“We don’t know. Jess says he got them at Widow Halley’s place and she says she’s never seen them before. We were just discussing what to do with them.” Grant watched his father treat the coin like an old friend.
“Well, if they don’t belong to no one, then they must belong to you.” Jesse handed the coin back to his grandson with a formal bow.
“That’s not right.” Julia snatched the coin from little Jess and stomped into the other room. As easily as she listened to her own father’s poppycock, Julia had no tolerance for her father-in-law’s mercenary ways. She considered her family to be old money, even though the money was no older than the debts amassed over the war years. Grant fully expected the Dents to be asking him for money in the near future, an ironic twist from the days when the Major had given him the land for Hardscrabble.
Grant decided to follow her into the living room to make some small talk. He’d had enough worrying about money. If no one missed it, then there was no hurry in giving it back. He would indeed give it back though.
Grant scanned the room for Julia. He noticed Jess from the corner of his eye and hoped that whatever else the boy did that he didn’t accept any more presents from the Halley children. His nerves couldn’t stand any more friction in his family. He looked around and noticed the man standing next to Mrs. Halley. Grant still had trouble believing that his friend had passed away. Destiny seemed so fickle that two members of the squad from Bethel had been struck down like that. Yet he’d heard of whole families decimated by the war. There was no quota on lives in the pursuit of freedom.
The man handed the widow a small bag and turned to leave. The man’s present reminded Grant that he’d forgotten the pies. He quickly explained to Julia where he was going and headed towards the Newman house. The good thing about a small village like Bethel was that it only took a few minutes to get anywhere. Grant took the stairs at double time flipping open the door as he hit the top step. No one bothered to lock a thing in towns like this, he thought. They hadn’t seen the thieving and looting that went on in war. Grant had occupied more than one stately home where the residents had tried to hide their valuables. The spoils of war went to the victors.
Grant didn’t bother to knock. No one would be home except the colored help from what Newman had said. He opened the front door and made for the dining room. The two pies still cooled on the table where he’d seen them before the funeral. He balanced one in each hand and started back to the entry. Grant heard voices upstairs. He stopped for a moment, surprised that anyone was home. Had Newman come home early or was someone else on the second floor? Grant worried momentarily about his own possessions. The voices were low, but Grant could still make out a few words of the conversation. It didn’t sound like the voices of any colored Grant had known.
“Found the money.”
Another voice that Grant didn’t recognize mumbled a few words that sounded like acquiescence. The voices didn’t get angry or yell. That would have made it easier to hear what was being said.
Grant shrugged and made his way to the door. He almost collided with a petite black woman entering the same way. She barely stood five feet tall, thin as a spring sapling and dressed in a plain blue gingham dress. Her rail-like arms were heavy with vegetables, and a gourd that threatened to overwhelm her. Her bushy gray hair was the only thing about her that didn’t look small. “Landsakes, you must be the general. Mr. Newman said we’d be having company. Let me get that for you.” She held open the door and smiled as Grant made his way to the porch. “I’m Patsy. Mr. Newman hired me on to look after the place, after his wife passed.”
“Thank you kindly, ma’am. It’s nice to make your acquaintance.” Grant started down the steps to the front walk. “I’m assuming these are your makings?”
She nodded at him. “Yes, I’m glad to see that you remembered them. What with Mr. Newman being gone and all. I was a mite worried that they’d be forgot.”
Grant looked back at the house with its two stories and multiple windows. That was a lot of home for a man living alone. “Mr. Newman isn’t gone. I heard his voice inside.”
The old woman frowned and bunched up the wrinkles on her forehead. “That can’t be. I saw Mr. Newman ride off a few hours back, and his mare is still gone. He’d never go anywheres without that horse.”
Grant could empathize with the man’s desire to have his horse. Cincinnati, Grant’s own steed, was stabled back in Washington. He missed the horse that had led him to so many victories for the Federals. They had felt comfortable together, nearly as compatible as he and Julia were in their own ways. Still he was certain he’d heard his friend’s voice in the house.
Grant wanted to look into the matter, to prove the woman wrong, but the weight of the pies was becoming a nuisance. He wanted to set them down, but that would mean retreating back into the Newman house for no good reason, or persevering on to the Halleys to deliver the pies.
He made his way through the gate without trouble, and started down the dirt road to the Halleys again. He passed a sole rider on Plane Street. Bethel was about as long and narrow as Patsy. It existed as a farming community and a stop for the stagecoach riders.
The street took a dip down by a creek and rose again near the Halley’s place. Grant saw his father’s old house. Even though both parents had lived there, he always thought of the ostentatious home as his father’s. No wonder. Jesse Grant was every bit as magniloquent as Hannah Simpson Grant was plain. Their home in Bethel had once belonged to Thomas Morris, a U.S. Senator, and a member of the richest clan in town until the family had died out. To have lived across the street from the saloon must have tried her sober Methodist patience. Now Grant’s friends lived in homes that were as stately. He had grown accustomed to his father’s pretensions, but he had yet to figure it in the poor farming families he’d known growing up.
His mind stole back to the gold coins that Jess had found. If the boy was to be believed and Grant knew him to be essentially honest, then one of the children had given him the coins. But how would the Halley children come upon that kind of money? Grant couldn’t answer that question, but he wanted to and soon. He didn’t like having doubts about his youngest. The boy was near and dear to his heart. Jess brought a smile when few things could take his mind off weightier matters.
Grant wound his way back to the house where he deposited the pies on the counter with a score of other desserts. A few of the womenfolk meandered about in pockets of gossip as he made his way through the crowd. Grant wanted to ask them about the Halleys’ sudden wealth, but it would be ill mannered to do so here and now. They were to pay respects to the deceased, not try to determine how he’d made money.
Grant marveled at the home’s opulence as he noted the chandelier in the entryway. For all his success at war, he’d failed at business. He’d been practically destitute when the war began. Four years of steady pay, and increases in rank had set the family right again. Now with the war over, Grant couldn’t believe the way the country treated him. The people of Philadelphia and New York had bought him homes. Other cities had given him cash, steeds, more than he could ever want. Yet, not everyone had fared so well during the war. Halley had languished in a prison camp.
So how had this family come into such money? He made his way to the parlor where Mrs. Halley sat shrouded in the black garments required for mourning.
He had nearly made his way to the widow when his father took him by the arm and escorted him to Mrs. Halley. “Good evening, ma’am.” Jesse bowed deeply from the waist like a play actor.
The widow merely nodded. Grant couldn’t tell if it was politeness or frosty indifference brought on from Jesse’s rather vivid past in Bethel.
Jesse adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses and peered down at the woman. “I just wanted to let you know how deeply sorry we are about Mr. Halley’s passing. In fact, Ulysses and I made a donation to the church here, in the amount of three gold coins, as a token of our sympathy. We knew that the reverend here would make good us
e of it.”
The widow’s eyes lit up. Grant could see them glow even through the black veil covering her face. “Thank you, Mr. Grant. That was most thoughtful of you.”
Jesse took his son by the arm and led him to a cubbyhole off the main hallway. “There, son. I fixed that problem right up.”
Grant tried to discern some clue from his father’s face. “What exactly did you do?”
Jesse put his forefinger to his temple. “Just made a few deductions. I took it for granted that my namesake was telling me the truth. He got that money from this house. So for some reason, she didn’t want us to know that she had a bunch of gold coins laying around. I didn’t want Jess to sound dishonest, so I gave them to the church. Albeit, the clergy are a damned sight more greedy and dishonest than any Grant would ever lay claim to.”
“So why tell the Widow Halley?”
Jesse looked over Grant’s shoulders, trying to reconnoiter for anyone who might overhear them. Grant knew that if anyone overheard them talking, the word would be all over the village by the time he sat down for dinner. On the other hand, gossip cut both ways. Perhaps the townsfolk would know where the money came from. “She knows where those coins came from,” Jesse whispered. “There’s only so many ways for a woman to come by that much money in a town like this. And since she isn’t telling, there’s only one thing that we can do.”
Grant cleared his throat. The thought of being in cahoots with his father on any proposition was daunting. The thought of joining force with his father to protect the family’s good name was more than he could take.
“Since those people maligned my boy, we’re going to get to the bottom of this mystery and find out where those coins came from.”
Chapter 4
Jesse Grant pointed to the steeple that marked the tallest structure in town. Not that Bethel had many contenders, but the Methodist church rose far and above the nearby homes, the business of Sargent and Griffith, the Swing general store, the McCall druggist, the Lloyd harness-maker, and the blacksmith. Since most of the homes lined Plane Street, the height was easy to measure. “There might have been a war, but things still operate the same in a small town. If you want to know something, go to church. I plan on following the money in this conundrum. You can’t go wrong with that advice.”
Grant looked at the church, the same one his mother had attended when she lived in town. He wasn’t sure what to expect from the preacher, though his father seemed assured.
“You’re about to see some of the positives of being a politician, son.” Jesse adjusted his coat and brushed at a few specks of lint on the sleeve. “You’ll get this treatment soon enough.”
The front door to the church was unlocked, and Jesse strode inside. Grant followed. The building had tall, thin stained-glass windows on each side. The light that entered sparkled with stripes and flashes of red, gold, and green. The pews looked like quilts of color. Grant couldn’t spy anyone in the sanctuary, but Jesse didn’t hesitate. He marched to the front of the building, and up on the dais. Jesse leaned inside the door behind the pulpit, and Grant could hear him say something as he made his way to the apse.
“Reverend Evans, I don’t know if you remember my son. This is General Ulysses S. Grant, my eldest.” Jesse put a hand behind his son and gave him a shove forward. Jesse always referred to his son by his full name if there was something in it for him. Despite the fact that it wasn’t even his given Christian name, Jesse used the more recognized version when it suited him.
The reverend nodded, and smiled. “Of course, I remember. It’s been a long time though, General.”
Grant tipped his hat, and smiled. “Indeed it has, Reverend. How are you?”
“Just splendid. I’d heard word that you were in Bethel and thought I spied you at the burying yesterday.”
Jesse rested his outstretched arm on the preacher’s desk and placed three gold coins on the wood surface. Grant was sure that those were the coins little Jess had found at the Halley’s house, but the old man had made it sound as if he’d already donated the funds. Even hidden from the stained-glass windows, the little stack glittered. Grant was sure that this much hard cash would buy a lot of stained glass.
“What is this for?” The reverend glanced at Jesse, though his gaze crept back to the coins in a matter of seconds.
“Mrs. Halley asked us to drop the money off. She’s too distraught, but wanted to express her gratitude for yesterday.” Jesse looked straight at the man without flinching. Grant wondered how he could lie without it showing on his countenance. It must be six kinds of sin to lie to a man of God.
“It’s just one of the duties I do to tend to my flock.” The man had the good graces to redden at the thought of all that money. Lincoln’s greenbacks were the legal tender, but nothing caught the imagination like gold.
“Oh, but sir, you know that the Halleys came into money. Some of it must go back to the One who made it possible.”
The reverend nodded quickly, his head bobbing up and down. “Well, the family made a rather sizable contribution when Brother Christopher returned from the war. They called it a donation of thanksgiving.”
“This looks like the widow’s mite, so to speak?” Jesse didn’t let on for a moment that he didn’t have any notion about the source of all this money. If Grant didn’t know any better, he’d have thought that Jesse and the reverend shared equally in the knowledge.
The reverend cleared his throat. The topic of cold hard cash seemed to make the man uncomfortable as he patted his brow with the forearm of his black jacket. The morning air was much too chilly for his perspiration. The frost had barely melted off the fields. “Well, I wouldn’t go that far. The money was sizable, but our congregation has many needs. We’ve used the money prudently.”
Jesse took a step back and placed a hand on his chest. Grant hadn’t seen such acting off the stage in quite some time. “I had no doubt that it was. I merely was commenting. Please, take no offense.”
The reverend slumped into the latticed-back desk chair. “None taken, Mr. Grant. I’d be happy to show you the books. Most of the money went to upgrading the steeple and the bell. We installed new pews, and were able to buy seed for three families who didn’t have enough to get a proper crop started this spring. All that, and we still had over three hundred dollars left over. Very steward-like, if I do say so.”
“I agree. Prices just have not been the same since the war. Those greenbacks will ruin us yet.” Jesse patted the stack of three coins like he would an errant child. Grant knew that his father lied. Even though many people still backed the gold standard, Jesse had made a fortune from the war. “We won’t waste any more of your time, Reverend. Thank you so much.” He bowed slightly at the waist and took Grant by the arm to leave.
They had barely made it to the vestibule when Jesse began to cackle. He stopped and removed his glasses. He polished the right lens while Grant looked on. “I’m saying about seven thousand dollars.”
Grant eyed his father. The man definitely had a nose for money, but he didn’t see where this was leading. “What are you talking about?”
Jesse started on the left lens and tilted his head back towards the lantern above them. “Maybe more, but I can’t see the good widow cheating on a tithe.”
Grant leaned up against the doorframe and decided to wait. His father would tell the story at his own pace and in his own way. No use in getting perturbed or try to hurry him. “So the money given to the church represented a tithe from the Halleys?”
Jesse nodded and adjusted his glasses behind his ears. “Yup, and based on what the reverend spent on construction and saved, I’m guessing it to be about seven thousand dollars. So them boys came home with about thirty five thousand, all told.”
Grant stood up straight. He couldn’t imagine that kind of money for soldiers, much less for prisoners of war. “How do you figure that?”
Jesse opened the door to the church and motioned his son through it. “Well, if those five boys were ridi
ng together, no way that one of them could find that kind of money without the others knowing. So I’m guessing that they all found this money and split it five ways. The widow Halley might be able to convince her husband to tithe for their part, but no way would he tithe for the whole group. So I'm guessing it’s about thirty thousand, five times about seven. Or there ’bouts.”
Grant stepped into the cool autumn sun. A few scattered locust leaves swirled down Plane Street as they walked towards the church’s front gate. “So those were Mrs. Halley’s coins all along?”
Jesse nodded and scratched his beard. “Most assuredly. The woman lied about little Jess.”
“There’s something very wrong to blame a child for stealing and lying like that. What should we do now? Go see the sheriff?” Grant looked around at the small town, wondering if the law would be in the village buildings.
“Can’t do that one. Sheriff Crosson lives out over in Wayne Township, but it’s no never mind to us, he’s in Higginsport seeing about some new hogs. I took the liberty of asking the mayor about him when I stopped in for a visit.”
“So then who can we talk to about the gold?”
Jesse gave him a sly grin. “Well, you’d be looking at the acting magistrate until the sheriff’s return on Friday. The mayor didn’t want to be involved in accusing the son of the leader of the Federal army of thievery. Who better to leave it to than a family member?”
Grant remembered his father’s magisterial duties from his stint as mayor of Bethel. Jesse had been asked to try a case involving ruffians shortly after he was installed in the position. As the trial progressed in the tannery, one lad had been so entranced by the details of the case that he forgot to watch himself, and had slid off his seat into a barrel of oil. Jesse had told the story for weeks to anyone who would listen.
Grant grunted and moved towards the street. “We have a reprieve then from any accusations. We both know that Jess wouldn’t steal from anyone. So where would the Halleys get that kind of money?”
US Grant Mysteries Boxed Set Page 20
