Buried Roots

by Cynthia Raleigh

  There. That’s what his eye had noticed but he hadn’t acknowledged. That’s what happens when you get a little careless. It was unlike anything else in the box, or any of the other boxes. It was a ring, but he had thought it another cheap trinket. He removed it from the bag and held it directly under the fluorescent light where his shadow wouldn’t obscure any detail. It had one stone in the middle, a dark red stone, a garnet he thought. There were six very small pearls of varying color arranged around the garnet. The stones were enclosed in gold filigree work.”

  Tom muttered aloud to himself, “I’m no jeweler. I have no idea if this is real or costume jewelry.” The diameter was small. He tipped it this way and that to read the inscription on the inside. He couldn’t tell if there were originally only two words or if some had worn away. He could just read ‘y Betsy.’ Probably ‘My Betsy’ or perhaps, judging by the positioning of the words, ‘To’ or ‘For My Betsy.”

  Tom slipped the ring back in the bag as he stood and left the meeting room. Lost in thought and still looking at the ring, he went to the doorway of Archer’s office. He hadn’t been consciously thinking about it or he wouldn’t even have considered interrupting. He stopped short before knocking and turned to leave, but Archer caught sight of him and said, “Tom, come on in. Meet Dr. Graham.”

  The man sitting in the chair rose and Tom reached out to shake hands. Dr. Graham had a firm shake. Tom appreciated that. He was always disappointed when meeting someone to shake their hand and find it was like grasping the hand of someone unconscious. It seemed to make him feel like he was violating their personal space rather than greeting them. Archer introduced the two and said, “Tom Watkins is a history professor at a college in Indiana. He’s been here since late last week for a re-enacting event and he is helping me out by going through all the inventory we recovered to spot any other genuine items.”

  “Oh, great. Re-enacting huh? Was there a big event here this week?” Dr. Graham looked at Archer.

  “Not a big event, a pretty small one really. A coworker owns some land outside town here and every year we have an event there. It’s really more of a demonstration, a teaching kind of thing, a way to interest people and bring in new members. But it’s fun.”

  “I didn’t know that. I wish I had, I might have come in a day or two early.” He gestured at the desk where the knife lay, “But, I didn’t miss out on getting to see this. It’s fabulous, in amazing condition.”

  “Tom’s wife is the one who purchased the knife and scabbard, believing them to be reproductions.”

  Dr. Graham turned an appreciative look toward Tom, “I see! You’re a lucky man, Mr. Watkins. Are you staying in Midlothian?”

  “We were, until the event was over, but now we’ve moved to Ivy House in Richmond. I’m thrilled we are getting the chance to stay there.”

  Archer explained further, “It wasn’t until Nina, that’s Tom’s wife, gave it to Tom later that day that he had a look at it and recognized it for what it was, then they brought it here to me.”

  “So it truly is from the 1860s?” There was a definite note of hope in Tom’s voice.

  “Absolutely. It’s one of the finer small pieces from Memphis.” Dr. Graham could see the pleasure in Tom’s face. “Detective Vaughn passed along to me your appraisal of the knife and I’d say you were spot on.” He picked up the knife and continued. “While it is a side knife, it seems to have some of the aspects of the cavalry sword, the crossguard is larger than on most of the side knives one sees, and the quillons are curved more than is usual, although it doesn’t have the pronounced curl on the quillons or the floating ‘CS’ on the crossguard that is common on many of the cavalry swords that Memphis produced.”

  “What does that indicate to you?” Tom asked.

  “Well, I’d say it may have been custom made, not the entire thing, but a few custom changes perhaps. Or, it was a design that was tried and wasn’t popular, meaning very few were made and even fewer have been recovered. There are no markings that I can see to link it to any individual, no initials or regiment numbers etched into it.” He turned to Archer, “Where will this end up? It’s a beautiful piece.”

  Archer shook his head, “Not sure yet. It all depends on how this case works out in the end.”

  “I’d be curious to know its fate, if you don’t mind.” He took a card from his wallet and slid it across the desk to Archer, who picked up the card to read it. “I do a little collecting myself, but generally with Revolutionary War items. However, I take great interest in new finds like this from the Civil War. My email address is on the card. If you would, could you send me a message and let me know what is to become of it? Finds like these are increasingly rare. It would be a shame…”

  The passing seconds of silence caused Archer to look up. Dr. Graham was staring at the desk. Archer asked, “Everything alright?”

  Dr. Graham smiled briefly. “Yes. Yes. I was saying it would be a shame to have it end up somewhere unseen and unappreciated. I have to ask,” he pointed to the plastic bag with the ring that Tom had set down on the desk, “what is this you have? From here, it looks like a vintage ring. Surely, not another find from the same source?”

  Archer’s face fell, his brow furrowed.

  “I wondered about it myself,” Tom explained a little apologetically, “but I know next to nothing about period jewelry. It doesn’t have that glitzy, yellowy appearance that a lot of costume jewelry does, especially the cheap kind of stuff I’ve been finding in the inventory. It looked more substantial, even though it is delicate. I thought I’d better bring it to Archer’s attention.” Tom glanced at Archer to see he was rubbing the back of his neck, eyes closed.

  Dr. Graham pointed to the bag. “May I?”

  Archer picked it up and handed it to him, “By all means. Tell us what you think.”

  The professor carefully slipped the ring out of the bag and set it in the middle of his palm, raising his flattened hand to eye level. He turned the ring around, looked at it from all sides before placing it back on the desk. He reached into his briefcase and produced a rectangular black box which he set on the table. Snapping open the latches, he withdrew a pair of loupes and put them on. Archer and Tom glanced at each other. The professor held the ring very close to his face, examining every detail.

  Finally, Dr. Graham slipped the ring back into the plastic bag before carefully removing the loupes and returning them to their case. “Well. It’s a fine example of a mid-19th century ring, most likely a promise ring or engagement ring, it could even have been used as a wedding ring. The inscription inside would support that idea.”

  Tom looked at the ring again. “You say mid-century, not Civil War era?”

  “You mean mid-20th century, like the 1950s?” Archer asked with more than a little possible relief in this voice.

  “No, no, this piece is definitely early to mid-19th century. And it looks to be of high quality. The pearls are very small, yet are perfectly formed. Both the pearls and garnet are firmly mounted in well-crafted settings. The filigree is quite fine, no rough edges along the strands. The garnet is clear, deeply red, and well cut. The inscription inside is probably ‘To My Betsy,’ but the word ‘To’ and the ‘M’ have been rubbed away by wear. The lettering is well-executed. This was probably an expensive ring at the time it was purchased. A very much-admired lady received this from someone.”

  Archer was pressing his tongue against the inside of his lips and running it back and forth, like he did when he was thinking. He finally said, “There’s another thing to follow up on and figure out what to do with. This is getting complicated. It’s one thing when it is musket balls and buttons turning up, but when I start seeing elaborate custom-made knives and 160 plus year old jewelry floating around, I don’t like it.” He nodded toward the ring. “And now I get to write a report on it.”

  Once again picking up his briefcase, smiling, Dr. Graham said, “That is my cue to leave you to it. I’m chagrined to admit, I’m happy it is not a proble
m I have to solve. But call on me any time if you need to do so.”

  “Um, hang on Dr. Graham.” Archer was tapping his pen on the desk. “I don’t want to hold you up, but is there any chance we might be able to trace who this ring belonged to? Any way to follow up on jewelry like this?”

  “Well…that would be hard to say.” The professor rubbed his beard and thought about the question. “There isn’t going to be a register of sorts that lists who bought what jewelry from whom a century and a half ago, maybe even close to two centuries, if that’s what you mean, especially since we don’t know what region it came from. It is fine work, but not of a style so unique that I could definitively name a specific jeweler or designer who was responsible for it. It would help if it had remained in a collection, or the items from an estate sale, for instance. Then you’d have some context for the ring, but you have nothing more than a first name from the inscription. I’m sorry, but I feel that decreases your chances significantly, unfortunately, from nearly impossible to at best highly unlikely.”

  “Yeah, I was afraid you’d say that.”

  “Alternatively, there is always a chance the ring could have been listed in an appraisement after someone’s death, or in a Will where it was being bequeathed to someone, but even then, you’d have to know where to start looking. It could have come from another city, county, or even state. No way to know. I’m sorry, I don’t think you have much hope of tracking it down.”

  Tom nodded his agreement at the increasing amount of unanswered questions and total absence of answers, then brightened, “Hey, I have a thought.”

  “What’s that?” Archer asked.

  “I know you just have a first name, but why don’t we ask Perri to see if she can find anything out about it? In addition to all the genealogy stuff, she also does research on vintage items and property too. I know she tracked down the owner of an old German book of sermons someone found at a garage sale. It had a name in the front and she managed to find the man’s descendants and the book was returned to the family.”

  Dr. Graham and Archer were both listening intently. Archer replied, “That’s impressive.”

  The professor chimed in, “Well, it most certainly is, but she probably had a last name to assist her in that search. Who is this lady who does the research? I have had need of someone to do some research for me in the past when I’m too busy teaching, and I might again in the future.”

  Tom directed his answer to Dr. Graham, “Perri Seamore. She’s a friend of my wife’s, and mine too of course, but they’ve known each other since they were in kindergarten. She came with us to Virginia to go to the re-enactment. She might be able to find something out about the ring. It’s a long shot that she could find the actual owner, but she could probably at least date it or find out who the maker was. That might narrow down the area it came from. She said she was going back to the research library tomorrow and it wouldn’t hurt to try.”

  Archer looked unconvinced. “You think she’d mind? If she’s going, she must have research of her own to do.”

  “Right, she did have, but I think she got most of it done yesterday. I think she wanted to go back because she’s in town. Want me to check?”

  “Of course, yeah. Give it a shot.”

  “I do hope you are able to get the information you need, Sergeant Vaughn, but I really must go now. I am due to present a portion of this afternoon’s lecture on Revolutionary War lines of supply.”

  Tom stood and shook his hand, “It’s been very nice to meet you, Dr. Graham. Good luck with your presentation.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Watkins, it was a pleasure to meet you. I wish your friend, Ms. Seamore, luck with her research.”

  “Thanks for coming by. It was a great help to get verification, and I’m glad you were here to have a look at the ring.” Archer walked behind the professor to the door of his office.

  “No problem at all, I enjoyed it. It was a nice break from musty speeches about dry topics that too often pervade a week-long conference like this. If you find that you need further assistance, Detective Vaughn, I’m staying at Bottomley House at the University while I’m in town. You can reach me there. If I’m out, Janet, at the desk, will take a message and see that I get it.”

  Archer motioned to Tom, “I’ll be right back.”

  When the two men left the room, Tom drew his chair up to the desk and stared at the ring. A minute or two later, Archer re-entered the room and spoke first, “You gonna come up with any more problems for me, buddy?” He laughed and sat down, leaning far back in his swiveling chair. Archer kept it up, “Yeah, I thought we were in the clear on any more problem items bobbing to the surface of this mess, but no, no, Tom finds a piece of vintage jewelry.”

  “At least it wasn’t more than that.”

  “True enough.” Archer sank heavily into his office chair and leaned back, putting his feet up on the desk.

  “I’d better call to see if Perri is willing to do the research.” Tom called Nina’s phone and after a minute of explanation to her, he was talking to Perri. He described the situation and what had occurred in Archer’s office. He ended the call a short while later and said, “She’ll do it. She sounded happy to have a new puzzle to solve and I would be totally surprised if she doesn’t bulldog your answer out for you.”

  “I’m grateful she’s agreeable to the idea of rooting through fusty old records on a wild goose chase like this. I sure don’t have time to chase down inscriptions on rings. Hell, I don’t even know how.”

  “I’m grateful too but for a different reason. Nina usually goes along to help her and when the library card is out, the credit card is not. Oh, I also gave Perri your number, which you probably heard, but I figured she might want to call you directly if she finds something interesting.”

  “That’s fine, and I’m glad to oblige you, Mr. Watkins.”

  “I’d better get moving if I’m going to get through the rest of the boxes today. Can I take some pictures of this ring to send to Perri? She hasn’t seen it and it might make it pretty hard to research it without an image. My jewelry description skills are not as finely honed as the illustrious professor’s.”

  “Go right ahead, help yourself.”

  Tom took quite a few photos, adjusting the camera on his phone the best he could to decrease the glare and to bring it into focus, which proved impossible for the inscription. “That’s the best I can do. I’ll text her the inscription along with the photos. That should be good enough.”

  “I’m going to get started on some re-interviewing I need to do, so I might be leaving shortly.”

  “Alright. Let me know if you need me to scrounge out some more antiquities for you.”

  “I think I’ve reached my lifetime limit, thanks.”

  “Two is your lifetime limit? Lightweight.” Tom left the office and turned in the hallway, “We’ll call you buddy.”

  “See ya.” Archer looked unenthusiastically at the list of re-enactors that would need to be contacted.

  Chapter 22

  Perri walked to the library and eagerly climbed the stairs to the second level. First, she sat down at one of the computers near the main stacks and scanned the online catalog looking for information about jewelry from roughly 1825 to 1870 and on the Memphis knife company. She gathered four different books on subjects ranging from well-known jewelers of the time to the history and customs of engagement and wedding rings, and a book with a section on the history of the Memphis Novelty Company.

  She spent about forty-five minutes scanning the books and making notes. After reading through what she had written, she decided the knife might be the better item with which to begin her search.

  After storing her purse and satchel in a locker, Perri moved to the research room and started a new query in the Library of Virginia Archives. Even though there was little-to-no chance of pinpointing who the knife had belonged to, Perri hoped she might come across an article about one of its description being stolen, a mention of it being discover
ed, or an account of a Memphis knife with the same custom designs which might single it out.

  She typed in ‘Memphis knife,’ which hit on the word Memphis over six hundred times and the word knife exactly one hundred times, but zero instances of the two words together. ‘Too specific.’

  She tried ‘Civil War knife.’ After getting hits for hundreds of thousands of documents on the individual words, she specified that the words should appear together, which gave only seven results. ‘That’s more like it.’ The documents available included an article of a man killed with a knife in 1875, and a letter from a son, a Confederate soldier at the time, to his mother in 1863 in which he asked her to send him a knife, among other things. Definitely no matches. ‘This might take a while, if I get anything at all. This is probably more futile than looking for a needle in a haystack,’ she whispered to herself, knowing that she enjoyed doing it nonetheless. On one of the loose sheets of paper, Perri started a list of each search term she used so she wouldn’t lose track and repeat herself. She settled in for a long haul.

  A couple of hours later, Perri had run out of search terms, even the lost-in-space, no way you’ll ever find that, terms. She leaned back in the chair and stretched her arms above her head. Her upper back popped, but it felt good after sitting hunched over the keyboard. She felt she had learned a little about the different types of knives just by reading the summaries of the available records. ‘Who knew there were so many types of knives and just as many documents in the archives that mention them.’

  She may have learned some things, but hadn’t really gotten anywhere. It was nearing five o’clock. She gathered her materials together, retrieved her purse and satchel, and went to the café to get something to drink and check her phone.

  Once seated at one of the high tables with an iced tea, she turned her phone on but left the volume down. She had a voice message from Nick. They had talked for at least a little while every day, but hadn’t had a chance to have a nice long conversation. Now that she was alone, and others in the café were talking on their phones, she thought it was a good time to return the call. She listened to the message, smiled to herself, and tapped the call back icon.