Chapter 20

Monday evening, April 25

Kate wondered why she’d picked up this book from the box. She was replacing the Bible after having looked at the sketch again, and instead of just closing the carton, she’d lifted this book out instead and opened it up. It was only four inches by six, the dark leather cover worn and stained, and inside rough, thick pages covered with small hand print.

There was no last name in the front pages, just a first name, Louiza, and “Mama’s Receipts.” Some passages were penned in ink, others scribbled in pencil, and in between quite a few of the pages there were bits of other paper, newspaper accounts or handwritten notes. I wonder who Louiza was, and who was her “mama.” Must have been someone in the Elliott family, perhaps Louiza was Jim’s grandmother…

Kate smiled as she studied several scrawled notes in the margin; “bess’s calf arrived this day” and “sophie’s first tooth drawn” but no date beside either note. Must have been connected to the recipes on these pages, she thought — one was for toothache, no doubt referring to Sophie. “Pulverize and mix equal quantities of alum and salt, apply to hollow in a ply of cotton.”

Alongside a recipe for fever Kate found the notation, “darling passed in the dark of the night afore break of dawn, sister poorly, remedy applied hourly,” and then on the following page, “no avail, sister passed early daybreak.” How sad, she thought. Were these children, or adults, or who?

Kate cautiously turned the pages, careful for the brittle paper. Recipes varied from roasting cuts of meat to making poultices. Included were instructions for repairing leather harnesses, making dye for home-sewed clothing, and boiling unrecognizable ingredients for soap. Instructions on everyday household tasks, such as a mother might give to a young daughter, were intermixed with cures for common ailments.

Towards the back of the book, it seemed to become a diary, rather than recipes. Laying the book down, Kate went into the kitchen to prepare a cup of tea, then came back and sat in the armchair to continue reading. The recipes had been interesting, but the diary was more so.

The handwriting in this back section was small and cramped, but surprisingly readable. This part seemed to be a record of major events in the household and the family.

Here were also a few last names. Lucas. Moore. Sims. Anderson. McNeill… That’s my name, McNeill.

Kate slowly read the account of a Lieut. Joshua McNeill, who had come to visit from Charlestowne and brought news of the day. He had stayed with the Lucas family. He had applied for a grant of land just “over t’other side of the creek,” and had come to oversee the surveying of it. He had been a soldier it seemed, involved in the war since a young man, afterward helping his elderly father provide for the remaining family in Charlestowne.

Louiza “held in admiration” this young Lieut. McNeill and was in hopes he would visit her own home before returning to Charlestowne. No other mention of him appeared in the ensuing few pages, however.

Almost at the end of the book Kate found a fascinating passage. “Mama allowed as how she’d prefer us not to retain the blade, wanted it put down with her when it was time, prayed as how her wishes would be agreed to, never been parted from it. Pledged to keep her wish, signed the pledge.”

Several names were listed below this passage: John Patrick Elliott, Helen Sims Elliott, Joshua Martin McNeill, Louiza’s full name, Mary Louiza Elliott McNeill, and finally a date, November 3, 1821.

The hair on Kate’s arms stood up as she stared at the date. This book was older than she had first thought. Those first notes must have been written years earlier than 1821. Louiza’s mother was probably elderly and anticipating her own death, making her wishes known regarding this blade, whatever it was. It was a serious request to be recorded this way and agreed to by all the family in writing. Louiza had apparently married her young lieutenant, and John Patrick was probably her brother, married to Helen Sims.

Kate carefully laid the book down on the table beside her. She hugged herself as though chilled, and gave this some thought. Who could I ask about these people, and who would know what the blade was? She thought of the names in the old Bible — that’s a starting place, at least.

She sipped her lukewarm tea and leaned back, letting her mind wander a bit. First the gravesite, then the altered deed, now this.

Well, let’s compare some names. Kate rose from the chair and went into her office for a notepad and pen. Maybe the Bible will have similar, or the same names, and maybe some dates to go with them.

Opening the Bible to the pages where family names and events were recorded, Kate began making a chronological list of marriages, births, christenings, deaths, and any other information. There were quite a few Elliotts.

As she copied, a pattern fell into place, and she figured out who Martha Katharine Elliott was. She was the daughter of the original John Elliott, the great-great, etc. grandfather of Jim. She was married to Jonathan W. Sims in 1803. And young John Elliott was her brother. This was probably the John Patrick Elliott who signed the pledge.

But who was Louiza, married to the Lieutenant?

Kate learned that Martha Katharine and Jonathan Sims had “homesteaded in Alabama, joined wagons on trail, April 12, 1810,” no doubt explaining why their signatures didn’t appear with the list of pledges about that blade. Kate kept on with her list.

And finally there it was, Louiza’s name. Her obituary was recorded on one of the later pages in the family section. From the date of her birth, March 1, 1784, it was clear that Louiza had been the youngest child of John and Sarah Katharine Elliott, born after the death of her revolutionary war soldier father.

Kate looked at the dates, and tears came to her eyes. That little girl never knew her father either, she thought, feeling a tug of kinship to Mary Louiza McNeill, daughter of Sarah Katharine and sister of Martha Katharine, over the time span of several centuries.

Chapter 19

Monday, April 25

“How’re things going, Danny?” Hunched over the keyboard, Danny glanced up at Mark, then waved his brother into the room.

“It’s going pretty good, actually. I ought to be finished in another few hours. This is going to help you out a lot, soon as I teach somebody else how to use it.”

Danny had finished installing the main program after a slow start and was trying to make the features as easy to learn as possible by jotting down his thoughts on paper as he went. The computer Mark had purchased for the business turned out to need upgrading to handle the new program, which meant placing an order and waiting for new hard drives to arrive. The so-called user’s manual had been a little too complicated for a beginner, so Danny was creating his own.

Danny had graduated from technical college with a CAD (computer assisted drafting) degree in Raleigh, gone to work immediately with a large firm, and six months later been laid off when the company lost a state contract. He came for a visit while sending out resumes, and Mark had found an immediate use for Danny’s ‘spare time.’ He needed someone with computer expertise to bring his company up to date.

Danny didn’t have to be asked twice; he packed up his few belongings in the back of his pickup truck, and made the move over a weekend into one of Mark’s construction trailers in back of the office complex.

His new quarters had been cleaned, rearranged several times to make the best use of the small amount of space, and Danny had made several trips to the mall for various items — most importantly, a coffee maker, mugs and the fixings for morning coffee.

He needed a short, quiet wake-up time with his coffee before he was ready to face the day, but now he felt pretty much at home in the trailer. He preferred to get his bacon and eggs at the Downtown Diner across from the courthouse. Occasionally Mark would join him for a second or third cup of coffee.

As they had talked over the ins and outs of the construction business, Danny asked good questions, getting the general idea of how things worked on a daily, weekly and monthly basis down at the office. That way he could tailor the company’s new computer program to the actual work that Mark and his staff did.

During the day he shadowed Mark on the job sites where building projects were underway, meeting the subcontractors and running errands whenever possible. After hours he made notes of whatever he had learned during the day.

Danny had an orderly way of looking at things and kept an orderly outline in his head of what he knew, what he needed to learn, and what he needed to do tomorrow. He was determined to earn his keep. So far, he’d gotten no firm job offers from the multiple resumes he’d mailed.

“Danny, I’m going out to the Elliott property this morning, I’d like you to come along. There’s something we — ought to talk about.”

“Sure, just let me cut the computer off. Something important?” Danny was caught off guard by Mark’s lowered tone of voice on the ‘ought to talk about.’

“Could be. We’ll talk about it out there.” The two men grabbed their windbreakers from the coat rack and stopped by the break room to fill their coffee mugs to take with them.

“A little problem has come up you need to know about, Danny. I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t mention it to anyone else.”

“Now I’m really curious. What’s so serious?”

It only took a few minutes to reach the outskirts of town, heading towards the Elliott Pointe property. Mark was quiet as he drove, trying to formulate his thoughts in such a way as to convey the right message to Danny.

The main entrance to the project was still just a rough dirt track. They left the truck and started making their way down into the center of the property. The track meandered quite a bit before ending at Jensen’s Creek. The main entrance would start further west, but this narrow road was parallel to where Mark had walked before. He began to describe his last visit to the property but as he got to the place in his narrative about the stone, he hesitated.

“What is it, Mark? Something got you spooked?”

“Well, the best thing is probably show you, Danny.” He angled off to the right into the woods, and in a few more minutes they were there.

“Humh.” Danny squatted down on his heels, staring at the broken marker and the lettering carved into it.

“Yeah.” Mark was taking deep breaths intermittently.

“Well, what’s this going to mean, Mark? I mean, is this going to…” Danny knew this stone might throw a monkey-wrench into development plans for the Elliott land.

“That’s what we need to discuss.” Mark sat down on an old fallen pine tree, his hands dangling loose between his knees.

“You know who that marker is for? See that line?”

With his forefinger Mark traced the mildew-stained letters — ‘LT SC LINE’ and ‘REV WAR’ below the carved name ‘JOHN ELLIOTT’ and the dates underneath, ’1755 1783.’

Danny knew something about historic sites, the law and land development. He frowned as he spoke.

“You didn’t know about this when you bought the place, Mark? Any other old grave stones out here?”

“I don’t know. We need to find out. No, I didn’t know about this place when I took over this property. At least, not exactly. Pop never mentioned it. I don’t think he knew about it or he would’ve told us some time or other.”

Mark rubbed his forehead with the heel of his hand. A nagging headache was starting up.

“The thing is, Stuart knew about some kind of restriction on the deed, but he was sure any graves out here were moved a long time ago. So he said. Anyway, he didn’t copy the restriction over to my deed, and I don’t know what we’re going to do about that, either.”

He rose to his feet and twisted his neck back and forth, trying to ease out the tension.

Danny rose to his feet. “Well, let’s start looking. You look around any more when you found this stone?”

“Not that day. I just wanted to get out of here and do some thinking. You head towards the creek and I’ll go south. Holler if you find anything. And be careful, there could be a few snakes out here, specially close to the creek…”

They split up and slowly edged their way through the brush at right angles to each other, pulling apart small trees and bushes, trying to keep to fairly straight lines as they went. They had only gone a short distance when Danny called out.

“Mark!” He was close enough to the creek to hear the gurgle of water running. Kneeling down, he was examining another grave stone when Mark reached him.

Chewing his lip, Mark helped Danny strip away the tendrils of vine clinging to the surface and read ‘SARAH ELLIOTT’ followed by ‘BELOVED WIFE AND MOTHER’ on the line below, and the dates ’1758 1821″ below that.

“I guess these two markers go together,” Mark thought out loud. This stone leaned forward at an angle. “Let’s see where the other one was supposed to be.” As they pulled away the matted ground cover, it didn’t take long to find the broken base of the first grave stone.

“See any more, Danny?” Mark turned in place and kicked at the ground around him.

“Not so far.” Danny moved away several feet and also slowly turned. For the next thirty minutes they searched back and forth, making sure those two graves were the only ones.

“What you want to do, Mark?”

“For now, let’s put that first marker back where it belongs.” It took both of them to get it off the ground. Carefully they propped the broken stone against its base, and Mark debated his next step.

He recognized this area, close to the creek. It was more or less where Donna wanted to put her new house.

Chapter 18

Saturday evening, April 23, 1988

“J & E Hardware is a flourishing business these days, if I do say so myself,” thought Ellison Jones. “This sure turned out to be a good investment.”

He was reluctant to lock the front door, even though it was 6:00 PM Saturday. Officially the store closed at 5:00 but there was always someone hurrying in at the last minute looking for nails, or paint, or plumbing supplies, something they just had to have over the weekend.

The gate was closed to the lawn and garden shop beside the main store, the sprinklers off, the yard tools and wheelbarrows back inside the store. Of course, there was still trash to empty and the floors needed sweeping, but he’d tend to those himself.

Elly was a ‘medium’ man, at least that’s how he usually thought of himself. Medium height, medium build, medium brown hair generously threaded with gray.

But his heart was big, and thoughtful, and courteous, so when elderly Minnie Hamilton, needing just the right washer for her kitchen sink came in just before closing time, he’d been glad to help her.

Actually, Miss Minnie didn’t need a washer, she needed a whole new sink, new faucets and a plumber to install them, but she couldn’t afford it. He and Dot would drop by and help her put in her new washer after church Sunday afternoon, he promised. She was thrilled. She was lonely, and friendship was her primary need.

The washer was just the latest in a long list of last-minute shopping items for Miss Minnie. Dot would contribute some of her left-over pot roast and they would stay for a while to visit. Elly smiled he thought about their customers. Good people, he thought. Best in the world. He was so glad they’d taken this step.

Ellison and Dorothy Jones had already retired from one career, he from a local textile plant after twenty-five years, and she from teaching geography to elementary schoolers. They had initially planned to stay busy with their grandchildren and hobbies, puttering around their house and yard.

After only a few months, their daughter Julianne and her husband announced a move to Alabama, a good offer for Bob with better pay, better position, all that stuff. Within several weeks they were gone to Birmingham, taking their two sons with them. Bobby Jr. and Stevie were only ten and twelve, and excited about moving to a house with a real yard, close to a park with a real pool, in a real city.

Their eagerness was a little disappointing to the grandparents, who hugged them tight, gave them some spending money ‘for the road,’ and waved a tearful goodbye.

Suddenly retirement didn’t look quite so attractive. Oh, they could afford to travel to Birmingham several times a year, and the kids promised to come visit in the summers. Still, when the hardware store came up for sale, Elly was interested almost immediately.

Ellison Jones had been a good department head at the mill. He’d learned the textile plant business from the ground floor up, regularly being promoted. He knew how to run a ‘tight ship’ when it came to profit and loss, managing people, all those things that easily transferred to a sole proprietorship.

After a long discussion about finances and taxes, a trip to the bank and a visit to the hardware store accompanied by Wilbur, Elly and Dot had closed the deal.

The name had been J & E Hardware as long as anyone could remember. They kept the name. Gradually they increased the inventory to include small household appliances, and within a year, the lawn and garden shop.

Most days Dot worked in the afternoons, doing the bookkeeping and waiting on some of the customers during busy times. Elly and the part-time staff kept up with the inventory, helped customers with their purchases, carried items to cars or trucks, and cleaned up the premises. Except for the back room…

Whit Elliott’s storeroom, repair room, junk room, break room, back room was a mess. Wilbur hadn’t even tried to do anything with it after Whit died. Anything that wasn’t sold in a reasonable time found a spot in that room. Several times a year they would have a ‘junk sale,’ but many things were just too old, too rusty, and too inaccessible among the crates and boxes, the broken machinery and just plain junk.

The center section of the store had originally been one of the old Elliott Plantation buildings, a combination work house, mill store, and storage building.

Some of the lumber came from pine trees grown nearby several hundred years ago. Those rafters and beams would probably go up in a flash if a fire broke out, which was why Elly had taken the trouble and expense of having a sprinkler system installed. The exposed pipes overhead added to the cluttered look.

Some things in that room had been there since the original building was constructed in the 1800′s, folks said. There were fittings for wagons, harnesses for plow mules, and rusty blades for scythes.

There were handles for various implements, lengths of leather cords, and boxes full of nails, screws, washers and other small odds and ends used around a farm — none of which had been sold in many years. They were just too much trouble to throw away. There were wooden boxes of varied sizes and shapes, cardboard boxes, empty and half-full crates. No-one remembered what they contained.

Elly glanced down the pathway through the store-room to be sure he had bolted the back door, turned out the last light and pulled the main door closed behind him. He was tired, but it had been a good day. “A good, satisfying day,” he thought as he made his way home to Dot and his easy chair.

Chapter 17

Mid-day, April 23

Donna had never been so angry in her life, and she’d been angry plenty of times.That slimy little creep! And on top of that, she’d ruined her clothes.And her shoes!

She threw the grass-stained pumps into her closet and pulled off her slacks.They had irreparable picks in the expensive fabric where she’d brushed against thorny vines.She tossed them atop the shoes.

My plans are too important, the money is too much, he’ll just come back for more, he’ll ruin everything! Her thoughts went back and forth with her pacing footsteps. What on earth am I going to do. Bath. I need a bath.

Running hot water to fill the tub, Donna poured in her favorite lavender-scented bath oil. I’ve always been able to take care of myself, she figured, and I can take care of this. I will take care of this.

She slipped down into the water, leaned back on the foam headrest, and stared at the bathroom wall.

As she saw again the smirk on J.J.’s face as he made his polite ‘request’ for money, she repetitively squeezed her bath sponge dry with both hands. Oh yes, I will take care of this.

Chapter 16

Saturday morning, April 23

It was the sort of late spring day that promised a hot summer: brilliant sunshine, fluffy white clouds, just a slight breeze, and temperatures in the high 60′s already at 8:15 AM. It was peaceful in the sunroom and Kate gazed out into the parking lot with almost a fixed stare.

It’s too much trouble to dress and go out, but it sure does look nice outdoors, she was thinking, when the phone rang.

“Kate, are you busy? I’m sorry to be calling so early…”

Mattie was up early, mulling over what Jamie had related after his trip to the courthouse.

“No problem, Mattie, I’m just being lazy this morning.”

Kate turned away from the window and rested her coffee cup on the end table at her elbow.

“Kate, I went through the old legal papers I had all boxed up and I found the original deed. You know, Whit’s deed to the land after his father died. It has some directions, if you can call them that, to that little parcel where the grave site is. It’s actually dimensions from the property boundary lines, but they seem pretty straightforward to me.

“Elsie’s ‘all het up,’ I guess you could say, to help us find that grave. I was wondering if maybe we could all try our hand at finding it. I feel sure Jamie would be glad to lend a hand, after what he said the other day.”

“Until we know what’s going on, Mattie, I hesitate to do any exploring out there. Why don’t you and Elsie come over and we’ll do some brainstorming. If Jamie’s not tied up with something, maybe he’ll join us too. I’ll give him a call.”

* * *

But Jamie wasn’t home. He’d left his dorm room dressed in jeans, a plaid long sleeve shirt and old hiking boots. He’d brought along a 50-foot tape rule, work gloves and his Boy Scout compass. With his notes from the courthouse on the car seat, he was on his way to find the gravesite himself, if it could be found.

Jamie had not mentioned this idea to his mother. He understood very well that the land didn’t belong to the Elliotts any more. But if he arrived early, parked down the road from the hardware store and went into the woods that way, he could do it without being seen. The fewer questions he had to answer about what he was doing there, the better. He thought he knew where the property line was, and the corner iron stob was the first thing to locate. The dimensions from it to the restricted parcel could be easily measured from that.

The plan was working well, Jamie thought, as he locked his car door. Not a soul in sight. He’d found a place to drive into the trees without risking his car suspension or the paint job, such as it was. Walking back up to the road, Jamie got his bearings from the houses in the distance one way, the hardware store the other, and starting searching for the corner.

It didn’t take long to find. Taking out his metal rule, checking the compass and reviewing his notes one more time, he walked slowly into the trees.

Thirty minutes later Jamie figured he had to be close. The underbrush was thick and fallen limbs, briars and unsuspected ditches had interfered with keeping to a straight line. He had created a makeshift X every 50 feet out of dead branches. The measurements didn’t have to be exact, considering the dimensions of the little cemetery plot.

Why didn’t I bring a thermos of water, he asked himself, leaning against a pine tree and wiping the back of his neck. These woods haven’t been disturbed in quite a while. The ground was covered in a thick mixture of mildew, pine needles and rotted leaves.

Every now and then he saw a squirrel dart up a tree trunk, heard bird calls and other sounds. The cricket sounds had stopped earlier but there were indistinct rustling noises, and Jamie nervously thought about snakes. Or skunks.

“You can’t be serious…”

The high pitched, shrill words startled Jamie out of his reverie.

He turned his head, trying to determine which direction the sound emanated from. The words were repeated but the volume was fading, as if the speaker was moving away. He was relieved.

What on earth did that mean. Was it a woman’s voice? He couldn’t tell for sure. Trying to listen above the sound of his own pulse, Jamie could no longer hear the voice. I think I’ll get out of here.

He retraced his steps, stopping every couple of minutes to listen again. Back at the car, he stood there for another minute, listening, before he cranked up the engine.

Chapter 15

9:15 Saturday morning, April 23

“Hello, J. J., I’m afraid Mark left the house some time ago, said he had some things to do around the office…”

Donna sat at the dining room table, surrounded by magazines and house plan books. She had been studying the newest volume of her house plans, postponing house work for a while. This latest version was certainly promising, she thought. She dreamed about libraries, music rooms and English gardens. The phone was a jarring interruption. She could hear the twins upstairs; they planned an excursion to the Mall with friends and were arguing over the right ensembles to impress everyone.

“Well, Miss Donna, it’s not Mark I need to talk to this morning, it’s you.”

“Me? Whatever for?” Donna flipped the page to another set of bigger, better plans, admiring the formal porches in front and New Orleans patio in back.

“I’d rather discuss this particular — situation — in private, not on the phone, Miss Donna. Is there a time today that would be convenient for us to have a little private discussion?”

“What on earth would we have to discuss, J.J.? You sound awfully serious. I can’t imagine what could be so important.” Donna’s annoyance showed in her voice.

“Well, you could say it’s about a mutual friend of ours, and a mutually enjoyable road house out towards Allenham, I believe they call it Greene Street Grill these days. Would 10:30 suit you for a little conversation?”

Donna held the receiver away from her face and looked at it as though it were a snake in her hand. “What are you talking about, J.J.? What did you call it — Greene Street something or other?”

“I was thinking about the most convenient, and private, spot for our little talk, Miss Donna. You know the Elliott Pointe property pretty well, don’t you? There’s a quiet little area at the back of the section by the creek, not hard to find at all, and if I’m not mistaken, that’s where you had planned to put your new house, isn’t that right?”

Donna’s mind was racing as he spoke. She informed him that she was very busy and besides, it wouldn’t be proper for them to meet out there in those woods, even if they did have anything to talk about, which she was sure they didn’t.

“Oh, well, then I guess it’s Mark you want me to have this little talk with. I’m sure sorry you feel that way, but if you’re certain we can’t have a discussion — he’s down at the office, did you say?”

House plans suddenly took on a new light. With a nervous laugh, Donna supposed it would be a good morning to ‘drive out and walk over my new home lot,’ and if he happened to be out there, well, then it would only be polite to speak to one another. And, 10:30, yes, she guessed that would be convenient.

J. J. hung up the kitchen phone with a satisfied smile on his lips. When he heard that nervous laugh, he knew she’d be coming. And he knew just how to approach the subject of money. Not too much right at first, maybe she’d have trouble raising cash without Mark’s knowledge, but she’d go along. She was dead set on that new house of hers, and probably dead set on taking Mark for a lot of alimony, child support, whatever. Yes indeed, she’d go along.

And that boyfriend of hers has plenty of money. Things are definitely looking more prosperous, he thought to himself. He just needed to play his hand right, not get too greedy, and things would work out fine.

J. J. squinted at the clock and calculated how long it would take to get to the property the back way, on the old hunting trail. Wouldn’t do to attract attention, Donna might have a more or less legitimate reason to be out there today, but he didn’t. He’d have to be careful.

He rummaged up an old sweatshirt and pair of work boots from the back of the closet. He needed his clothes to blend in to the background in the woods. With a brown feed store baseball cap pulled low over his hair and forehead, he checked his appearance in the bathroom mirror. Anyone seeing him from a distance wouldn’t be able to tell him from any of the other locals in the county.

An old Hank Williams song came to mind as he closed the back porch door and headed for his pickup truck. “I saw the light, I saw the light…..”

Chapter 14

10:15 AM Saturday, April 23

“Hello, Jan. Long time no see! What brings you out here?” Kate hadn’t been expecting anyone when the doorbell rang. It was a surprise to see her old college friend Janice Mattison, without a call in advance.

“Hello, Kate, can I come in for a minute?”

“Of course, please. Would you like a cup of coffee? I was just pouring myself a fresh cup.”

“That would be great, thanks.”

Kate ushered Jan in, seating her at the dining table. “How about a fresh cinnamon roll to go with the coffee?”

Kate took down a real cup and saucer and matching dessert plate from the cupboard and pulled out a linen napkin. Janice Mattison and Kate had attended several college art classes together, in the days when each had more spare time. They had become friends over a common love of art, although not in close touch recently. A little above average height, Janice was slender, fair-skinned with fine, light brown hair cut in a easy-care feathery cap that accented high cheekbones and deep blue eyes. She took care of herself, exercising several times a week and preparing healthy meals for herself and Stuart, to the envy of friends who battled the middle age spread. Kate wondered what had prompted this visit. She’d invited Janice to her home in the past, but she had seldom accepted; the two had fallen into a habit of catching up on news over a quick lunch downtown every couple of months.

“Kate, there’s something I need to ask you about, and I hope you won’t think I’m prying into something that’s none of my business…”

“What could that be, Jan? You sound pretty serious for such a gorgeous day.” Kate reached for the coffee pot to refill their cups.

“You know about Elliott Pointe, I’m sure, don’t you?”

“Well, I saw the sign out on the property. Is there some sort of problem?” Kate was measuring her words carefully, the gravesite sketch flashing through her mind.

“It’s not exactly a problem, at least, I’m not sure it is… You remember my son-in-law Mark Johnson, don’t you? A lot of people around town have gone in with him to finance the development and Mark’s doing the contracting himself. Of course.” Kate remembered Donna from the days she and Janice had studied together at the Mattison house. She’d only seen Mark occasionally.

“How are Donna and Mark? And the twins? They must be growing up…” Kate knew Janice and Stuart doted on the twins.

“Well, Donna has her heart set on a new mini-estate at Elliott Pointe, although what she needs with another house is beyond my comprehension. Anyway, here’s why I came over, Kate. I need you to help me understand something about the property. Mark and Stuart had some sort of discussion in Stuart’s office. Whatever was said seemed to disturb Stuart. All I know for sure is, it has something to do with the property itself.”

“But, Jan, why can’t you just ask him what it was about? Mark is your son-in-law too, after all. Do you think it was a disagreement between them, or what?”

“Not a disagreement, something else. Something pretty serious, from the little I know. I have asked Stuart about it. He just said it wasn’t anything for me to worry about. Actually, I’m worried for Stuart, and more for Donna. She thinks I don’t know about her forays into Stuart’s pocketbook — it’s always for the twins, she claims. He’s given her way too much money this year. We can afford it, I just don’t think it’s a good idea.”

Kate had never known Janice to be this frank about her family before. Kate liked Janice, they were comfortable friends, but they hadn’t grown up together and they moved in different social circles. She wasn’t sure how to respond to this level of openness.

“I’m not sure why you’re telling me all this, Jan. Is there something you wanted to ask me about the land, or something else?”

“Kate, I know I’m presuming on your friendship even to bring this up. But is there anything about that property that might prevent the development from going through? Something with the land itself, or the creek, anything that you know of? I’m grasping at straws, but if I knew what was bothering Stuart and Mark, maybe I could help.”

Janice had been a paralegal when Stuart was a young attorney, and while he was getting his practice established, she had helped out in his office. After Donna was born, Janice stayed at home creating a caring, nurturing place for the baby and hopefully others to come. Unfortunately there had never been any others. Donna had been the sole focus of Janice’s attention. Janice had done her best, but to her dismay, Donna became exactly the kind of spoiled brat Janice despised. Nevertheless, Janice kept trying to be a moderating influence with her only child, and would do all she could to see the twins raised as level-headed young women. Not an easy task. And Donna had been distant lately, more than usual. Something was going on in Donna’s pretty head and Janice was more concerned about her than normal.

Kate debated within herself for a few moments, playing with the last few crumbs on her plate.

“I may know something about the land, but it probably doesn’t have anything to do with what Mark and Stuart discussed. I think I’d better show you something. I’ll be right back.”

Kate walked down the hall to her bedroom and returned with a cardboard box. Inside were the old Elliott Bible, hymnal and “receipt” book. Carefully taking the Bible out of its wrappings, she lifted the sketch from between the pages and unfolded it on the countertop.

“What am I looking at, Kate?” Janice knew that this document was old by its appearance, and if this was somehow an answer to her question, it had to do with the Elliott land.

“It’s the gravesite of a Revolutionary War soldier, Jan. It’s on the Elliott property somewhere.”

“But –” Janice’s mind was turning, trying to remember local history. “I’ve never heard of such a place around here. Is this a family cemetery?”

“Apparently it used to be. We found this when I was packing to move, going through some of Jim’s old books. They probably belonged to his grandfather. See the numbers along the edges? Those are the dimensions of the parcel. Mattie and I took this sketch to the Historical Society, Jan. This is the old Elliott property, and that gravesite is on that land. Somewhere.”

“Are you sure? I thought those old cemeteries had to be maintained, or moved or something. Do you know for certain it’s still out there?” There was an edge to Janice’s voice.

“No, but Mr. Riggins has lived in Dalton all of his life, and he’s pretty sure it’s still there. Mattie and Jamie and I wanted to try to find it one day, but of course it’s not Elliott land any more. We haven’t known exactly who to approach about it. So, in a way, I’m glad you came today.”

Staring down at the browning parchment, Janice slowly spoke. “Surely you know what this could mean to Mark’s plans, Kate. You can’t just build a new subdivision on top of a cemetery. This must be a mistake, he wouldn’t have gone to so much trouble, all those surveys, all those permits… All that money…”

Kate looked at the troubled expression on her friend’s face. “Jan, I’m afraid that’s not all. Let’s sit back down a minute.’ Kate pulled out a bar stool for Janice and another for herself. She thought about how to word what she needed to say next.

“Do you remember when Mark’s dad bought the land from Mattie? It was a real godsend for her, you know. And then Wilbur died not long after that, leaving it to Mark.”

“Well, yes, of course Mark wasn’t able to do anything with it at the time, it pretty much just grew up in weeds out there until the idea for this project came up. Stuart prepared the deed as a favor to Mark.”

“Jan, there was a restriction on the original deed that’s not on the deed Mark has now. The use of the land where the grave site is was supposed to remain unchanged, always be used for a cemetery. You probably know about that kind of thing.”

Kate knew that there were county laws, state laws, and federal laws about grave sites. And this one, if it was indeed the grave of a Revolutionary War soldier, would entail even more stringent rules and regulations.

Jan stood up and prepared to leave. “Kate, I appreciate your showing me the sketch, and telling me about the deed. I’d like to think through what to do about this, if there is anything I can do, I mean. Can I call you in a few days?”

“Sure, Jan, but the more Mattie, Jamie and I talk about this, the more convinced we are that we need to find that grave. If it’s still out there, and Mr. Riggins feels sure it is, we have to locate it. It needs to be preserved, Jan. This is just too important to forget about.”

“I can see your viewpoint, Kate. That is one of the problems I’m going to have to deal with.”

***
Janice was looking into the living room as she slowly walked to the front door, but she was seeing Donna’s face in her mind. She was hearing Donna describe her new house, the excitement that bordered on obsession in her voice, and remembering the light in Mark’s eyes as he described Elliott Pointe, Dalton’s first planned subdivision.

Chapter 13

9:30 AM

Ramona Eastland had worked for Stuart Mattison most of her adult life. She’d started as one of his part time clerks during high school, running errands and filing paperwork. She’d found the atmosphere of an attorney’s office fascinating. The legal training she’d needed to become proficient in her work, she’d been able to get on the job, and eventually became Stuart’s ‘right hand man.’

That had been fifteen years ago. When Stuart was elected County Attorney, there hadn’t even been a little hitch in the smooth running of his office. She had turned down the opportunity to become a paralegal, preferring to have her finger in a lot of pies as office manager, rather than running back and forth from the dusty courthouse records to the dusty courtroom. Her position was one of trust and responsibility; the salary and fringe benefits were commensurate.

Besides being confident and efficient, Ramona was attractive. Her dark brown hair was worn chin-length, mostly smooth with a few stubborn curls that escaped daily from the hair spray. Hazel eyes, a quick smile, and a curvy figure on her 5’6″ frame brought her second looks from most of the men that entered the office. Her quick wit and sharp mind made her many valuable friends in the law community, and a few enemies.

Occasionally someone would meet Ramona for the first time and underestimate her. She let them. It was one of her strengths, to be underestimated. That trait had proven to be one of Stuart’s greatest assets. She’d saved him a great deal of trouble in the past, differentiating trustworthy from untrustworthy acquaintances and businessmen, clients and fellow attorneys in town.

Jason Harrell had gotten to know Ramona through his business dealings with Stuart. He knew better than to try prying anything confidential out of her. But he’d promised Donna to try and discover the purpose for Mark’s appointment with Stuart.

Ramona was talking to a clerk when Jason entered the office. It was a large rectangular room that had been added to the Mattison house when Stuart decided to do most of his private legal work from home. One wall contained french doors opening on a back patio and lawn, dotted with white cast iron tables and chairs where Stuart occasionally entertained clients in warm weather. Several large desks, interrupted by oak bookcases filled with reference materials, lined the wall along the outside entry door. The walls were painted a soft sand color, and the thickly padded carpet was a darker mix of tan and light brown. Ivory and tan drapes were drawn back from the french doors, letting the morning sunlight into the room.

A wall of glass and miniblinds separated Ramona’s space from that of the paralegal and the clerk. Her desk faced the rest of the office. She could see everything and everyone at a glance, all the way through the room to the french doors and outside. The door leading to Stuart’s private office opened from inside Ramona’s section, his idea when the room was constructed. Stuart could enter his private office through the main house, and sometimes when he didn’t want to see someone, he’d escape that way, too.

Jason tapped lightly on the glass, getting Ramona’s attention.

“Good morning, Jason. Did you have an appointment with Stuart?” She was looking down at her calendar. She didn’t see his name. Stuart had a breakfast meeting downtown.

Jason was well aware that Stuart wouldn’t be in for a while.

“Well, I thought I would drop by and leave a couple of proposals for him to browse, nothing urgent. Just part of the new Elliott Pointe project Mark Johnson and I will be working on later in the year. I’m sure you’ve heard all about it by now.”

“Oh, yes. Quite exciting for Dalton, isn’t it?” Ramona knew the preliminary sketches had been approved. She had no reason to be suspicious of Jason’s visit.

“Oh yes. I’m working on several types of house plans for the project, different styles for each section, with all the modern conveniences. Still in the early planning stages, of course. How do you like the concept?”

Jason tried to gauge Ramona’s interest level in the property. If she was very busy, he knew she’d cut the conversation off. But she didn’t seem to be in a rush to get rid of him. That was a good sign.

“Oh, I’m impressed with it. It sounds well thought out.”

Ramona had considered purchasing one of the lots herself. She’d been living in one of the older sections of town, in the house left by her grandparents. It was convenient, but it might prove more economical to purchase a new home, keeping the older one as a rental. She was curious about more specific plans and prices at Elliott Pointe.

“I think so. And so far it’s pretty much on target. At least I hope it is — you haven’t heard of any problems, have you?” Jason smiled casually as he continued.

“I heard some scuttlebutt about Mark coming to discuss the project with your boss. Hope it wasn’t anything serious…”

“Oh, no, just a historical question about the land, I believe. After all, Mark is part of Stuart’s family. It couldn’t be anything much. Do you have any actual house plans in that folder?”

With his question answered and no suspicions raised, Jason opened the folder and stood beside Ramona’s desk, pointing out lot sizes, floor plans and price ranges.

As he looked down at the curve of her cheek, Jason mentally contrasted Ramona’s confident, intelligent, sometimes humorous personality with the quick-silver, fiery temperament of Donna. The comparison was a little unsettling.

Chapter 12

Several days later

“Hey, Jamie. What you doing here on your own time?” Jamie’s boss Estelle was hanging up the phone after having ‘smoozed’ an irritable taxpayer. They were pretty flexible when it came to some taxpayers, and Estelle was an expert at pouring oil on troubled waters. Especially for the larger taxpayers in the county, that is.

“Stell, can I ask you a favor?” Jamie had volunteered to make the search of the courthouse records for Mattie and Kate. They would be noticeable, asking questions and combing through the deed books, but he was a familiar figure around the record rooms. Nobody would think twice about him doing it. He just wasn’t sure where to look.

“Sure, sweetie, what you need?”

“Well, I need to find a copy of a deed, and I’m not sure about the date on it, so I don’t know where to start. Could you sort of point me in the right direction?”

“Well, that part’s pretty easy. You know the name on the deed, I’m guessing, so we’ll just go up to the card catalog and get you on the right track. Whose is it?”

“Well, it’s where grandpa’s land was sold off after he died, you know, grandma can’t find her copy of the paperwork, and she’s trying to put all her papers into some kind of order. I figured it wouldn’t take much to get her a copy. It won’t, will it?”

It wasn’t a lie, just a little stretch of the truth — Mattie had all her copies of everything, but naturally the new deed wasn’t given to the seller. This would give Jamie a clue about how to locate Mark Johnson’s deed, and make a copy if no one was paying any attention.

Estelle escorted Jamie up the stairs to the broad, dusty records room where the deed books, plat books, and miscellaneous other records were kept. Long wooden tables intersected the room where a number of books were laying open, left out for the clerks to put away after use by the various customers who came in during the day. The clerks knew where everything went, and they preferred to lug the heavy volumes back to the proper shelves themselves.

Twelve long card boxes listed in alphabetical order the names of the landowners in the county. Eventually they’d purchase a computer, at least that’s what county council had promised, but for now, everything was done the old fashioned way, by hand, on paper. Each card listed the various pieces of property that person owned, with the deed book and parcel number included.

“Easy as pie, see here?” Estelle pulled out the box with the E’s in it, found the one for Whit Elliott, still in the box despite Whit’s having died. Little red paper circles stuck on the top right corner of the card indicated the deceased state of that landowner. This method made it easier for the small courthouse staff to find things. Pulling up a few other cards to mark its place, she took the card over to the shelves, slid out the correct book, and Jamie carried it to the closest table.

“You set now, sweetie?” Jamie assured her he could take it from here, and Estelle headed back down the hall to the stairway, humming to herself.

Jamie carefully read the legal description on his grandfather’s property. There indeed was the paragraph with the restriction about the gravesite. It was only a couple of sentences long, but it gave the dimensions of the plot and the distances in from the boundaries of the land. He didn’t need the copy machine, he simply copied down in his pocket notebook the wording and the dimensions. Leaving that book out, he returned to the card catalog and pulled the cards for Johnson, Wilbur, and Johnson, Mark.

Looking down at the description on Wilbur’s deed, Jamie read word for word the exact same restriction. Okay, so far so good, he thought. Now for Mark Johnson’s deed.

Jamie’s stomach felt a little queasy, as he read, and re-read the legal description on this deed. There was no mention at all of any restriction. Nothing about the gravesite. How could this have happened, he wondered. He didn’t think the omission could have been accidental. And he wondered how he could find out if this deed could be protested, or something — what could be done at this late date about that little gravesite.

This book wasn’t left out for any clerk to replace. Jamie carefully returned it to the appropriate shelf, leaving only the first deed book lying across the wooden table.

Jamie began to feel a sort of protective kinship to this Revolutionary ancestor. He wasn’t sure how to proceed. What do you do when it’s the County Attorney you have a problem with, he asked himself, as he returned the notebook to his pocket and made his way to the parking lot.

He didn’t notice the figure watching him from the hallway window on the first floor. He hadn’t noticed him at the hall door, observing Jamie carefully sliding a deed book into place on the shelf. Stuart Mattison walked across the records room and looked down. He really wasn’t surprised as he realized which deed book Jamie had been studying.

Chapter 11

10:00 PM, April 15

J.J. Jessup was adding up figures from his notes, trying to determine how much longer before he’d have enough cash to put down on the office building on Smith Street. He needed $1,500.00 for a year’s lease, another $3,500.00 for desks, chairs, typewriters, electric, all those essentials. He’d need a better pickup truck and he figured he could lease the other equipment.

I’ll probably need $10,000 at a minimum, altogether, just to start with, he thought. So far he had about $2,500.00 on hand. Not nearly enough.

He was restless to be out on his own. He had made good contacts among the various subcontractors in the county. He stayed on good terms with the hourly workers, even though he knew some of them probably would be loyal to Johnson.

“What are you thinking about so hard, honey?”

He hadn’t heard Toni come into the kitchen. She’d stayed late at work, helping clean up after a dinner party at the Grill. A short, bouncy blond with a figure that tended to be plump, Toni was one of the lunch waitresses at the Greene Street Grill, but occasionally she was asked to help out with a dinner party and she was glad to get the extra money.

They planned on getting married one day, or at least, Toni planned on it. J.J. wasn’t in any hurry. He enjoyed his relationship with Toni, they had a lot of fun, but his mind was on getting a business established, not a marriage.

“What am I always thinking about, baby.”

“How much longer you think it’ll be, J.J.?”

Toni hoped it would be soon. All her extra tip money went into her ‘kitty,’ carefully deposited into her savings account at the end of each week. She yearned for a spring wedding, a home of her own, maybe kids one day.

“At this rate, it’s going to be a while.” J.J. ran his hand through his short crew cut. “I wish I knew where to get my hands on some ready cash.”

Toni had offered her savings to him before but he’d never been willing to take money from her. She trusted J.J.’s ability to come up with something, and when he did, she’d use her cash to help get their home established.

“You’ll never guess who I saw tonight, honey. You know Jason Harrell, don’t you? He and your boss’s wife were cozied up to each other in the Silver Room, plain as day.”

J.J. hadn’t been paying much attention but when he heard ‘boss’s wife,’ he looked up. Toni was pouring herself a glass of skim milk to go with her chocolate chip cookie. To her thinking, one canceled out the other.

“Who’d you say, Toni?”

“Donna Johnson and Jason Harrell, that’s who. I took them their drinks while Mazie was busy. Course, they don’t know me from Adam’s house cat, not that they would notice anybody anyway, the way they looked at each other, you know what I mean.”

J. J. chewed on the pencil eraser for a moment. “Huh… I wonder how long that’s been going on.”

Wonder if Mark Johnson knows anything about it. Jason Harrell. He has a pretty nice set-up, real estate company, family money. Of course, he’s single, he can see whoever he pleases. But Donna is a whole different story.

J.J.’s attention turned toward what might – just might – be a way to get that extra cash he needed.