“The medical examiner—it’s his responsibility.”
“And how long does Philadelphia keep records of unidentified bodies?”
“I think it’s safe to say, not long enough for your needs. Why is this important to you?”
“In part because I’m encouraging Dylan’s initiative and curiosity, and he seems to be having fun with it—he really does like history. But mostly for Marty’s sake, I guess. The fact that this map or whatever has survived this long, and was somehow preserved in a book, makes me wonder if it’s important. Yes, I know it’s a real leap of faith to think that it points to a body that may or may not exist and hasn’t been mentioned for years, but it’s possible, isn’t it?” I stopped suddenly, hit by a new thought. “You know, this book was part of a collection donated to the Society by a longtime member who passed away recently, and who knows how long she or her family had it before that. This was not the only book she left us. I should ask Dylan to check out the rest of them—maybe there’s more information hidden away in the bindings. And I want to find out some more details about who Harriet Featherstone was, and who her ancestors were, and where they lived. Maybe this was a long-lost relative of hers.”
James was smiling again. “What?” I demanded.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I think you just want an excuse to get out of your building and walk around the city, since the weather’s so nice.”
I smiled back at him. “Well, yes, just a bit. But this is related to history, sort of, and I’m mentoring new staff members, and helping Marty, who’s been an incredible supporter of the Society for most of her adult life. So if anybody complains I’ll tell them all that and more.”
“I’m not arguing. Do you want me to come with you tomorrow?”
Had he read my mind? “Well, there are bodies involved . . . but only if you want to. I’m sure the three of us can manage.”
“I’m happy to come. There’s a lot I don’t know about Philadelphia, especially the really old parts. And, as you say, there are bodies involved. You might need some protection.”
• • •
The next morning we were running late—I never seemed to get around to memorizing the train schedule, since we often drove in—and I was struggling to pick out clothes that would withstand heavy labor but wouldn’t make me look like a homeless person, in case somebody important wandered by. Or a photographer from the Inquirer on a slow news weekend. In the end we decided to drive. After we’d parked (not always easy near Independence Hall on a summer Saturday), I climbed out of the car and waved at Marty and Dylan, standing next to Barney in the middle of the large dirt patch. I leaned toward James and asked quietly, “You don’t know Barney, do you?” When he shook his head I added, “How do you want me to introduce you?”
“I guess boyfriend would be a bit silly. Just give him my name, okay? We’re not investigating him or his project.”
When we were nearer the small group, I called out, “Good morning! Your work crew’s not here today, Barney?”
Barney gave me a smile a bit less enthusiastic than the one the day before. “Hi, Nell. No, I thought we should figure out what’s going on under the dirt before we tore it up any more.”
“Has anybody learned anything new? Don’t feel bad if you haven’t had time to do any research since yesterday. Now we’re all starting on the same page. Any new thoughts, Barney?”
“Not really. After you guys left yesterday I poked around a little more—carefully!—and it seemed like there were bones everywhere I looked. Martha here has been telling me that we ought to try to figure out where the boundaries are. I mean, is it just a bunch of bones dumped in the middle of the lot, or do they cover the whole site? Because if it’s the latter, this is more likely to be a cemetery. Though for the life of me I can’t figure out why somebody simply forgot about it and covered it over. Looks like there’s room for a lot of people here.”
“I agree. Marty, did you have any brainstorms?”
Marty looked somewhere between nervous and depressed. “I made some bigger prints of that letter, so we can see the details better. Not that there are many. But there wasn’t much around this few blocks around 1800 anyway. I need some time to look at more of the old maps.”
“But you recognize the shoreline of the river, right?”
Marty finally came up with a smile. “Might have been all those big docks that gave it away. So, Barney, where do you want to start?”
“I’d say with the corner nearest Market Street—that was the busier end back then because it was an important street. Then work our way back toward Arch Street. If you find any more bones, give a shout but don’t mess with it. And the kid here can take pictures of anything interesting. Just don’t start digging until we know what’s what.”
I looked at the others. “How do you want to do this? Solo or in pairs?”
“I vote for pairs,” Marty said quickly. “In case one person falls over a skeleton. And no souvenir hunting. We’re supposed to be responsible people. And you run the Society, Nell, so that would be doubly bad.”
“You want to come with me?”
“No, you take James along. I want to be alone to face my memories. Think we’ll have seen enough by lunchtime?”
“For a first pass, I’d say yes,” I told her. “And I want to eat lunch at the Reading Terminal.”
“Why am I not surprised?” Marty said, smiling. “Let’s go!” She turned and walked briskly toward the street side, while James and I went in a different direction.
We spread out along one edge of the empty-looking lot and started walking slowly, peering at our feet. I gave a fleeting thought to the people walking around the neighborhood, oblivious to what we were looking for. Probably just as well, because if they knew they’d run screaming or come looking for relics of their own.
It took me a while before I stopped flinching at the sight of a grinning skull at my feet—after the first twenty or so examples. Unless there had been a major battle here—and I probably would have heard about that, given the sheer numbers of people involved—this had to be a cemetery, not just a random dumping ground.
“Kind of overwhelming, isn’t it?” James said softly. “I’ve seen what look like fragments of wooden coffins, although the pieces are pretty small.”
“It is that,” I replied. “I’m still boggled by how any group could completely forget about this many bodies, when they seem to have been properly buried. Can you extrapolate how many there might be here, based on what we’ve covered so far?”
“I can give you a rough guess, no more. I’d say at least two, maybe three hundred.”
“Wow. I seem to remember that as of 1800 Philadelphia had about forty thousand inhabitants. What do you make of it?”
“I haven’t decided. From a modern forensic perspective, I note that there are no obvious wounds—like bullet holes—among any of the dead, at least the ones we can see in the top layer. There could have been a plague—I’m not up on medical history here. A mix of male and female. If there had been a big fire, I would expect to see more obvious damage to the remains. Am I missing anything obvious?”
“Apart from the sheer number of bodies? The only other question I can think of is, can you tell over how long a period these bodies were buried? I don’t expect you to get the right year, but was it over twenty years or a hundred and twenty?”
“Hard to say, without more careful examination, and I don’t think the FBI is going to want to step up for that. Maybe we can cut a deal with the medical examiner. Or you can scrounge up a willing volunteer.”
“Maybe Dylan has some archeology friends,” I said dubiously. “They might think exploring this would be fun.”
“Worth thinking about. How much more do you want to finish today?”
“I think we’ve determined that this must have been a cemetery, given how large the space is and how many bones we’ve seen. The Society has the resources to figure out which one. And we’re far from experts at analyz
ing old bones. You’ve eyeballed them and ruled out death by fire, but most of the other options are still on the table. We’ve already figured out that we need some expert advice. So I’d say we could call it quits at any time. You see the rest of our crew?”
James stood up and stretched, then checked out the lot. “Dylan’s over there. I don’t see Marty or Barney. Damn, we should have brought water bottles or something.”
“I’d put money on it that Marty’s trying to track down the old house where she thinks she saw the skeleton. Of course, it could be a grocery store by now, or a phone center.”
“You remember enough of the map to guess where that one would be?”
“Only that it was on the east side of the lot. That’s the side toward the river. Want to head over that way and check?”
“Might as well,” James said, his tone resigned.
“That way, then.” I pointed. But we’d only made it halfway there when Marty emerged from what looked like a hole in the ground and waved at us.
“Hey, guys, you’ve got to see this.”
So Marty had in fact found something. I hoped it was what she was looking for, but I wasn’t going to hold my breath.
Chapter Eight
As we approached Marty, I tried to read her expression. As far as I could tell she looked excited, and I felt a small tickle of excitement myself. Sitting in my nice office it was easy to forget that we were literally sitting on history all the time in the city. Now here we were standing in the middle of it. Maybe Marty had found nothing more exciting than a 1900 trash heap, but that would still be over a century old and therefore history.
“What’ve you got?” I said when I was in earshot.
“Well, if nothing else I’ve proved that I wasn’t crazy. This is the right place, though it seems a lot smaller than it used to.”
“You know whose building this was?” I asked as I studied the bits and pieces of the half-ruined building. It looked to me as though half the original building had long since fallen or been removed, leaving the back end embedded in somewhat later construction. The older part wasn’t visible from the street, and if you weren’t looking for it, you might never notice it. It looked like a lot of old Philadelphia buildings I had seen, although this one was in a better neighborhood. It was surprising to me that any part of it had survived.
The foundation, or what I could see of it, appeared to be brick, minus most of its mortar. A few feet higher there was wood siding on the exterior, but most of it was concealed by layers of various kinds of later siding, including asbestos tiles. Higher still there were window sashes, but the glass was long gone and most of the openings had plywood nailed over them. I didn’t think I’d ever known when plywood was invented, but I was pretty sure it was less than a century ago. Did someone still own this property, or did some city agency spend their time running around boarding up old buildings for safety reasons?
“Could you get in?” I asked Marty.
“I haven’t tried yet. There’s a big hole in the foundation at the side, but I don’t know if it’s the same one I used before—and I was a bit smaller then. But it’s big enough for a human.”
“Is the hole old or recent?” James asked.
“I didn’t study it. I don’t think it’s antique, but it’s probably older than last week,” Marty told him.
“If it’s an old hole, wouldn’t everything and anything have gotten in?” I asked. “You know—rain, snow, rodents, homeless people and so on. And wouldn’t that have weakened the foundation?”
“Probably. What are you saying, Nell? That it is a newish hole and somebody’s been poking around in there?”
“Marty, I don’t know. I’m just tossing out questions. Or maybe somebody else knew about it the same way you did. Have you talked with your cousins lately?”
“About this? No, of course not. It’s ancient history, and they’re really not interested in the past.”
“And you don’t know if anyone else who knew the hole—and whatever’s inside—was here?”
“Why would I?”
James spoke up. “Are you seriously thinking of going in?”
Marty turned to face him squarely. “Well, yes, actually. Why? You want to go first?”
“I’m not sure anyone should go now. We have no idea how stable the structure is, and it could end up falling on your head. We need to shore it up and be cautious about it. Where’s Barney?”
“I haven’t seen him since we started. Dylan was with him. Have you seen him?”
“Not lately. Wait—there’s Dylan. We can ask him if he’s seen him,” I said, spotting Dylan approaching from Market Street. He was carrying a plastic bag with what looked like bottles in it. Smart boy: he’d found us some water.
Dylan held up the bag. “Hey, guys, I got some water for us. What’s going on?”
“Marty’s found her hole. You know where Barney is?”
“I told him I was going for something to drink and then I left. He’s not here?”
“We haven’t seen him lately. Maybe there was something else he needed to do,” I told him.
“He didn’t mention it to me,” Marty said in a sulky tone.
“You need him for something?” Dylan asked.
“As I said, Marty found the hole she remembered and of course she’s itching to crawl into it,” I said. “James sensibly pointed out that the building could fall on her head. The foundation seems to be original, with a lot of later patches, and I know I wouldn’t trust it. We were going to ask Barney if he had any way to shore it up enough for us to peek inside.”
“Sounds risky,” Dylan commented. “Maybe we should wait until we can make sure it’s stable? Or, wait—I can go in,” he said eagerly. “I’m the smallest of all of you. And I can take pictures so I don’t have to go all the way in—just enough to see if there’s anything there. Don’t worry—I’d back out fast if it started creaking.”
I could almost see the battle going on in Marty’s head. On the one hand, she really wanted to see what was in the hole. On the other, she was a responsible adult and didn’t want to put young Dylan at risk. “James, what do you think?” Marty asked plaintively.
“I think you’re crazy. But I guess I understand. Dylan’s right—he’s the only one small enough to fit easily at the moment. Let me keep hold of his ankles, and if anything starts happening I’ll drag him back out fast.”
Great—now this wild-goose chase was putting James at risk too. I didn’t like any part of this. “Not to threaten your manly pride, but are you sure you’re up to this?”
He grinned crookedly at me. “I always wanted to go on a treasure hunt. Look, if the building’s been standing here at least most of this past century, if not longer, it will probably survive another day if Dylan worms his way in to take a few pictures. And of course I’ll be careful. I’ve survived at the FBI this long, haven’t I?”
I wondered if Marty would pay for his funeral. “Go, you two, before I have a hissy fit.” Having been given permission for this ridiculous effort, James looked almost as young as Dylan. Me, I tried to remember any first aid I knew, but I was pretty sure that none of it included rescuing people from collapsing antique buildings. I didn’t dare look at Marty.
Dylan went first, laying down on his stomach at the entrance to the hole in the wall. “Hand me the camera, will you?” Marty leapt to hand it to him. When Dylan had wormed about half his body into the hole, James lay down behind him and grabbed his ankles.
“Take it slow, will you?” James called out to him. “And don’t go too far in. Just check out a few feet ahead of you.”
“Got it,” Dylan called out, his voice muffled. I could see his feet inching forward, and when he was about five feet inside, he stopped. “Wow,” he said almost reverently.
“What?” Marty called out.
“I’ll get pictures,” Dylan replied, and we could see intermittent flashes as he took picture after picture. Gradually the brightness of the flash dimmed, and I wondered i
f he was running out of battery power. “Coming out,” he called to James behind him, and James started wriggling backward carefully. It took a couple of minutes for Dylan to extricate himself, and then he stood up and brushed off the dust of ages, while the rest of us watched silently. I was beginning to think Marty was going to explode when Dylan dusted off the camera lens, scrolled through some pictures, and handed it to Marty. “Thought you ought to get the first look.”
Marty took the camera carefully and looked at the viewing screen. For a long moment she was silent, then she finally said, “Wow. I was right. We were all so scared we just left—fast. But there is definitely a body, or at least what’s left of one. Needs a bit of cleaning up.” She turned to me and handed me the camera. “Take a look.”
I looked. “It’s a pretty murky shot, but that certainly looks like a body to me.”
James held out his hand, and I passed the camera to him. He studied the photos with care before saying, “You’re both right. I hate to admit it, but I thought you were hallucinating, Marty. My apologies. Now we have a body, and that’s only what we can see from a snapshot.”
“What do we do now?” I demanded.
“I don’t have a clue.”
We didn’t have to decide right away, because a pair of street cops appeared and one demanded, “What’s going on?” Nice to know the local police were on the job. I shuddered to think what they made of us—three middle-aged people plus one younger one, all covered with mud, dust, and I didn’t want to guess what else. In the middle of an otherwise empty vacant lot—if you didn’t count the scattered skeletons. I wondered if the policemen had noticed any of the randomly distributed skulls as they had made their way toward us.
Luckily James stepped forward, because I had no idea what to say. I hoped he had a clue. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his FBI ID and flashed it. “I’m James Morrison of the Philadelphia office of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. This is Eleanor Pratt, president of the Society for the Preservation of Pennsylvania Antiquities, and Martha Terwilliger, a former board member of the Society. We’re here because we were informed by the property developer that there might be human bodies on the site, and he wasn’t sure of their age and wanted our assessment.”
Digging Up History Page 6