The mansion tour was all that I hoped for. In Dolley’s chamber, I pictured her before her mirror, brushing her lovely brown hair. Her maid would’ve helped her dress, drawing in her corsets. We saw where she had served afternoon teas out on the porch. The mansion was so elegant but yet so welcoming, just like the lady of the house. Dolley’s charm and wit still triumphed. I could feel her in every room and hall where we walked.
When the tour was completed, a chauffeur drove us to a car rental business, where a car was ready for us, and we headed for Colonial Williamsburg.
“Okay, read me that poem again, all the way through.” Aaron drove onto the freeway. “The one about a candle.” He glanced at me, smiling.
“Oh, sure, give me a sec.” I reached into my bag and pulled out the copy I’d brought along. “Here goes.” I read it aloud to him.
“Interesting,” Aaron said, grinning. “The third corner of the sampler has to be a candle.”
“I thought so too.” I gave him a puzzled look. “First on the agenda is to explore the graveyard at Bruton Parish.”
“This is fun.” Aaron merged with traffic. “Dolley could get people to do anything for her. Trying to solve this mystery is fun, and here we are doing her bidding over almost two centuries later. I’m enjoying every minute, even if we come up empty handed.” I took out my cell phone and began taking scenery pictures to send to Grandma. “Our reservations are for three nights at the Williamsburg Lodge. What a great honeymoon.” I leaned over to give him a kiss.
“Yeah. I’d like to see everything, including College of William and Mary. Imagine that. All those buildings are preserved. Aren’t we lucky?”
“Yes, very. John D. Rockefeller Jr. sure helped out with the preservation.” I took a few more pictures of the buildings and towns, all decorated for the season. “The Bruton Parish rector and an attorney who is representing us should be waiting when we get there. There probably will also be a guard to make sure that the manuscript is safe, if we do find it.” I slipped my phone into my pocket. Shivers raced up and down my spine. “We’re on the right track. I can feel it.”
“I think so too. Something that precious would have to be guarded,” he agreed. “I’m looking forward to the two of us being alone.”
“Me too.” I took a deep breath. “My heart is pumping like never before.” I held out my hands and stared at them. “They’re shaking. Look at that.”
After driving a couple of hours down to the Williamsburg area, we parked in the lot and checked into the hotel. I slipped out my cell phone and dialed the attorney and parish rector to let them know we’d arrived. We picked up maps of the historical preserve area, then went back out into the snow-covered streets.
“I can’t believe that we’re walking where the greats had once walked. And we can eat where they did too,” I said, completely awestruck to see the doors hung with wreaths of fruit and greenery. A few houses had candles in the windows. “I’m all tingly inside. Let’s look at the map and head straight to the church.”
“Yep. We need to find the Duke of Gloucester Street.” He turned the map around.
“It’s right down here, just a couple blocks away.”
Hurrying, we brushed past pedestrians dressed in period clothes. A corner group of impersonators sang favored holiday carols of the period. An impersonator of Thomas Jefferson was addressing a group of tourists. I knew that I’d eventually have to return and listen to the words of that brilliant man. Doors of some of the shops stood open behind him, allowing the sun to warm up their rooms, in spite of the winter chill in the air. The thatched-roofed houses were quaint and well preserved, as were the wood homes. Coming closer to the parish, we stopped to take in the site and noticed the armored car parked out front.
“Isn’t it interesting that this brick Episcopal Church has been in continuous use since before the Revolution?” I sucked in my breath and stared at the church’s tall wooden spire. “It’s still just as active as ever.”
“Let’s walk around to the cemetery.” Aaron led the way. “Fortunately, the gravestones are taller than the snow. We’ll be able to read most of them.”
“Yes, I see that. Everyone is here already.” I began searching for the headstone that read Polly. “You look on the other side.”
“Sure.” Aaron began walking toward the newer-looking headstones.
Slowly, I walked up and down the rows of chipped, washed-out stones that had little or no visible writing left on them. Many were covered with moss, and I tried to brush them clean. Back in a corner, near the base of the church, was a very small stone that almost caused me to trip. Bending down, I noticed that it had an odd, circular design on it, like an oil lantern. With my fingers, I carved out the dirt, exposing the stone that read, ‘Polly’.
“Aaron! Come here!”
“Coming!” he answered. “With the attorney, guard, and minister.”
I knelt in front of the stone and continued swiping away the dirt, and Aaron knelt beside me. We tenderly finished removing the dirt and sediment as the three looked on.
“I think we’ve found the right stone.” I looked up to the men. “It’ll be just a matter of time until we find the manuscript. The manuscript’s hidden in this church. This was the final clue given on the samplers.”
“I’m from the office of H. Wyeth and Sons,” the attorney said. “Mr. Henry. We’ll take care of the details, if we truly find the manuscript.”
“I’m the rector,” the other man said. He cleared his throat. “Reverend Hancock.”
“And I’m a guard from Williamsburg.”
We all shook hands.
“Nice to meet you three.” I was ready to jump out of my skin from excitement. “We’re almost done cleaning the headstone, as you can see.”
“Look.” Aaron stepped aside, exposing the image of a candle.
“The candle. We must look inside for one.” I stood up, and took a deep breath to calm my nerves. “Ever hear of a really, really, old candle that’s been in the church since like forever?”
“That’s odd, isn’t it? I never noticed this way back in the corner,” Reverend Hancock said, peering down at the stone. “Let me think a minute.” He cleared his throat. “I’ve heard tales about the two First Ladies melting their special presidential candles together, molding them as one and then having it placed here in the church.”
“An old candle, you say? Interesting.” Mr. Wyeth shoved his glasses further on his nose. “Oh my. That would mean Washington and Adams, right?”
“A letter stated that Dolley melted a candle from Martha’s estate, Abigail’s, and Jefferson’s.” I shivered down to my toes. “There’s four samplers, each with a different corner motif, which glue the clues together as one. The fourth corner is the tombstone exposing the candle. We must find it.”
“Several letters indicated a candle,” Aaron said.
“Let’s go inside and see if we can figure this out,” I said.
“I’ve kept someone in the sanctuary the past few days. I haven’t wanted anyone to come in here alone, ever since receiving your phone call.” Reverend Hancock led them to the main door and we followed him inside. “Let’s all have a seat.” He flipped on the lights. “There. That’s better.”
The beauty of the magnificent altar, draped in ferns and candles, took my breath away. Aaron squeezed my hand as we sank into the nearest boxed pew. Our mouths were agape as we looked around at the rosette windows on one side and sash on the other. The oak wood flooring looked brand new. The boxed pews kept the drafts from opened windows from reaching the congregation. A special canopied chair on a platform near the altar was still in position from when the governor, Spotswood, attended services in the early 1700s. A succession of galleries lined the walls with exterior staircases, designed for students from the College of William and Mary.
“The poem read something about a wickless candle at Jesus’s feet. I don’t see one, but I’m sure that it’d be small in comparison to an altar candle.” I glanced at
the reverend. “Maybe we should climb up to the gallery and look down? We’d get a better perspective.”
“I’m trying to remember.” Reverend Hancock ran his fingers through his hair. “There’s a very old candle, but where?” Hancock got up. “I think I know. It’s not on the altar anymore.” He started walking toward the stairs. “You’re right. Let’s sit up in one of the galleries.”
“What about by the pump organ?” I followed him. “Have you seen a sampler at all? Hanging somewhere? Ever?”
“Sampler? Why, yes, of course. There used to be one hanging upstairs. Let’s go take a look. You’re kidding about the candles, aren’t you?” Mr. Wyeth followed Aaron, who was close beside me. “A candle from the First Ladies?” He furrowed his brow. “I wonder if there was one?”
“We’ll find out.” Hancock led them up the narrow staircase. “Let’s all have a seat, please.”
“Smell that old varnish? Look over at the organ. It’s gorgeous. It looks like a statue up there, hanging on a wall.” I pointed to it. “Do you mind? Aaron? Come with me, you guys try and find a candle from here.”
Aaron and I slowly made our way down the stairs, briskly walked over to the organ stairs, and climbed them.
“All these stairs are a pain,” Aaron said, reaching the gallery.
“Look at that organ. It must be as old as the building. Wow. It’s dated 1768. Living history.” I gawked at it, and lightly touched it. “My heart is ready to stop beating, this is such an honor.”
“The rocket’s red glare, hon. Back to the moment.”
“Yeah, the bombs bursting in air.” I sank onto the bench with Aaron beside me. “It’s here. I can feel it.” I slowly glanced around the small room. Dolley. Speak to me. I tightly closed my eyes. “Where is it?” I pictured Dolley moving around and holding a long, narrow package. She stopped in front of a statue. “There’s a small statue on the wall there behind the bench seat. You’d better go and get the others.”
As Aaron left to call down to them, I lowered my head in silent prayer, offering devotions of thankfulness for the life of Dolley Madison, and gave a silent thank you for my grandparents. The voices and footsteps of the approaching men caused me to open my eyes.
“Ready, Liv?” Aaron returned from the top of the stairs and massaged my shoulders.
“I can’t begin to tell you guys how nervous and excited I am.” I glanced at each of them. “Let’s say a prayer. Reverend?”
“Took the words right out of my mouth.” We all bowed our heads. “Thank you, Lord, for helping this lady to locate the most exciting song in all our history. Amen.”
“You mean the most spectacular.” I corrected him before turning to raise the bench lid, and lifted out a four-inch diameter beeswax candle. Tears streamed from my eyes as I held it up to the light. “Just like the poem. No wick. Wickless.” I turned it over and read the carved out letter P. “The corner motif was to lead us where her bird, Polly, was buried. The First Ladies candle, I figured is inside.”
“Isn’t this amazing?” Aaron blurted. He beamed.
“Exactly. A bird and the dancing ball. And now the wickless candle.” I wanted to dance until dawn. “I saw Mitch Miller’s Sing-Along videos, and thought of the strawberries along edge of the samplers, which Dolley had embroidered. The four strawberries were symbolic of Maryland, our fourth state. The dancing hinted at a tune, which led me to Frances Scott Key who was the most famous of American composers at that time.”
“Polly? Samplers? Wickless candle?” Mr. Wyeth shook his head. “I don’t get it.”
“Her bird’s name was Polly and the P proves it’s the candle we are looking for.” I pointed to it.
“You’re connecting this find to a parakeet?” The guard shook his head. “Nothing makes sense.”
“It will if this proves right.” Aaron shot me a smile the size of the Montana sky.
“Aaron, do you have your pocketknife?”
“Here.” Aaron removed it from his pocket, opened it, and handed it over. “Careful.”
With trembling fingers, I began carving at the base of the candle, when a two-inch round block of beeswax dropped out. Carefully, I tipped the candle sideways and peered inside.
“Oh, my God. Aaron, you do it.” My eyes opened wide and it felt like my heart had leapt into my chest.
“Nope, it’s all yours.” Aaron pushed it back.
I carefully extracted a copper tube from inside the candle. Tilting it slightly I poked my finger inside and gently pulled out a tightly rolled yellowed sheet of parchment paper. I painstakingly unrolled it, revealing the original copy of Star Spangled Banner by Francis Scott Key.
“I feel light headed and about ready to faint. I can’t believe this.” Silently I read it through moist eyes, before holding it up for the men to read.
“All this time it’s been here?” Reverend Hancock asked, in disbelief.
“The clues led us here. The bottom was sealed with beeswax.” I grinned. “That’s my girl, Dolley.”
“Wow,” we said in unison.
“This is glorious,” said Mr. Wyeth.
“Let’s sing the last two lines before we give this paper to the guard, shall we?”
Immediately, we began singing,
And the Star-Spangled Banner in triumph shall wave
O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave!”
THE END
Author’s Note
The copy of The Star Spangled Banner that Francis Scott Key wrote is on display at the Maryland Historical Society. There is also another copy at the Library of Congress. It is my understanding that it is not known which of these is the exact first copy of the beloved anthem.
The Banner is on display at the Smithsonian Institute.
I used the liberty of my imagination to fit the circumstances. The First Lady candle, samplers, and letters are all fictitious.
About Barbara Schlichting
Barbara Schlichting was born and raised in Minneapolis and graduated from Theodore Roosevelt high school in 1970. She and her husband moved their family to Bemidji, Minnesota, in 1979. She attended Bemidji State University where she earned her undergraduate and graduate degrees in elementary education and special education. Ms Schlichting has been married for forty-four years and has two grown sons who have blessed her with five grandchildren and one great grandson.
Coming Soon from Darkhouse Books
Words Can Kill
A First Lady Mystery — Mary Lincoln
by Barbara Schlichting
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About This Book
The typeface in this book is 11.5 Garamond and Helvetica (for the headings). It was laid out using Adobe InDesign software and converted to PDF for uploading to the printing facility.
About Darkhouse Books
Darkhouse Books is dedicated to publishing entertaining fiction, primarily in the mystery and science fiction field. Darkhouse Books is located in Niles, California, an inadvertently-preserved, 120 year old, one-sided, railtown, forty miles from San Francisco. Further information may be obtained by visiting our website at www.darkhousebooks.com.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
&n
bsp; Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
The Blood Spangled Banner: A First Ladies Mystery Page 23