patient, I’ll get to the proof part. Think you can do that?”

  Johnny and Emmy nodded.

  “Now, where was we? ... Oh, yeah, the scuffle. As the two of ’em fought, G.W. whacked Thaddeus on the noggin, openin’ up a wound. That’s when Thaddeus pulled his revolver and shot G.W. in the head. When the Rebs heard it, they came runnin’, and Thaddeus cooked up that big story about G.W. desertin’.

  “They weren’t no time to check it out, what with the Yankees comin’ at ’em. So Thaddeus went with the Rebs. But my granddaddy knew that wouldn’t last. First chance Thaddeus got, he’d run away and go back for the money. My granddaddy thought your great-granduncle was dead, and he was real ashamed that he didn’t help him in the fight with Thaddeus. So he thought he’d help him in a different way—and get back at his master while he was at it.”

  “What’d he do?” asked Emmy, wide-eyed.

  “He saw where they buried the gold. So he came back here, dug it up, and hid it in a different spot.”

  Johnny and Emmy looked at each other, mouths agape. “He moved it?” she said.

  Ben chuckled. “Sho did! And sho ’nough, soon as Thaddeus got the chance, he deserted and came straight back here. But when he started diggin’—”

  “No gold!” interjected Johnny.

  “Not a single coin! The war ended soon after that, and it weren’t long before the gov’ment came lookin’ for that money. Thaddeus couldn’t tell ’em the truth, and since he also thought G.W. was dead, he made up the story about him. Since the Knox family had been here longer than anyone else, everyone believed him—”

  “And labeled my great-granduncle a coward, a liar, a thief, and a traitor,” Johnny said through gritted teeth.

  “Did your grandfather keep the money?” asked Emmy.

  “’Course not. It weren’t his.”

  “So? He could have considered it compensation for all those years being a slave!”

  “That’s what my father said when he heard the story,” Ben replied. “Know what my granddaddy tole him?”

  “What?”

  “Two wrongs don’t make a right.”

  Emmy shot Johnny a quick glance and lowered her head. “Oh, uh, yeah,” she muttered.

  “Besides,” Ben continued, “how would it look for a former slave to suddenly turn up with a whole buncha Confederate gold? ’Specially durin’ Reconstruction, when ev’ybody else was so poor?”

  “Not too good,” Emmy admitted.

  “So why didn’t he just give it to the government?” asked Johnny.

  “They was no more Confederate gov’ment anymore, and he knew if he gave it to the Yankee gov’ment, they wouldn’t give it to the people it belonged to.”

  “And who was that?” asked Emmy.

  Ben frowned. “Ain’t you been listenin’? General Johnston’s soldiers!”

  “Oh!” said Emmy. “Right!”

  “Thaddeus was lucky my great-granduncle never came back here,” said Johnny with a tinge of bitterness.

  “Yeah, I’ve been meaning to ask you about that,” said Emmy. “Why didn’t he ever return?”

  “I’m not sure,” Johnny answered, “but now that I know more of the story, I think getting shot in the head may have caused him to lose some of his memory. Before the war, he wrote to my Great-Grandpa Thomas about life here in this area and joining the army. And during the war, he wrote about all the battles he was in, including Gettysburg. But as the war dragged on, the letters wound down and then stopped altogether. There was a gap in them, from the end of the war to about five years later.

  “Then one day, the letters started coming again, this time from Texas. He never mentioned Provenance or the war again. And he never said anything about any of this. I think he just forgot it all.”

  Ben nodded thoughtfully. “I suppose that makes sense. I can tell you that if he had come back, though, my granddaddy woulda shown him where the money was right away. He knew your great-granduncle was a good man.”

  “Wait,” said Emmy. “If your grandfather saw Thaddeus do all this, why didn’t Thaddeus just shoot him, too?”

  “Two reasons,” replied Ben. “First, Thaddeus didn’t know Granddaddy was there. When he heard that Thaddeus and G.W. were back in the area, Granddaddy tailed them, ’cause he knew what kind of man his master could be. He wanted to be nearby to at least try to help your great-granduncle if Thaddeus turned rotten, which he did.”

  Johnny perked up. “That’s the second time you’ve mentioned that. Why would your grandfather want to help my great-granduncle?”

  “That has to do with the second reason,” Ben said. “G.W. McClintock may have been a Southerner and even fought for the Confederacy, but he hated slavery.”

  Johnny nodded. “Yeah, I know that. He wrote about it in his letters to my grandpa. He said it was evil and that the state would be almost paradise if it could just stop slavery. He also said he tried to help the slaves, too, but he never said how.”

  “Not just tried,” Ben said. “He did help ’em, including my granddaddy. See, even if Thaddeus had known that Granddaddy had seen everything, he never woulda worried about him talkin’ because he couldn’t.”

  “Couldn’t what?” asked Emmy.

  “Talk,” said Ben. “Granddaddy was mute.”

  A chill went down Johnny’s spine. Just like the man in my dream! he thought. The man in my dream was Ben’s grandfather!

  “Johnny?” said Ben. “You all right? You looked a little glazed there for a sec.”

  “Uh, yeah, I’m fine. This is just ..
. unbelievable!”

  “You ain’t heard nothin’ yet. Like I said, Thaddeus thought that a mute slave who couldn’t read nor write couldn’t tell anybody an’thin’. But what Thaddeus never knew was that Granddaddy could read and write! And his kids and grandkids could read and write, too! All that thanks to G.W. McClintock.”

  Johnny’s jaw dropped. “What?” he exclaimed.

  “That’s right. Your great-granduncle taught my granddaddy to read and write. In fact, he taught dozens of slaves to read and write, and he did it before the war ever started—which means he had to do it in secret, ’cause it were illegal. That’s why if you talk to most black folks around here—most black folks around the state, in fact—they’ll tell you they know your great-granduncle is a hero.”

  Johnny felt a surge of pride well up inside him.

  Ben continued, “Granddaddy never forgot that kindness. So after the war, when Thaddeus started spreadin’ his story around, Granddaddy came up with a way to prove G.W. was innocent.”

  “How?” asked Emmy.

  “The money,” Johnny answered.

  Emmy looked confused. “You mean, the Confederate gold?”

  “Yup,” said Ben. “That’s the proof.”

  She blinked. “I still don’t get it.”

  Johnny took a deep breath and said, “The only way to prove my great-granduncle was innocent, and that Huck’s story is true, is to find the Confederate gold.”

  Emmy blinked with excitement, her eyes shining. “Oh! Wow! Uh, okay ... so ... where is it?”

  Ben frowned. “If it were that easy, Miss Emmy, I woulda cleared this up a long time ago. See, I was a boy when I read my granddaddy’s account of what happened, and he wrote in it that ‘the proof lies in the pictures.’ But he never said what pictures. And he died before he could tell me.”

  Sounds familiar, Johnny thought.

  “Didn’t he tell your father?” asked Emmy.

  “No, ’cause he knew my daddy’d keep the gold!” Ben sighed wistfully. “My daddy can be ... difficult. He and my granddaddy never got along, and he and I don’t, neither.” He shook his head. “But that’s not important. About twenty years ago, all the folks and relatives of the folks G.W. helped decided to write down their stories and see if they could force the town to make them part of the public record. Daddy gathered up all Granddaddy’s papers, including the proof, in a big box and gave ’em to the folks who was takin’ the stories to the records clerk.”