Holy City (Jack Francis Novel)

by M Murphy

  “Where’s that?” I asked.

  “Washington Square. Now get in the car so we can have a look for ourselves.”

  My first response was not to go to Washington Square with Hannah. I had made a promise to keep my nose out of other’s business, and I had the feeling I was being watched until I left on

  that plane tomorrow. Somehow though, in my gut, I knew that this was it…a real ending.

  We parked in a metered spot near the corners of Broad and Meeting Street. The locals call the intersection The Four Corners of Law. On one corner sits the law of God with St. Michael’s Church. The other three corners house man’s law at the federal, state, and local levels. Behind the beautiful city hall building, on the northeast corner is Washington Square.

  In the middle of the square was a large obelisk dedicated to the Washington Light Infantry and is adorned with important military battles. The western entrance is guarded by a statue of President George Washington, and the southern gate by a bust of Henry Timrod.

  “The poet is almost on par with the country’s greatest leader.” I said to Hannah, as we sat on a bench beneath a great shadowy oak.

  “That’s not all. On the back wall is a memorial to General Pierre Beauregard, defender of the city during the Civil War. That same wall houses dedications to those lost, Masonic plaques, and even memorials from the Society of Cincinnatus. The north entrance has a commemoration to Andre Jackson’s mother, a native, and in the middle of it all the ultimate marker, an obelisk.”

  “What does it all mean?” I asked.

  “The square has been here since 1818, but all of this…the memorials, statues, and markers…were added after the Civil War. The two essential pieces, the obelisk and the Henry Timrod bust, were added in 1891 and 1901 respectively.”

  “What you’re saying is that this whole square was designed to honor the heroes of South Carolina? Well, that doesn’t seem so odd.”

  “It wouldn’t, except for the clues that point here and the fact that the obelisk was donated by James Trenholm, son of the

  Confederate Treasure and ancestor to Jason Trenholm.”

  “Are you saying that the remains of the Confederate Treasury are under the obelisk?”

  “I’m sure that whatever treasure the Trenholm’s were hiding is buried here. It’s too perfect. What I wouldn’t give for a few metal detectors and some ground image software.”

  “I’m not sold.” I said, standing to have a better look around.

  I began to walk. The dedications to Andrew Jackson’s mother and General Beauregard were short and sweet. Henry Timrod’s bust held a vague description of the man, and the George Washington statue filled me with American pride. I circled around the obelisk on the brick path. The sun trickled in through the tree branches as I moved. There were tourists around, but I felt alone in the park, a cool reprieve from the Carolina heat. Names of battlefields graced the steps that led up to the column, and I mouthed the name of each one as I walked around.

  “Manassas, Fort Sumter, Secessionville.” I read to myself quietly, as I moved around the circle surrounding the memorial.

  Kneeling down behind the Washington statue, I could see a direct line from my point through the obelisk and to the Beauregard memorial. I walked around and knelt behind Henry Timrod’s bust and I had the same direct line to Elizabeth Jackson’s marker. The square was laid out perfectly symmetrical with each significant marker…the exact same distance apart and forming a perfect cross, or from another angle an x. I could see Hannah watching me, and she was smiling. Closer, I walked towards the obelisk, and I traversed the grass barrier from the brick path to the

  first step. It was there, above the words Fort Sumter, that I saw my answer. The hooked x was only slightly visible, etched softly into the marble step, but it was undeniably there. I looked to Hannah, who was now moving towards me with a smile of satisfaction on her face.

  “X marks the spot.” I said to her.

  “You might say that.”

  Other Titles by

  MP Murphy

  A Jack Francis Novel

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