“Help me,” she whispered hoarsely, knowing the flames were growing closer and would surely drown her out. “Help me.”
Her last thought, before fading into total darkness was,
Why didn’t he…
“So how was your visit to the mountains?” Amy asked cheerfully.
Taryn closed her eyes, too chicken to watch the scene on the interstate unfold a second time. “Not as good as I’d hoped,” she answered, praying the ride would be mercifully short, but not so short that Amy put anyone’s life at risk.
“Shame,” Amy replied with what sounded like genuine regret. “Well, you didn’t miss much. Actually, I don’t know. I didn’t go back to work yesterday, so I don’t know if anything happened or not.”
Taryn smiled but kept her eyes closed.
“Hey, you okay?” Taryn could feel Amy turn and study her from the driver’s seat. For a moment the car swerved dangerously to the right and Taryn grabbed ahold of the arm rest in fear.
“Just tired,” she replied as Amy straightened the vehicle and almost overcorrected. “I didn’t sleep well last night.”
“Trouble sleeping in a new place?”
“Nightmares,” Taryn answered shortly.
“Yeah. I get them a lot too. Steve says that they’re a product of working around so many ghosts,” Amy cackled.
“Your boyfriend, Steve? Is that the same guy who’s a valet?” Taryn asked with interest.
“Yep, same dude. We’ve been dating for two years now. He’s pretty cool. He’s an artist you know,” Amy declared with pride. “Kind of a starving artist if you know what I mean. He took the valet gig to pay the bills. His real love is art.”
“I didn’t know that,” Taryn said. “That’s pretty cool.”
“Yeah, well, we don’t plan on making the hotel our full-time gig forever,” Amy swore. “We’re starting a kind of artists’ colony over in Brunswick. They’ve put some work in the downtown. I mean, it’s still a little ghetto in some places, but the town’s shaping up. I think one day it will be as awesome as Savannah. I’m kinda glad of being in on it from the ground floor if you know what I mean.”
“Yeah, I think that’s pretty awesome,” Taryn replied truthfully. “So what do you guys do?”
“Well, Steve lives with five other guys in this big old Victorian house they’re trying to renovate. His roommate bought it dirt cheap a year ago, and they’re making the downstairs a studio and gallery. They all live upstairs.”
Taryn could hear the pride in Amy’s voice. She loved the fact that young people were getting together to make changes in their city. It was an exciting time to be young these days, and she’d started noticing a lot of kids trying to rehab, restore, and save their history and culture. She respected that.
“You should come chill with us some night. Hang out with us in Savannah,” Amy suggested as she took the Brunswick exit at top speed. “There’s some awesome clubs and cafes up there. Live music if you’re into that.”
“Yeah,” Taryn agreed. “Sounds nice.”
As they sailed over the soaring bridge at breakneck speed, Amy turned up Sturgill Simpson and sang along at the top of her lungs. In spite of Taryn’s fear of plunging into the water below, with the windows down and the summer breeze pouring through the car she couldn’t help but smile. She was starting to get used to, and like, the companionship.
She hadn’t thought she’d be that happy to return to Jekyll Island, considering everything that had happened. As it turned out, she felt a little bit like she was going home.
Chapter 19
Taryn was stretched out on her couch, catching up on her DVR’d DIY shows when she suddenly remembered the email Matt had sent her the morning before.
“Shit!” she exclaimed. She jumped off the couch and began firing up her laptop.
With touring Sarah’s house, meeting with the attorney, and then passing out fairly early at the hotel she’d totally forgotten to get online. She’d texted Matt when she landed both times but hadn’t talked to him yet. She needed to read that email before she called him, or else it would hurt his feelings. After all, he had worked hard doing research on her behalf.
Sure enough, he’d written her a long message and included several links, attachments, and screen shots.
Dearest Love,
Hope your short trip goes well and that this finds you well. Know that I am always thinking of you and just a thought away if you need me.
Like I said before I left, I’ve continued to research our story and what may or may not have happened on our island. I did manage to uncover a few pertinent pieces of information that may be of value.
Although I still haven’t been able to determine if the clandestine meeting regarding the formation of the Federal Reserve is nothing more than an urban legend, and we’ll probably never know for sure, it appears to have more truth than not.
The Federal Reserve was created in 1913, but the meeting supposedly took place three years earlier in 1910. The meeting, cloaked as a “duck hunt,” consisted of quite a few members of the Club and several names of well-known bankers and U.S. senators you’d recognize. These are: Senator Nelson Aldrich, Frank Vanderlip (from CitiBank), Henry Davison of Morgan Bank, George F. Baker (president of the First National Bank), JP Morgan and Paul Warburg of the Loeb Investment House.
Bertie Forbes (you know, from the magazine) wrote about the meeting. His words:
“Picture a party of the nation’s greatest bankers stealing out of New York on a private railroad car under cover of darkness, stealthily riding hundreds of miles South, embarking on a mysterious launch, sneaking onto an island deserted by all but a few servants, living there a full week under such rigid secrecy that the names of not one of them was once mentioned, lest the servants learn the identity and disclose to the world this strangest, most secret expedition in the history of American finance. I am not romancing; I am giving to the world, for the first time, the real story of how the famous Aldrich currency report, the foundation of our new currency system, was written... The utmost secrecy was enjoined upon all.”
So why were these men anxious to form the Federal Reserve in the first place? Well, that’s a complicated matter, and you can read about that in the attachments. The Cliff Notes’ version is that it was partly due to a stock market crash that occurred in, you guessed it, 1907. The crash was called the “Wall Street Panic” and until the Great Depression 20+ years later it was the worst economic depression the country had seen. As you can imagine, lots of bad things happened. It finally ended with JP Morgan handing out personal loans to banks himself. Of course, everyone knew there wouldn’t always BE a JP Morgan to get them out of trouble so they needed to create an emergency fund of sorts.
I’m attaching two documents and several links that you might want to peruse in regards to this event. Fascinating reading, really, and I am not even that interested in economics and the history of banking.
I have no earthly idea how this fits into everything else that went on, but there you go, love.
Be well,
Matt
Taryn sighed and looked at the attachments. There were a lot. Still, the idea of a secret meeting on the island was kind of fun and she dug the whole secrecy of it. She’d sort through the research later. There was a second email from Matt, written an hour after the first, and she turned to it now.
Hello my dear!
I thought I’d separate these letters since they’re technically different topics.
So…we know very little about Mr. Hawkins and his lovely wife, other than the fact that they’d been to the Club in the past and must have been wealthy. I did some more digging and found out more information, some of which I think will be pertinent.
It appears that our Mr. Hawkins was an attorney from Manhattan. His lovely wife, Rachel, was from a wealthy Boston family. She came from big money; he did not. They met through acquaintances while she was visiting New York with her family. It seems that Mr. Hawkins swept her off her feet.
Although the law firm he was a junior partner at was a prominent one, he’d more or less worked his way up to it. I didn’t uncover anything about his family or background.
I found some letters from her family on Ancestry.com. He was not pleased with the match, but her father finally allowed it to go through. Unusual for the time, her father remained in charge of her money and inheritance until his death. (I guess in those days it should’ve gone to the husband as soon as they married but you know more about these things than I do.) I imagine her father still didn’t trust the man and was afraid he’d run off with her money. Anyway, that didn’t last long–her father died in a hunting accident when she and William had only been married for two years. And guess who her father had been hunting with that afternoon? Yep. His son-in-law.
I believe a Club member had to sponsor a new member. I don’t know who sponsored the Hawkins on the island. I couldn’t find any other correspondence between Rachel and any of her family members after her father’s death. Before his death there were letters from cousins, aunts, and uncles. Afterward, nothing. I’ve taken screenshots and attached what I was able to find.
So, my love, there you go. I hope that will perhaps shed a little bit of light on some of the story.
Alas, I fear that I could find no connection between the “secret” meeting and the sinking of the Titanic. I tried.
Stay well love,
Matt
Taryn had a lot to think about as she put the finishing touches on Ivy House. It was her last day to work on that cottage, and she spent her afternoon going over the smallest of details, ensuring that everything about it was perfect. She’d probably finish Adena Cottage the next day if all went well, and then wait a day or two to wrap things up. It was almost time to leave.
And she still wasn’t sure what was going on.
“Help me, help me,” she heard the voice cry out over and over again in her mind.
But it was too late to help anyone who had died on that island. Rachel, William, and everyone who’d been alive at the time of that fire were gone. She couldn’t help any of them.
At any rate, how could she help Rachel? Rachel’s death was a tragedy, of course, but it had also been avenged. Her husband had gone to the gallows for her. Justice was served. What else mattered?
“Unless he’s not guilty,” she said aloud, pausing with her paintbrush in the air.
A seagull flew overhead and cried in agreement, its high-pitched call ethereal.
Tourists milled around the grounds and talked in low voices, some with expensive point and shoot cameras in hand. She watched them absently as they knelt down and zoomed in on bees and flowers, taking their time while impatient spouses and children stood by and tried not to complain.
Taryn was having a hard time concentrating. There was something she was meant to be doing, but she didn’t know what that was.
“I can finish this back at the house,” she sighed at last, disappointed at her lack of concentration. “Sorry Ivy.”
Ivy House had yet to come to care for her presence and was unimpressed by her departure.
She was on the golf cart, slowly driving down Stable Road when something flashed from the corner of her eye. Lost in a daydream she nearly ran into the man who was also not paying attention to her as he crossed the street. Slamming on the brakes, she came to a screeching halt just inches from his feet. Both jumped and let out startled cries.
“I am so sorry!” she cried to the figure in front of her.
He’d been doubled over at the waist, trying to catch his breath from the scare, but when he straightened up and looked at Taryn she thought her heart would stop. The eyes, the baseball cap, the smug smile–she was absolutely positive she was looking at the same young man she’d seen that night on the beach.
“Are y-y-you okay?” she stammered.
Straightening his ball cap he dusted off his pants and turned to face her. “Yeah. You just want to be careful what you’re doing,” he replied smoothly. “You’re liable to get hurt around here.”
“I wasn’t the one crossing the street without looking both ways,” she tried to joke but felt uneasy from his piercing gaze.
The man laughed, an ugly sound escaping from a face that wasn’t altogether unattractive. “Yeah, but you never know what you’re going to run into around here if you don’t watch it.”
With a sly smirk, he turned and sauntered on across the road then, leaving Taryn alone.
The night air felt good against her skin. In spite of the bugs that bit at her legs, leaving behind small welts, she was enjoying sitting on her patio, listening to the night sounds.
Feeling off centered, she’d treated herself to a seafood dinner at one of the local restaurants and then took a nap. Now, at almost midnight, she was wide awake. She liked this time of night on Jekyll, when most people were going to bed and the island came alive with its real inhabitants. Although she’d met a coral snake and an alligator, both of which had tried to kill her, she was falling in love with the wildness. It was a quiet wilderness that crept behind the modern façade of middle-class civilization and this fascinated her.
Yes, there were brick ranch houses, a Dairy Queen, and a water park where one could buy $4 colas.
There were also hills of fire ants that could literally kill a person and alligators in the golf course ponds.
A crackling of wood startled her, breaking the natural sounds of the night, and had Taryn jumping to her feet. It was the sound of footsteps, and they were close.
Remembering the man she’d nearly hit on the road, Taryn’s pulse quickened and she realized, again, that she was without weapon or cell phone.
“Shit,” she muttered and quickly looked around for something hard or sharp.
The big citronella candle she’d bought from Target was the best thing she had so she lifted it by the handle. She took a few cautious steps towards the corner of the house. Quietly walking on tiptoes the way she’d done at her grandmother’s house when she wanted a midnight snack but didn’t want to wake anyone up going down the stairs, she pretended she was as light as air.
“Hello!” she called, trying to keep the tremble from her shaking voice. “Who’s there?”
The crackling came again, this time the unmistakable sound of someone walking on dry sticks. The heavy footsteps were getting closer and Taryn was about to turn and run into the house when David came into view, the flames from the candle throwing shadows upon his face.
“Oh my God,” Taryn breathed, lowering the candle and taking a step back. “You scared the hell out of me.”
For some reason, she wasn’t entirely at ease with his presence, however, and her heart rate did not lower. It was late, after all. What was he doing there?
“Sorry,” he apologized, walking towards her. His hair was disheveled, wild looking, and she could see that his hands were black from dirt. “I had to come and see you.”
She considered asking him inside but then decided that if she needed to make a break she should be in a place that had more than two exits.
Oh stop it Taryn, she chastised herself as she pointed him to the other chair. Matt has you totally paranoid. You like David.
Yeah, you like David, came another smaller voice that she tried to ignore.
“What’s the matter?” she finally asked when she found the right words.
“I found something,” he said, his voice animated and his eyes lighting up. “I found something you won’t believe.”
“Yeah?” she asked, still not willing to trust him but wanting to. “What was it?”
“I–I don’t know if I should tell you,” he said at last, looking down at his feet.
“Um, you came sneaking around here at midnight to tell me something that you can’t tell me? That doesn’t make a whole lot of sense dude.”
David brushed back a long strand of his hair and then got up. She watched him prowl around her backyard, as lean and graceful as a big cat. There was definitely something on his mind. His body w
as taut, and she recognized the way he kept smoothing his hair back and popping his knuckles. He was full of nervous energy.
“Okay,” he finally said, stopping in his tracks and turning to stare at Taryn. She could barely make out anything more than the outline of his body in the darkness. “I was taking a walk on the beach tonight, up by where they’re building the new hotel? And there were some men there. They didn’t see me so I watched them for a few minutes. I thought, you know, that they might be trying to steal something.”
Taryn nodded in encouragement for him to continue.
“They were digging, and one of them brought something up. It looked like tools, but it was pretty dark so it was hard to see. I hid in the dunes. After oh, about half an hour I guess, they all piled up into a truck and left. They had a big bag of things they’d found, all kind of clinking together.”
Taryn sat back and listened, her face impassive. He watched her as he spoke and she got the feeling that he was fishing for a reaction. When she offered none, he went on.
“When they left I got up and went over to where they’d been digging. They’d thrown a tarp over the spot and I lifted it up. Taryn! It was full of artifacts. Just full,” he nearly shouted in excitement.
Taryn hadn’t noticed the small canvas bag slung over his shoulder until he took it off. Holding it out before him, he stomped over to her chair and knelt beside her on the ground. “Look, look what I found!” One by one he laid out a variety of weapons at her feet. With the amount of grime and dirt embedded in them it was impossible to tell how old they were, but they clearly weren’t new.
“And this, too.”
The last thing he placed at her feet was a skull. It was a small one, no bigger than a child’s, and Taryn recoiled slightly, both enthralled and shocked by it.
Jekyll Island: A Paranormal Mystery (Taryn's Camera Book 5) Page 18
