Slave Graves (River Sunday Romance Mysteries Book 1) (11 page)

“Your name is Allingham, Pastor,” said Maggie.

“My great grandfather was freed in the will of a man named Allingham. He also was given a small farm. His name was Jefferson too. When he was a slave that was the only name he had. After he was free, he took the name of his former owner.”

The Pastor smiled. “Of course, I don’t recollect any white Allinghams would own to being kin to that branch of their family.”

Maggie walked over and looked down at where the Pastor was digging. She stepped down beside him and squatted, her bare feet backed into one corner of the small pit.

“Pastor, I think you’ve found something.” She worked for a few minutes, switching from trowel to paint brush. Bones appeared in the soil.

“Looks like the skeleton of a human adult. Frank, come take a look.” Together, they worked swiftly, methodically. The skeleton was on its side, the skull was pressed to the chest, knees up to the skull. There were small patches of faded but still discernible dark blue cloth still attached to the bones and in the soil.

“A man. See the torso bones,” said Frank.

“Likely Caucasian,” Maggie said. “The nose cavity. It’s hard to tell though. He may be a black man. Maybe one of your slave graves, Pastor.”

“Yes,” said the Pastor, excitement in his voice.

“There’s another thing, though, Pastor. If it’s a grave, especially African, there ought to be some jewelry, some food dishes even if there is no coffin.”

“Yes, slave families buried their relatives that way.” Maggie added, “We know from some of the plantation sites that have been researched.”

“What about this cloth?” asked Frank.

“It’s a strong material, thick, like a woolen.”

“Let me look closely here for a minute or so,” said Frank. Maggie moved up to the surface to give him more room. “Unfortunately,” he finally said, “the cloth and bones are located well above the strata associated with the ship.” Maggie looked where he was pointing. “Yes. I’m afraid, Pastor, this skeleton is from a later time period,” she affirmed.

“There looks to be a small bit of metal here.” Frank brushed at the small glint in the soil.

“A metal buckle. Belt buckle, I think. See, it’s near the torso, the waist area.”

“There are letters on it.”

“A ‘U’ and an ‘S.’ What do you make of it, Maggie?”

“Military. A Federal soldier?” she suggested.

“Strange place to find a Federal soldier. I don’t think there were any Civil War battles around River Sunday. The war was all fought to the south of here, across the Chesapeake Bay in Virginia.”

The Pastor smiled. “I got an idea who this was,” he said.

Frank wiped the sweat from his face, dirt streaking his skin. He had climbed out of the pit and sat cross legged on the topsoil at the edge. The Pastor and Maggie hovered over the fragile skeleton in the small space.

“I knew he was up here somewhere,” said the Pastor. “I didn’t know he was in this marsh. I thought he was somewhere out on the island.”

He paused. “Who was he, Pastor?” asked Maggie.

“We were taught not to talk about him to the white people. He disappeared in the summer of 1863.”

“You mean we won’t find his story in the history books?” smiled Maggie.

The Pastor brushed at the bones. “In those days this area of Maryland was occupied by the Union Army. The black folk called them liberators. The army was here to stop the supplies from up north from coming down here and going to the Confederate Army. I never did understand how companies in the north would sell to the enemy in the south. But the Eastern Shore was a natural route for smuggling like it had been since colonial days. This fellow,” he pointed to the skeleton, “he was one of the liberators.”

“I assume he was killed by the white locals,” said Frank. “There must have been a lot of Confederate sympathizers around here.”

“Everybody thought the southerners did something to him. The man disappeared right after the news of Gettysburg had come in. People thought it was local people taking revenge for the licking that the Southern Army took. What really happened was that a black man who worked near here killed the soldier.”

“How did it happen?” asked Frank. “I mean, that’s a little strange a black man killing a Union soldier in the middle of the Civil War.”

“Yessir, it was. The black community kept the truth quiet for the same reason. You may be the first white people who have ever heard the real story. You see,” he continued, “this soldier was stationed here in River Sunday. Soldiers didn’t make much money so some tried to supplement their income. If a man had money he could have a good time.”

“So this fellow liked to have a good time,” said Maggie.

The Pastor nodded. “The Yankees shipped south all the people they found that worked for the Confederacy. So this Yankee soldier decided he could use this as a kind of blackmail. He would go around and make the black folks who bred a few chickens give him some or he’d make up that they were aiding the Confederates. Then he’d send his chickens over to Baltimore to be sold in the market there. He’d get produce of all kinds but the one thing that folks around River Sunday were always good at breeding was good fat chickens.”

“How could he get away with that?”

“You had people who didn’t have the courage to trust any white. Anyway, come along, he ran into one black farmer who was braver than the rest, that’s what happened.”

The Pastor continued. “This black farmer jumped him in the dark, jumped him and tied him up, pushed the soldier headfirst into the muck near the bridge and held him there until he suffocated. I thought the soldier was buried out on the island, as I said. I can see he was left right here in the marsh.”

“Next day, the Union soldiers came looking for him. Cavalry rode up and down the county roads and searched a lot of the houses. They figured like you did that the southern sympathizers had killed him. There was some talk even that there was an invasion coming from Virginia.”

“You could have kept all this to yourself,” said Frank.

“I guess I figured you folks would find out who he was. I’m sure you got ways.”

Frank looked at the Pastor, suddenly realizing how the Pastor knew the story.

“The man who killed the soldier was a relative of yours.”

“He was my great-grandfather.”

“We can’t disguise this,” said Maggie. “The story will come out.”

“When the time comes, we need to tell about everything at this site. Everything. It’s important,” said the Pastor. “Whatever gets found no matter what history gets changed. Besides, my great grandfather was protecting his family. I got pride in that. His story should be told.”

Frank glanced at Maggie, realizing her dedication to accuracy. He sighed, “Well, I’m sorry that this wasn’t one of the slave graves that you’ve been looking for, Pastor.”

“Local coroner has to be contacted when we find human remains,” said Maggie.

“The man you want is Doc Bayne. He’s up at the Health Department,” said the Pastor.

About an hour later a balding man with wire frame glasses, sweating, his sleeves rolled up, came and inspected the find. “Ain’t nothing to bother folks about. Ain’t no grave and it’s too old to match up with any killing I ever heard of around here. You call me, you find someone a little younger.” The fat man laughed at Frank’s solemn face as he stood up to leave.

“Is there a report to be filed?” Maggie insisted.

“Oh, I’ll report something for you. We ain’t exactly fools down here, young lady.”

The Pastor shrugged his shoulders as the official drove away.

“I thought he’d do all kinds of tests and hold up our work,” said Frank.

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” said the Pastor. “He’s got money in Jake’s project just like most everyone else in town. He wouldn’t do anything that might hurt the profits. He’s got reason enough, though. He hates Jake, I can tell you that.”

“Why?”

“His daughter died in childbirth on her sixteenth birthday. Died right in his arms. Most people in town knew Jake was the father. Jake didn’t even show up at the hospital or the funeral. There got to be so much bad talk about Jake, Mister Terment invited Doc Bayne to Peachblossom. Way I heard it, Mister Terment asked him to help stop the rumors about Jake and the daughter. The Doc wouldn’t sit down. He stood there and said to him, ‘You pack that boy of yours in a box and put him under six feet of Eastern Shore earth next to my dead girl and her baby and maybe that’ll stop the rumors, Mister Terment.’”

Another car approached the farmhouse. They could see its roof above the hedges of honeysuckle, then flashes bouncing off the metal as it passed behind the boxwoods.

“It’s a car like yours, Maggie. A state car.”

“That’s my boss,” said Maggie. She and Frank stood up from the test pit and started towards the farmhouse. The car stopped and a well dressed woman got out and waved to Maggie.

“Hi, Cathy.”

“Hello, Maggie. I thought it was hot in Baltimore, but, oh my, the humidity here in River Sunday. This is terrible.” Cathy was a tall lanky woman, dressed in summer white. As they talked, Cathy changed her heels to a pair of low leather shoes. She opened the car door and put her suit coat on a hook in the back of the car. On the back seat Frank saw boxes of files he guessed were records of other sites.

“You’re making the rounds today?” said Maggie.

“Same story, Maggie. Too many projects, not enough money, and I’m supposed to see everyone of them every week. It’s been a bad day.”

The two women did not look anything alike. Maggie was shorter, tanned with her hair tied up carelessly. Cathy’s suit was carefully pressed, her blouse without wrinkles even in the intense heat. Maggie wore a dirty white tee shirt like the Pastor and Frank and her cutoffs were uneven and ragged. Cathy kept her polished shoes carefully out of the wet earth as she walked across the field, following behind a barefoot and unconcerned Maggie.

“You certainly get into your work,” said Cathy, noticing Maggie’s appearance.

Maggie looked back at Cathy, “You didn’t hire me to look good on a site, Cathy.”

“No, but you’re a state employee. You should remember it. Remember the taxpayer and his or her opinion of the government employee.”

“You are really upset about my appearance aren’t you?” said Maggie, trying not to smile. “Can we take a look at the site?”

“Yes, of course, Maggie.”

“We found a cannon and a skeleton.”

“Oh. I’m sure you’re handling it well as usual.” Cathy’s attention shifted. “I must say hello to Pastor Allingham.” She smiled at the Pastor, who stood up from his work to greet her.

“How are you, Mrs. Smith? It’s nice to talk to you again,” said the Pastor, shaking hands.

Cathy spoke with a wide, very friendly smile, “I hope you are enjoying your volunteer work. The Governor wanted me to send his regards.”

“Well, that’s very kind of him. Yes, I am enjoying my work here.” Frank was walking behind them. Cathy turned to him.

“You must be Doctor Frank Light.” She held out her hand. Frank wiped his hand on his shorts and extended it to her.

“Sorry. A little dirty,” he said as they shook hands.

“I got a call from Jake Terment recommending you for this job, Doctor Light.”

“Yes,” said Frank.

“Well, what do you think of him?”

“Kind of impressive man,” said Frank.

“I should say so. I think this is a good idea, don’t you, Doctor Light? An expert like yourself can really help. We are so shorthanded.”

“Sure.”

“Of course, Jake Terment will do all that has to be done. After all, his family has lived here for centuries. We’re fortunate that the site of the old wreck was on his land. I’d much rather work with a landowner whose family has a record of caring about historic things. Why, that monument in the harbor alone. That monument is a testimony to the Terment family dedication to River Sunday and its history.”

“Jake Terment is all the time pushing to get us finished, Cathy,” said Maggie. “I’m not sure he is very interested.”

“Maybe if you had as much money at stake,” replied Cathy, “You might feel the same way. Anyway, I’m sure he’ll do the right thing on this site. I’d like to see your notes.”

Maggie handed over her work journals. Cathy looked at them quickly and gave them back. Then Cathy walked slowly around the site, lips pressed together. Frank and the Pastor watched the two women.

“When the sunlight hits her hair a certain way, Maggie reminds me of a girl I knew a long time ago in Australia,” said Frank.

“There’s not a lot of women like her in this world,” said the Pastor.

Cathy stopped and began to talk to Maggie. “Can you finish up, be back at the office tomorrow?”

“Finish up, no. I can be back in the office but then I’ll have to return here.”

“I don’t want to have to send you back again. What do you have left to do, Maggie?”

“We want to try to find some more of the ship. We still don’t understand enough about it.”

Cathy leaned over to Maggie. Frank and the Pastor could hear what she was saying even though her voice was lowered. “The Pastor, is he happy? Are you taking care of him as I asked you to? For God’s sake, don’t let him work too hard in this sun. I don’t want the office blamed for a black preacher having a heart attack.”

“He seems to be enjoying the work,” said Maggie.

“These graves he talks about, any sign of them?”

“We found a skeleton, but it’s not one of the old slaves. It was a white man.”

“Well, let him look all he wants,” said Cathy. “Don’t get the office involved in the slave graveyard business.”

“What if we find the graves?”

“You still don’t get it, do you, Maggie?”

“Maybe I don’t.”

“Well, let me explain it to you,” said Cathy, staring at her. “You are a state employee in one of the smallest departments in the bureaucracy. A nice dedicated professional department which doesn’t have enough budget, has to fight the other more needy programs in the legislature every year to get the budget to keep you and a few other professionals paid.”

“You get paid too, Cathy,” Maggie added.

Cathy went on without replying, “We have to keep the department going, Maggie. We have to try to do a reasonable job for the people who care that our work is done correctly and we also have to try to keep the department budget. So, don’t get nervous in the service. When I tell you to get a job done and get back to the office, you listen to me and do as I say. Believe me, there’s a lot has to be done to keep you working.”