Hearts of Grey
Earl E. Gobel
Copyright © 2009 by Earl E. Gobel.
Library of Congress Control Number: 2009906373
ISBN: Hardcover 978-1-4415-4980-8
Softcover 978-1-4415-4979-2
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
This book was printed in the United States of America.
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Contents
Prologue
Introduction
Girl Problems
A Chance Encounter
First Church Sunday
For Your First Love
In Her Face
A Leap of Faith
Hurt and Brokenhearted
A Promise Is a Promise
Susie’s Dirty Little Scheme
Melissa’s Homecoming
Something Not Right
Susie’s Dirty Tricks Revealed
The Plot Is Fully Explained
Melissa Learns Their Secrets
Saturday, Melissa’s Party
Party of Her Own
Katie Sings Solo before God
The Abduction of Katie
Trouble Believing
Exploring Katie’s Cave
Squares Turned to Diamonds
The Lord’s Prayer
Reading the Signs
The Discovery of a Lifetime
Golden Double Eagles and Skeletons Too
The Gold of the South
The Things that Dreams Are Made Of
The Best-Laid Plans of Mice and Men
The Dream of Every Woman
Weasels and Riffraff
The Faith to Believe
Shotguns not Required
Everything Gets Explained
Wedding Dresses Made-to-Order
Jack Finally Comes Home
A Ten-Year-Old Mystery
A Hero’s Welcome
Reserved for Presidents and Soldiers
A Little Bit of Shakin’ Going On
Four Days and a Wake-Up
The Dresses
Katie and Melissa All Grown Up
At the Movie House
Mattersonville’s Surprise
Whiskey Shots
Everything that They Caused
Bobby Meets His Dream Girl
Katie Talks to Her Mom and Dad
The Morning of the Big Day
The Wedding of All Weddings
The End Or Is It just the Beginning?
This book is dedicated in loving memory of
Henry “Chuck” Charles Valencia Jr.
“Uncle Chuck”
September 5th 1951-March 23rd 2009
Prologue
A novel of romance,
conspiracy and jealousy
The year is 1864 . . . the civil war between the Union North and the Confederate South is raging onward. Despite heavy casualties, neither side will consider surrendering.
Meanwhile in Georgia . . . The Union Army . . . , over 65,000 strong, lead by Major General William Tecumseh Sherman is making its infamous march to the sea.
Total devastation is the only thing left in their wake.
But what happened in Columbia, South Carolina . . . will forever be etched into history as the “Greatest Crime of the War.”
Columbia . . . the very “Pride of the South” . . . will soon be left in complete ruins. One-third of the entire city . . . over thirty-six square city blocks will be left in a smoldering pile of ashes and rubble. And the once bustling city . . . would never be what it once was. Never!
The banks . . . that held the wealth of the Confederacy . . . were looted of all of their contents.
Years later . . . after the war, hearings would be held to find those responsible for everything that happened. Nobody would ever be convicted of any war crimes. Not even General Sherman himself. But certain names of some Union officers were stained for all eternity . . . with links back to Columbia. Their names will forever strike at the very hearts and souls of the forever loyal people of the south.
But in the South . . . the land of Dixie . . . there’s a saying that goes “Good times are not forgotten.” But the bad times are remembered just as much as the good ones . . . Some even more so.
Stories would be told to generations after generations about different theories of what really happen back then in Columbia.
But if the Union Army . . . claims that they didn’t take the Gold and Money from Columbia’s banks . . . . and the Confederacy still claims that they were robbed . . . you have to ask yourself . . . .
What ever happened to the “Gold of the South”?
Was it stolen? And if so . . . by whom? But if it wasn’t stolen . . . then where is it?
And if there was a real treasure to be found . . . . Just how much would it really be worth?
Would it be worth your only daughter’s happiness . . . or maybe even her very life?
These are the questions that will have to be answered. When is the search for such things . . . no longer worth the cost of finding it? So follow along as history takes on a dark mysterious twist. One that’s sure to have you rooting for the Good Guys . . . even if you can’t decide who they are.
’Cause in the South . . . “The Hearts of Grey” is a rewrite of history.
Or maybe just a reconstruction of the facts . . .
“The Hearts of Grey . . .”
The South has Returned . . . or maybe it never truly left?
Introduction
The year is 1865. The Civil War between the states is raging on. General Sherman, along with over sixty thousand Union troops, has just forced their way into Columbia, South Carolina. By the time the sun rises the following day, Columbia would be in ruins. Three-quarters of the once-striving showcase of the South would be reduced to ashes. The pride of the South, the pride of the Confederacy, would never recover.
Meanwhile, 155 miles to the south, in the small town of Mattersonville, Georgia, fourteen men work throughout the night to unload seven overloaded wagons. The boxes are heavy, extremely heavy. When they finally finish, they quickly stash six of the wagons in a nearby cave. Then they are all executed.
Two days later, in Columbia, South Carolina, Jason Barnes, former president of the Commercial Bank of Columbia, stood inside the burned-out shell of his once-glorious bank. He was yelling and screaming about what the Union soldiers had done to his beloved town and to his bank.
“God himself will find those responsible for these unthinkable crimes against the fair people of Columbia, and his wrath will smash those thieving cowards to death in his name!” He yelled.
Just as he finished, there came a terrible rumble from behind him. He turned to see the last remaining wall of his beloved bank, the south wall, start to teeter. Then it came crashing down on him. And he screamed no more.
Present Day, 1955
It is the second week of June, and the talk around Mattersonville, Georgia, is all about the upcoming Fourth of July picnic. There are suddenly things to do and places to go. Everyone in town has plans for the Fourth. Everyone except for Mike, that is. Born on August 1, 1932, Michael Anthony Belles is the
older of two children. He is not tall, just a tad under six feet, but he is very well proportioned for his weight. Four years as quarterback for his high school football team gave him the look that he somehow managed to keep. But then again, working on the local docks in neighboring Savannah hasn’t hurt his good looks at all.
In high school, he had always been popular with the girls. But at the present time, he didn’t even have a girl. Not that he couldn’t have one if he really wanted one. But there just wasn’t any girl in this nickel-and-dime town that even stirred his fancy. Let alone his heart.
And that’s exactly what Mattersonville was—a nickel-and-dime town.
Mattersonville, Georgia is not your ordinary, run-of-the-mill southern town. In fact many people, even those in Georgia, had never even heard of it before. But there it was shining beneath the Georgia sun, basking in the ocean breezes that blew in from the coast.
Now to find this quiet little part of the south, there was no need for those fancy maps. Most likely you wouldn’t find it on any of them anyway. In fact, most people who stumbled onto it did so purely by accident. Sure, the little town had all of the normal, run-of-the-mill things like any other town. But one thing it didn’t have was a zip code. It just never had one and most likely never would. But it did have a post office if that made any sense. So the town would use the zip code of the closest available town—Savannah, Georgia. Now how far was Mattersonville from Savannah?
Well, just about as far as you could spit. Hell, even if you couldn’t spit, for all that matter.
Directions to get there were easy. Go to Savannah, walk down the center of Main Street to where the asphalt and concrete sidewalks ends, step off onto the dirt, and you’re there. In fact, many of the residents of Mattersonville would use the name Savannah as their city of residence simply because people knew where Savannah was and nobody had an idea where Mattersonville was. They still got their mail, so what was the harm in it?
Mattersonville got its name because the greatest of all of the Southern plantations was located there. Named after its founder William W. Matterson, Matterson House was huge, two stories tall with fourteen bedrooms in all. Its gleaming white pillars towered up from the large wooden porch all the way up to a large balcony, that protruded off of the roof. The balcony was more like a big porch, surrounded by a four foot high white wooden railing. The railing ran from the roof, out one of side and across the front of the balcony, before it ran back to the roof. Two French glass doors, gave access to the balcony via the upstairs attic. In the days prior to the Civil War, it served as a city meeting place for social events for the upper-class citizens of Savannah, or for all of Georgia for that fact. But things changed after the war, as it did with most of the other cotton plantations in the South. And seven years later, following the death of his wife, Katherine, William W. Matterson himself climbed onto his favorite horse and quietly rode off into the sunset never to be heard from again. Some people will tell you that he went to California or maybe even Canada. But none of those rumors were ever proven.
But Matterson House, left abandoned and empty, soon fell victim to the passage of time. The brilliant white paint that once covered the massive house soon turned to a yellowish tinge. And the death of this great landmark destined for doom was sealed. That was until the Windslows moved into the house in 1955. Oh, there had been numerous tenants that tried to make a go of the old house, but to many, it was just too much work. But none of them had the dream of rebuilding her as Grady did. One of those past occupants had even gone as far as building a large barn and stables. And while the structure wasn’t a part of the original structure, it was still a very sturdy barn, and while it only needed a coat of paint, Grady still hadn’t decided to keep it or tear it down. Had it been built a little farther from the house, there would simply be no decision to be made. That same tenant had even made an attempt at adding some indoor plumbing. And while it wasn’t nearly enough, it still was a lot better than the outdoor outhouses of the past. The hot water heater wasn’t large enough to heat the kitchen sink. So the first thing that Grady had added was a larger unit, to handle the task at hand. The entire property sat on about two hundred acres of plush green pastureland. The gravel driveway that entered through two large stone-covered pillars ran about one hundred yards before it reached the circular portion of the driveway in front of the porch that led to the front doors of this once-grand old house. Looking away from the house, a flat pasture stretched out for several hundred yards before they ended at the base of the hill that surrounded the town of Mattersonville.
Grady Windslow had brought two things with him when he moved into the huge house—his charming twenty-year-old daughter, Katie, and a secret that went back to the war itself, a secret that they would have to keep to themselves until they had all of the pieces to the puzzle.
Girl Problems
Saturday was just another day. Michael and his best friend, Rick, had just finished their shift at the dock where they had spent the last ten hours loading and unloading the ships that called the port of Savannah home. It might not be the most sought-after job in the world, but still it was an honest job, and the pay was decent. And like any other Saturday in this two-bit town, their nightlife would consist of a stop off at the local soda fountain for a fast bite to eat, then it was home for a shower then off to the movies. For every Saturday night, the theater would change the picture show. This week would be no different.
As they took their seats at the booth by the window, Rick asked the same question that he had asked for the past three weeks. “So who are you taking to the Fourth of July picnic?” he asked.
“Jesus, don’t you ever quit? I told you before I’m not going,” Mike replied.
“Why not? Hey, why don’t you ask Betty? She’ll go with you I bet.”
“Lay off. When I find just the right girl, I’ll let you know, okay?” Mike replied.
“The right girl? I told you before, she doesn’t exist. How about Susie Barnes? She just broke up with her boyfriend I hear,” Rick answered.
“Susie Barnes, are you kidding? Besides I might have to work,” Mike answered.
Floe, the waitress, walked up to their table with her ticket book in hand, ready to jot down their order. “What’s it going to be this time, guys, the usual?” she asked.
“Floe, how about a girlfriend for Mike here?” Rick asked. “He’s lonely.”
“Rick, quit it. Floe, tell him that true love is worth waiting for, isn’t it?” Mike said.
“Son, you’re asking the wrong person. I’ve been waiting for years, and look at me, I still live with my parents, and I’m closing in on twenty-five,” she told him.
“See, Mike, you need to broaden your horizons, is all.”
“I’ll take a burger and fries and a malted, but take him with you,” Mike said as he pointed at Rick.
Floe just smiled. “And you?” she asked.
“Yeah, give me the usual,” Rick told her.
Floe scribbled their orders down and went to put their order in.
“Hey, you can take Floe,” Rick said as he started laughing.
“Oh yeah, an older woman, that would go over good tomorrow at church I bet,” Mike answered.
“Yeah, I can just picture your mom dragging you from church by your earlobe,” Rick added.
“Well, I don’t think she would go that far, but—” Mike answered as Rick cut him off.
“Oh yeah, she would. We’re talking about your mom, remember?”
“Yeah maybe she would at that,” Mike responded.
Just then, Mr. Petersen stopped in front of their table. “Hello, Michael, tell your dad that I just got the lumber in for his barn. I’ll deliver it on Monday. Okay?” he asked.
“Sure thing, Mr. Petersen, I’ll be sure to tell him when I go home,” Mike answered.
“Hello there, Rick. Hey, that job offer is still open if you want to get off of that dock,” Mr. Petersen told Rick.
“Still thinking about it but h
aven’t made up my mind yet,” he answered.
“Won’t be around forever, you know?”
“I know,” Rick answered.
“Good day to you, boys, got to run. My food is getting cold,” Mr. Petersen told them as he walked away.
“You, guys, planning on fixing your barn?” Rick asked.
“My dad wants to replace the south wall. Ain’t nothing wrong with it, just old I guess,” Mike answered.
“So let’s get back to your problem,” Rick said as he sat up straight in the booth.
“What problem?” Mike asked as if he didn’t already know the answer.
“Your girl problem,” Rick answered.
“For the last time, I don’t have a girl problem,” Mike answered in a louder-than-normal tone.
Both of them kind of looked around to see how many people were staring at them. And as usual, everyone had stopped eating and was staring at them. Then they all went back to whatever they were doing before.
“Thanks, Rick,” Mike told him as he slid down deeper into the booth.
“See, now everyone knows that you have a girl problem,” Rick answered as Floe walked up with their orders. Neither of them spoke as she slid their plates down in front of them.
“There you go, boys. Eat hearty,” Floe said as she turned and walked away.
“Hey, there’s talk around town that somebody bought the old Matterson place,” said Rick as he bit into his sandwich.
“The old Matterson place you say? That place is a dump. Remember when we used to play in that creepy old place?” Mike replied.
“I remember when a certain someone fell through the floor.”
“Hey, don’t laugh. I really thought I was going to die that day. One minute I’m chasing after you—”
“Yeah, then you were gone. Nothing but a big hole in the floor. That was funny,” Rick added.
“Funny now maybe, but back then—what was I, maybe eight—stuff like that has a way of scaring people for life,” Mike responded.
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