A Firm Foundation

by Anne Marie Rodgers

  “It’s not a crime,” he said.

  Kate ignored his belligerence. “How did you discover it?”

  “Excuse me?” Her question had thrown him.

  “How did you discover that you owned the library?” Kate pressed.

  He glared at her. “Not that it’s any of your business, but after my father died, I had all his properties surveyed so I could sell them. In his safe-deposit box was an old deed that he must have overlooked for years. It showed that my family owned that land free and clear. My grandfather might have intended to donate it to the town, but the actual deed transfer never took place.”

  Kate couldn’t believe he was giving her so much information. “Don’t you feel uncomfortable about kicking the library out, especially when it was your grandfather’s intent to donate it to Copper Mill? The library doesn’t have a place to move to, and the town will suffer. Many people won’t have computer access, and there won’t be any books or other valuable resources for them to check out. How can you do this?” She took a deep breath. “You just said yourself that your grandfather’s intent was to give the property to the town. How can you completely disregard your ancestor’s wishes?”

  Gerald Foxfield made a rude noise. “My ancestor’s wishes don’t hold a lot of weight with me, lady. The man’s dead and buried. I’m a whole lot more concerned about my income stream.”

  Her suspicions were confirmed. “So that’s why you’re rushing the library out?”

  “Rushing?” he said contemptuously. “I gave ’em a whole week to pack up and move. I was within my rights to get ’em out of there immediately.”

  The rumor of apartments being built downtown rang clearly in Kate’s head. “You’re tearing it down to build apartments, aren’t you?”

  For the first time, she saw unease in Foxfield’s unfriendly demeanor. “Where’d you hear that?”

  Kate smiled grimly. “The rumor mill. Although from your expression, I’m pretty certain there’s a lot more than rumor to it.”

  “If I’m building on the property, it’s none of your business,” he snarled. “Now get off my land.”

  Kate didn’t budge. “You’re the one who wrote those threatening notes to Olivia Jenner and the note leading me on a wild-goose chase, aren’t you? And you made the threatening phone call too, didn’t you?”

  Foxfield paused, his brow furrowed. “What? I didn’t write any notes. You have no business coming here and harassing me. Get off my property now, or I’ll call the cops.”

  Kate turned and began to walk back to her car. “That won’t be necessary. You’ve given me all the information I need to know.”

  “What information?” he shouted after her. “That library’s coming down on Monday. There’s nothing you can do to stop it.”

  Kate didn’t acknowledge that she’d even heard him as she steamed back to the Honda. “We’ll see about that,” she muttered beneath her breath. “There’s always something that can be done. The key is finding it in time.”

  KATE’S HANDS WERE SHAKING and her heart was pounding as she drove away from Gerald Foxfield’s home. What an odious man!

  That library’s coming down on Monday echoed over and over in her head. She’d heard the truth from Gerald’s own lips. Now, how could she stop the demolition? A wave of despair swept over her. Who was she to think she could stop something like this single-handedly? Particularly something that was happening legally?

  But if Foxfield really thought he could steamroll right over the town council, he would have publicly gone ahead with his demolition plans, wouldn’t he? He wouldn’t have bothered keeping it a secret if he didn’t have some concerns about the townsfolk’s ability to thwart him.

  And despite his contention that he hadn’t threatened either her or Livvy, she had to assume that he was indeed responsible for that. Why bother unless he was worried that they might be able to stop him somehow? Then she remembered her Bible study from that very morning, a verse from Isaiah that talked about putting her trust in the Lord. That was what she’d been leaving out of this quest, she realized. She had been depending on herself instead of depending on Christ.

  As she drove, she began to pray. She prayed for patience and for the wisdom to discern her path. Was saving the library really what God wanted from her? She’d thought about this and worried over it several times. But each time she came back to a conviction that she was indeed following the path the Lord had set before her. The Copper Mill Public Library provided so much to so many people.

  She thought of Livvy, face glowing as she taught a young person—or an older person—how to use a search engine. Her friend truly loved her job. Kate thought of Jeremy Pellman, patiently lying in the grass watching his squirrels. What would happen to the squirrels if the library was demolished? She thought of Morty Robertson, for whom the library was a way to give worth and meaning to retirement, and of so many others who wandered in and out in the course of a week, reaping the fruits of the town’s investment in literacy and learning.

  And that thought segued into yet another. How and why had the town council poured so much money into the library over the years when they didn’t own the building? How had a mistake of this magnitude been made? Land ownership was very serious business.

  Suddenly her heart sank as she recalled how she had gotten her information about the library deeds: Louisa Pellman. Based on where Kate had seen the blue Cadillac, she was certain Louisa was connected to Gerald Foxfield somehow. And if that was true, Kate couldn’t trust the information Louisa had given her, not even the photocopy of the current deed.

  She needed to get to the deeds office and check out the deeds herself as soon as she could. But the next day was Saturday, and all the public buildings were closed.

  To distract herself from her mounting worry, she thought about the earlier encounter with Renee and Caroline, and Caroline’s mention of gold. Was it true? From the library book she’d seen, it appeared that gold had been found in Copper Mill “back in the day,” as the kids in the youth group said.

  Then a new thought occurred to her. Foxfield had looked anxious, uncertain, when she had mentioned building apartments on the site. She remembered the picture on the mayor’s wall. Lawton Briddle was a good man, if a bit set in his ways. Tosten Glass, however, was someone she could picture being involved in this scheme.

  Yet another thought intruded, sparked by the memory of the picture of three young boys. According to Lawton Briddle, Tosten Glass was convinced at the time that he was close to finding gold. Had Gerald Foxfield heard and believed those childhood stories as well?

  Surely the slim possibility of finding gold couldn’t have anything to do with Foxfield’s determination to tear down the library. Or could it?

  It was pretty far out there as theories went. But Kate’s intuition told her not to discount the idea. She was going to have to talk to someone about gold.

  AT HOME THAT EVENING, Kate flipped through the phone book and looked up the number of Pine Ridge Community College. Did they have classes on Friday evenings? It couldn’t hurt to try.

  She was mildly surprised when a receptionist answered the telephone. Apparently, all after-hours calls were transferred to the library, which was open until eleven.

  “I’d like to speak to someone who might know something about gold mining,” she said.

  The receptionist said, “Maybe the geology department? Hold on, and I’ll transfer you if there’s someone there. If they don’t have the answer, maybe they can tell you who might.”

  Kate heard a few moments of soft classical music before a new voice said, “Pine Ridge Community College, geology department.”

  When Kate explained what she was seeking, the woman said, “Oh, I’m sure Dr. Wilde could answer your questions. He has a PhD in Geology of the Appalachians, and he knows a tremendous amount about the local area.” She told Kate the professor would be in his office from nine till noon the following morning.

  Kate resolved to be on his doorstep at nine on
the dot.

  KATE WENT INTO their home office, bypassing her studio to check her e-mail on the computer. She had hoped to complete the squirrel sun catcher for Jeremy’s birthday, but the past few days had been such a whirlwind of chasing clues that she hadn’t been able to spend much time at all in the studio. She sighed as she told herself that keeping the library intact and in its present location—with its resident squirrel population safe—was the best birthday gift she could give Jeremy.

  The thought made her smile as she sat down at the computer. Although the Internet connection was much slower than the library computers, it was fine for e-mail.

  She had the usual assortment of e-mails from people coordinating church events and projects, a few advertisements that were easily deleted, and one message from egetty@hcwc.org that she didn’t recognize for a moment. Then she realized it was from Elspeth Getty, the director of the Harrington County Wildlife Center. Elspeth wrote that she had sent the squirrel photos Kate had taken to an expert who thought it was possible the tiny rodents might be a previously unknown subspecies of flying squirrel.

  After typing a quick reply and shutting down her e-mail program, Kate went to the living room, where Paul was watching the backs of his eyelids while a nature show played on television. She chuckled, and his eyes slowly opened and focused on her.

  “Good program, isn’t it,” she teased.

  “Excellent,” he said, straightening. “Couldn’t you see how much I was enjoying it?”

  She laughed out loud as she took a seat beside him on the couch. “Indulge me for a few minutes,” she said as he turned his palm up and she laced her fingers through his.

  “Indulging,” he said. “What’s up?”

  “I’m getting desperate,” she admitted. “There has to be some way to save the library, but I haven’t found it yet. Now I’m thinking outside the box. These are long-shot possibilities, I admit, but I have two scenarios I’m going to pursue, in addition to checking out the deeds more closely first thing Monday morning.”

  “How outside the box are you thinking?” Paul asked.

  “Think flying squirrels and gold,” she told him.

  “Together? This I can’t wait to hear.”

  “Not together, smarty,” she said, elbowing him gently. “Squirrels first. I just got an e-mail from that wildlife place where I took Jeremy’s injured squirrel. She sent those photos I took to a flying-squirrel expert who thinks it’s possible that they might be a new subspecies.”

  Paul’s eyes opened wider, and he sat up straighter. “So you’re wondering if they could be classified as an endangered species.”

  “Exactly. If they are, could that save the library? It wouldn’t resolve the ownership problem, but at least it might keep the building from being demolished.”

  Paul ran a hand through his hair. “If you’re asking my opinion, I’d have to say that’s a serious long shot.”

  “Yes, but maybe an injunction could prevent the demolition until further study is done and a determination is made,” she said. “I know there’s something funny going on with Gerald Foxfield. I just need time to prove it.”

  Paul sighed. “I suppose it’s a possibility, but you’d have to work awfully fast. What’s the other scenario?”

  “I’m not exactly sure,” she admitted. “But something Caroline Johnston said to me is sticking in my head, and I can’t help thinking it could have something to do with Foxfield’s interest in the library.”

  “What is it?”

  “Gold. Caroline said that there used to be gold prospecting in Copper Mill. I found an old book that appeared to substantiate it.”

  “But what does that have to do with the library?”

  “I have no clue,” she said in frustration. “But I don’t have time to pursue a whole lot else, so I’m going to look into it. What if there is gold beneath the town? Even the possibility of that could make people awfully greedy. You should have seen Gerald Foxfield’s family home, Paul. It’s practically a mansion in a beautiful established neighborhood with other old estate homes. Mature trees, spacious lots, carriage houses, the whole works. According to a neighbor, Foxfield sold the house soon after his father passed away to pay off gambling debts. When I finally found him, his current residence is a small and very poorly maintained Cape Cod in a less-than-stellar neighborhood. The only signs of wealth I saw were two antique cars hidden away in a garage.”

  “So Jerry—Foxfield—has fallen on hard times, you’re saying, and wants to...what? Find gold?” Paul looked skeptical. “That sounds pretty far-fetched, Kate.”

  “I know,” she said, “but without anything else to consider, it’s at least a possibility.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  BBefore nine the following morning, Kate drove to Pine Ridge and headed for the community college. The whole way there, she mulled over her theories. Gold had been found in Copper Mill at least once, it appeared. How was that relevant to what was happening today? Or was she imagining that her intuition was leading her this way because she was so desperate for any lead?

  The campus of Pine Ridge Community College was a lovely rolling expanse of green lawn beneath large shade trees. It was tranquil now in the midst of the summer break. Kate knew there were summer classes, but the main parking lot held only a handful of cars.

  She walked to a large campus map displayed on a corner and identified the sciences building. It was a handsome brick structure with shallow concrete steps. Pulling open one of the white double doors, she went to one wall that held a directory. Dr. Wilde’s office was number 227 on the second floor. A wide set of stairs mounted to a second-floor lounge. Off the lounge were several hallways with numbers prominently displayed. She saw 210–230 and moments later was standing in front of 227.

  The door was slightly ajar. Kate rapped on the door frame and heard a deep bass voice say, “Come in.”

  She pushed open the door to reveal a typical professor’s office, crammed with bookshelves, two visitors’ chairs, and an enormous wooden desk in front of a window. A tall man in a casual knit shirt and pants stood and extended a hand. He looked to be about the age of her son, Andrew.

  “Hello. Devon Wilde. Are you a student?”

  Kate shook her head. “I’m Kate Hanlon. I’m visiting from Copper Mill, and I was hoping you could answer some questions for me.”

  “Shoot.” Dr. Wilde waited until Kate sat, and then he resumed his seat. He looked more like a golfer than a professor, she thought, although the mountains of paperwork around him certainly gave evidence of his occupation.

  “I recently learned that there once was gold found in Copper Mill,” she said. “I understand you know a lot about the Appalachians, and I was hoping you might be able to tell me more about it.”

  Dr. Wilde smiled. “You might be sorry you asked, but I’ll try to keep it brief. How much do you know about gold as it occurs in nature?”

  Kate shook her head. “Other than the fact that miners panned for it, very little.”

  “All right. Crash course. Gold is found, like other precious metals, in host rock. As that rock weathers, it frees the gold, which falls or is washed down among other rock, often in streambeds or alluvial formations.” He must have noted Kate’s lack of comprehension because he added, “An alluvial fan is an area where a fast-moving stream of water fans out across a wider, flatter area.”

  Kate nodded. “Got it.”

  “Gold is nineteen times heavier than water,” Wilde went on, “so much of the time, it doesn’t move far from the source rock, the host rock. Without going into detail, I’ll just say that as the water erodes the gold, smaller nuggets and flakes break off and move downstream. If you find gold flakes in a stream, you need to move upstream to find the bigger stuff. Gold has been found in the southern Appalachians for well over a hundred and fifty years now. In 1829, articles detailing the discovery of gold in northern Georgia caused thousands of miners to rush into the area. Ultimately, their presence hastened the removal of the Ch
erokee Indians. In the winter of 1837 and 1838, the Cherokee were forced on a march west to Oklahoma, during which more than a third of them died.”

  “The Trail of Tears,” Kate murmured.

  “Right.” Wilde pointed a finger at her as if he were shooting. “I digress. There are some major fault lines running through the Appalachians. Where there are faults, the upheaval of rock brings formations to the surface, and in our case, an old fault line practically right under Copper Mill left deposits of several minerals close to the surface. In the mid-1800s, copper was found, giving the town its name. But what most people don’t know is that for a short time during the 1860s, the discovery of gold in three key sites around the town caused a mini gold rush.”

  “Where were the sites?” Kate asked.

  “Two were along what is now Main Street,” Wilde said. “One where the library stands, and the other farther east near the creek. The third site is south of town, also near the creek.”

  “But the library isn’t near water,” Kate said, “so how was gold found there?”

  “At that time, there was a small tributary of Copper Mill Creek that ran west of the current creek. It dried up after a huge storm sent a flash flood down the creek and shifted a big boulder.”

  “So the gold was found while there still was a stream there?” Kate asked.

  Wilde shook his head. “No. It was private property owned by a prominent local man named Severn. Mr. Severn owned the land, and he refused to prospect for gold. The Severn family eventually sold it just before the turn of the century, and a house was built on the property in 1897. Several nuggets of gold were found when they dug the foundation for the house, presumably deposited there before the stream was diverted.”

  Dr. Wilde paused to take a breath. “The house was sold two more times—in 1903 and 1916. In 1916, it was purchased by a fellow who lived there with his family until 1934, when he donated the home to the town of Copper Mill for the purpose of becoming a library. The family made the donation anonymously, but at that time, everyone knew the man who donated the house was named—”