Last in a Long Line of Rebels (8 page)

“Yes, she is. Brody is not bad, either. He sort of looks like my dad.” Franklin took off his glasses and wiped them on his shirt.

Brody and Louise were the only ones smiling in the photo. Olivia was blurry, like she'd gotten impatient and moved. Walter looked like he'd swallowed a bug. “He looks too serious to be a gold thief,” I said. “Did you find anything about it on the Internet?”

“No. The only thing that came up from a search of Mayhew and gold was a golf tournament in Mayhew, Mississippi. Gold sponsorships are one thousand dollars.”

“It might just be a rumor, anyway,” Benzer said. “Like Mrs. Hall said.”

“Maybe,” I said. “But remember, Daddy said no one would do business with them.”

“That's right,” a voice said from behind us.

We turned to see Mr. Neely peering over our shoulders.

He continued, “Emotions were high at the end of the war, a lot of families and friends never spoke again, but Mayhew had a particularly tough time of it.”

“Because of the gold?” I asked, peering at the brown photograph. “Is that why everyone hated him?”

“Perhaps. Or it could have been the murder.”

“Murder,” I squealed. “Who did he kill?”

Mr. Neely looked at us, a surprised expression on his face. “You're related to Walter Mayhew, and you don't know the story?” He rubbed his chin, staring at the photograph. “It was never proven, of course, but some thought he killed that young man there, Brody Kimmel.”

It was Franklin's turn to look stunned. “Lou's ancestor killed mine?”

“Yes, well, as I said, it was never proven,” Mr. Neely said.

“This is just wonderful. Not only did my crazy ancestor supposedly steal some gold, but he was a murderer to boot. Why do people even like history?”

Mr. Neely smiled gently. “Don't take it so hard. Try to look at it as a puzzle. Your ancestors left you a great mystery to solve.”

“That's what Mrs. Hall called it,” I said. “What's the big question—whether the Mayhew dude was a run-of-the-mill murderer or a serial killer?”

“No.” Mr. Neely laughed. “I was speaking of the gold. If he did steal it, he did a very good job of hiding it. It's been well over a hundred fifty years, and the stolen gold has never been found.”

From the diary of Louise Duncan Mayhew
August 1861

Cousin Olivia has arrived from Knoxville to help, since Mother's illness has left her confined
to her bed and we are all stretched beyond our norm. I am especially glad to have someone my own age in the house. Olivia was firmly against secession, and is quite shocking in her statements regarding the ills of slavery. I trust seeing how much our lives depend on Jeremiah and Dode's help in the fields, and Molly, Lainey and Singer's for the housework and cooking will see her properly educated.

F
ranklin and Benzer talked excitedly the whole walk home, stopping every now and then to high-five each other on the sidewalk, and chanting, “Stolen gold, never found.”

Benzer smiled at me. “Lou, this is awesome news. Why are you so quiet?”

“Oh, I don't know,” I said. “Maybe because my great-great-grandfather killed Franklin's ancestor?”

Franklin took off his glasses and wiped the lens against his shirt. “Great-great-GREAT-grandfather,” he corrected. “I admit that was an unfortunate piece of information. But I can hardly hold it against you, Lou.”

“That's right,” Benzer said. “And honestly—haven't you wanted to kill Franklin at least once or twice since you've known him?”

“Benzer!”

“Seriously, Lou,” Franklin said. “Mr. Neely said people only
thought
Walter murdered him. It wasn't proven. It's not a big deal.”

“Thanks, Franklin.”

“But just in case, you don't have any weapons at your house, do you?”

“Ha, ha!” I rolled my eyes.

“Can we get back to what's really important?” Benzer said. “The lost gold?”

Franklin laughed. “It is a very exciting development. I think we should make plans on where to go from here.”

“Isn't it pretty obvious?” Benzer asked. “I say we find it!”

“Well, I guess that would show Sally Martin!” I said. “You went on a cruise? Big whoop, we spent the summer figuring out a Civil War mystery and finding gold!”

Benzer punched me playfully on the shoulder. “See? I knew that Bible was the real deal.”

“I wish we'd had more time to talk to Mr. Neely,” Franklin said. “Between him and Mrs. Hall, we'd probably learn a lot about what to do next.”

We crossed the street, jumped the ditch, and stood in front of my house.

“So what's first, Franklin?” Benzer asked. “The house or the yard?”

“I vote for the house,” I said. “If it's buried in the junkyard, we'll never find it.”

“Not without bulldozing the whole thing,” Benzer said.

“Which the county is planning to do anyway,” I added.

Franklin stared at us. “That brings up an interesting possibility.”

“What?” I asked.

“There are other vacant lots within the city limits. What if Peter Winningham believes the rumors? That could be why he picked your land!”

“Seriously?” Benzer asked. “That seems like a lot of trouble for a rumor.”

“They'd get the land either way. I bet Franklin's right. We have to find it first.”

“Yeah,” Benzer said. “Let's start with the house. Maybe Walter stuck it in the attic or something.”

“I guess.” I wasn't too hopeful. A lot of construction had been done to the house through the years. “But you'd think someone would have found it by now, and I'm pretty sure I've been in every hiding place in the house.”

“But you weren't searching for anything before, and now we will be,” Franklin said.

I looked over at the library. “Let's start tomorrow. First we should get some of the history books Mrs. Hall was talking about. Maybe there's a picture of what my house looked like before all of the additions. There's no use searching a part of the house that wasn't built yet.”

Mama and Bertie spent the afternoon painting the baby's room a bright yellow. It had been a guest room before, and a perfectly acceptable shade of green. “Your father got that green paint from the nursing home,” Mama said. “Babies need stimulating colors.”

I offered to help, but Mama just laughed. “We still have paint on the ceiling from when you helped us paint the dining room.” I acted insulted, but truthfully, I was glad to get out of the chore. I found a cola from Bertie's secret stash and went out to the junkyard, where Daddy's workshop stood. I wasn't getting a whole new room like the baby, but the box I'd found at the auction would look cool at the end of my bed.

The familiar smell of oil and sawdust hit me as I opened the door. Rows of assorted machinery lined the floor. A long workbench ran the length of the back wall, covered with tools, old paint cans full of nails, and scraps of wood.

The box was sitting on the counter next to a can of paint remover Daddy had left out. I smiled; he had already removed the hinges for me.

I opened the window and put on a paper mask. I found a brush, dipped it in the remover, and began covering the box. Even through the mask I could smell the fumes, but the paint began to melt and run off.

I took a wire brush and worked the remover into the grooves and around the carvings. They were very detailed. Little birds held branches with leaves and vines covered with fruit. On the back, in the middle where all the birds and fruit met, was an oak tree. The only flaw was a tiny wormhole near one of the leaves.

“You're still pretty,” I said, admiring it. Daddy always said I got the love for making old things new from him.

After I locked up the shop, I sat down on a pile of roofing shingles and drained my cola.

Looking at the top part of my house that was visible over the fence, I tried to imagine what it used to look like. Could there really be gold hidden in there somewhere? The chances of it still being in the house were next to nothing, and if it was outside under the junk, we'd never find it.

Bertie and Mama had finished painting by the time I got back upstairs, but Bertie had left two pieces of paper on my bed. The sticky note in the corner read
Nice historians share their research.
For a minute, I thought she was talking about
my
research, but the papers were copies of genealogy charts, one for each side of the family.

I looked over Mama's side briefly, then put it away for later and stared at the one with
MAYHEW
written across the top. The lowest branch had my name on it. Above that was written
Tucker and Lily Mayhew
. Since Daddy didn't have any brothers or sisters, the line went straight up from his name to my grandparents', John Mayhew and Melissa Stansberry. I followed the lines up through two other generations until I found the name Walter Lowery Mayhew. It was crazy to think that these people once lived right here in this very house. Walter and Louise had walked these halls during the Civil War, the
Civil War
. I ran my finger across the word
Mayhew
. No matter what my relatives had or hadn't done, I was here because of them. If they hadn't lived, good, bad, or thieving, I wouldn't be here. It was almost too much to take in.

I pulled my notebook from my sock drawer and began to copy down the information. Mr. Neely had said to think of it like a puzzle. Maybe this was a piece that would help save my house—I mean, our house.

The plan to visit the library hit a snag before it even began. Franklin couldn't come; his bike chain had broken.

“Couldn't your sister give you a ride?” I'd asked him earlier when he'd called.

“No, she's at the lake with Drew Canton.”

“She's dating him? Gross.”

Franklin cleared his throat. “I have no control over what Tracy does. Although Drew is not the worst of her friends.”

“How can you say that?” I asked. “He stole Isaac's scholarship.”

“It wasn't his fault—and he doesn't appear to be too happy about the whole situation either. Tracy said someone used a key to write a very ugly word on the hood of his Jeep.”

“I guess that's not surprising. Is your grandmother there?”

“Yes, but she's playing bridge on our computer,” Franklin said. “I can't even get on it to look up battles in Tennessee.”

“So you're not banking on us finding the gold?”

“Sure,” he continued. “If Pete Winningham believes in it enough to steal your parents' land, it must be real. But the gold's been hidden almost a hundred fifty years. Getting registered as a historic landmark might be easier and would buy us more time to find it.”

“Hey, that's true. And we wouldn't have to give the money to the lawyers. We could spend it ourselves!”

Patty had no interest in meeting us. Aunt Sophie works part-time at the antique store on the Square and could easily have brought her over, but Patty was having none of it.

“I'm giving myself a beauty day. I found a self-tanning lotion that all the Victoria's Secret models swear by.” She yawned into the phone. “You and Benzer can handle it, but call me if you find out anything.”

Benzer jumped the curb and rode onto the sidewalk in front of my house. I would never have admitted it to Bertie, but I had started to notice certain things about him, like how long his eyelashes were and how tan he was turning already. Oh, no. What if I became boy-crazy like Bertie? I threw a piece of ice at him.

“Ow!” he said, looking up. “What was that for?”

I put the empty glass on my windowsill, then climbed down the tree. “Being late.”

Benzer parked his bike against the trunk. “It looks like the library is still there. So let's get going. I'm ready to find some gold!”

The air inside the library was as cold as the frozen food section of the Piggly Wiggly. After working in the sun all morning, it felt wonderful.

Mrs. Hall looked up as we entered, and smiled. “Are y'all getting a head start on your summer reading?”

“Not yet,” I answered.

“We'd like to see some history books on Grey County if you have any,” Benzer said.

“Of course we do. I'm glad to see you young people interested in history. Is this for a school project?”