JUDITH GREENE: The Old Port Chronicles, Part 1

by James C. Burke

  “Let’s see. The lady drags the casket down the path to this point.”

  “In the dark,” Myrtle restated.

  “Then she needed a lantern and a shovel he said. Assuming I think correctly, this happened in the dead of the night when activity in the railroad yards had ceased, then she must have done her work in two trips. On the first she made her way down under the bridge and dug the hole; and then she returned up the path to get the box She might have even dug the hole a day or two before, because nobody would have noticed. The only problem I can see is that the night watchman makes an hourly round from the new depot to the old one. Nine blocks separate the two stations, but the gaslights in the passenger yards, extend only as far as Third Avenue. That means she had about a half-hour of time to work without being seen or heard.”

  Myrtle reached down and picked up several spent matches and mused,

  “She must have been a mess by the time she was done. If she was that clever she would have worn gloves to avoid blisters. The ring scratches tell us she didn’t think of that.”

  Suddenly she whipped a blade out of her cane and placed its point on the heart of the detective. Doctor Everett struggled to pull the knob off the end of his cane but it was an ordinary cane. He then raised it above his head like a club.

  “Put your sword back Miss Klieneburger, I’m a detective working for the county.”

  It was the charming Mr. Cassidy. He then moved the point of her blade away from his heart and opened his coat to produce his credentials. Myrtle snapped,

  “Sir, you should not sneak up on a lady!” Cassidy chuckled, and tried to mike light of her remark.

  “Indeed, yes… indeed. Particularly one who takes her gentlemen friends under bridges?”

  In an instant, Myrtle brings the tip of the blade to his throat.

  “I believe that was meant to be an affront to my honor sir! I believe that I could drive this blade clear through your neck before you could reach for your pistol. My gentleman friend, a doctor might not be inclined to save your life, for he too has been deeply wounded by your remarks. John?”

  “Yes, deeply wounded!”

  Cassidy moved the blade of the sword from his throat saying.

  “Forgive me, dear lady and good doctor, I did not mean to offend… now if you would kindly put away your sword, we can discuss a matter of mutual interest. After all, we have a common employer, do we not?”

  Myrtle returned her sword to the cane and spoke under her breath to Doctor Everett,

  “See? I told you I would be useful to you.”

  “Marcus Wellington Cassidy at your service dear lady. I am certain had your uncle continued the investigation, he would have found, as you will find in short order, that the lady who buried the casket was Jane Wyche, wife of the esteemed Colonel Wyche. The problem is, short of a confession, nothing can be proven. Even if she confessed, what crime did she commit? Burying an empty coffin? But I have some ideas about this whole matter. Mrs. Wyche strikes me a shrewd, devious, and rather hard hearted. She would not take such a risk unless she was protecting somebody; and I think that somebody is her sister or cousin, what have you, Laura McAdams. Now she according to what I’ve heard is the kind of person who would get mixed up with a baby’s casket. But with that said, I think the widow Laura McAdams merely found the coffin by accident in that old house of hers. The real criminal is the person that dug up the coffin, and made off with the body. That’s the dangerous one lurking about – with the exception of you, Miss Klieneburger, no offence – and that is where we should direct our efforts. That is, if we could stop trying to go over the same ground that our esteemed coroner Doctor Lovejoy covered several days past.” Puzzled, Everett asked

  Body? What body? How do you know that the fiend is still here? The original crime might have occurred during the war. The man could be dead, or off in China, for all we know. Cassidy, amused, answered,

  “You have been spending the morning looking for a woman. Could not the original crime have been committed by a woman?” Myrtle laughed.

  “A grieving mother, perhaps, Mr. Cassidy?”

  “I don’t think so. Good day Miss Klieneburger and doctor.”

  Mr. Cassidy excused himself with a tip of his hat, and climbed the path back to the street. Turning to Myrtle, Doctor Everett asked,

  “Don’t you feel something is wrong about all of this? I don’t trust him. Your uncle said there was no body.”

  Myrtle walked on the path that led east along the face of the cut to the old depot on Tenth Avenue, then said,

  “There seems to be something more serious below the surface than a wealthy madwoman burying empty coffins. My uncle said that the police had discontinued the investigation, and lo, the county has a detective on the case. Would that not still be a matter for the town police? On the way from the cemetery to the Fourth Avenue Bridge, I will grant you this, that men had a hand in this deed. They must be powerful men. Nothing will ever be understood, particularly the motive, unless they are exposed. There was probably something valuable in that coffin… like gold.” Everett looked out over the vast declivity before them and said,

  “We are not working for anybody. If your uncle knew what we were doing, he might say we stepped into deep waters. We wanted to satisfy a certain curiosity, since we are mere apprentices in his craft.”

  Myrtle, stopped to examine a rarely trodden branch of their path leading up to the carriage house behind the McAdams House.

  “Here, I imagine, upon reaching this crest, she knew the act was complete. Looking down below, she might have spied a pinpoint of light from the watchman’s lantern as he returned from the old depot. Risk is her life’s blood. The woman ventured out to the precipice, and balances at the edge on the balls of her heels.” Everett laughed and jested,

  “It sounds like the spirit of a gambler, and what do you suppose is gained from winning? The chance to risk again?”

  Myrtle laughed, and said no more about it. Slowly, they made their way to Tenth Avenue, and from there, strolled to Hospital Hill. They rode around in her carriage for another hour, conversing more as young couples do. After seeing the carriage leave from the hospital, Mr. Cassidy made his way down to his haunt at First and Rose, there to observe the good Mrs. Wyche. Even with his well-developed sixth sense, once again, he failed to notice somebody watching at a distance. Fresh from the failed efforts to blot out the life of the beloved Mrs. Greene, the assassin was sizing up another troublesome person on the list, Mr. Cassidy.

  This is the first investigation that Mother, the future Mrs. Everett, undertook with her uncle. Through these events, although she did not realize it, she had found her calling in life. In time, her sharp mind and steel nerves would prove indispensable to solving the mystery of the infant’s coffin.

  ****

  It is the afternoon of Sunday, January 22, 1882. For the entire week, Colonel Wyche had been in New York. With the president of the company, he negotiated a standardized freight rate agreement with all the various lines connected to the Central Railroad. While he was away, his wife Jane had spent most of her time visiting with Laura at the McAdams House. There, she took it upon herself to dispose of the infant’s casket that Laura had discovered not long after her husband’s death in 1873. Hidden several times during the intervening years, each time Laura found it. The Colonel’s safe held the bonds. The casket, however, was becoming problematic. Jane buried the casket on the evening of January 15, 1882. It took one day for somebody to find it. Nonetheless, Jane worried little about it.

  On Sunday morning after church services, Jane and Laura had a pleasant day in the countryside outside the town. Their driver took them out on the Old Port Road where they picnicked under the oaks of the old mill. Laura seemed content and often talked about her latest fascination, writing a book about a Confederate spy. She had been working on the idea since her convalescence at Morris Plantation in 1874.

  That afternoon, while having tea in the parlor, Laura produced a journal in wh
ich she had been writing, and asked Jane to read a chapter she had finished. In meticulous small script, Laura had a surprisingly entertaining adventure about the wife of an officer that became a Confederate spy after his sudden death in a Yankee raid. In her newly completed chapter, the Union Army had overrun the defenses protecting the fictional “Port Fortune.” The grey line falls back, exposing the town. The heroine Susan, trapped behind enemy lines, successfully smuggled a courier carrying valuable papers from England through the lines to safety. Confident that she could remain undiscovered in Port Fortune, she returns home. Unknown to her, her nemesis, a certain Captain Willard, is waiting for her. If the name sounds familiar, Laura’s close association with Mrs. Greene inspired the plot.

  Jane was taken aback by the vivid description of the brutal treatment the heroine received at the hands of the villainous Willard. He and his henchmen hid in wait at her home. On lighting an oil lamp, she caught sight of their forms, and made a daring dash out the door, smashing the lamp at the threshold to block their way with flames. Several Union soldiers captured her before she made off to the woods. They had been following her at a distance since she crossed the picket. They tied her hands behind her back and marched her back to the house. Willard was waiting for her in the smoldering doorway. He was no gentleman! After refusing to answer his questions, they dragged her upstairs to the attic. There, they made her stand on a crate in the middle of the room, and arranged a few rickety old chairs around her. They kept her standing there for more than an hour as they interrogated her. Still, she refused to reveal her secrets. Willard ordered one of his men to get some rope. He threatened to hang her if she didn’t talk. She responded to his taunts by stating she preferred an honorable hanging to the life of betrayer. The captain told her he had something else in mind, though he admitted, looking forward to seeing her dangling in a more formal display.

  One of Willard’s men tied a cord around her neck and then secured it to the ceiling beam above. He tied it taut so Susan had to stand on her toes to gain some relief from the constriction. Then, they waited, hoping she would finally give up her secrets. Willard and his men sat in their chairs smoking cigars as she struggled, the pain in her legs and arms intensifying as she labored to keep the cord loose. After finishing their cigars, one of the men asked Captain Willard whether they should cut her down or kick the crate out from under her to finish her off. Stating this was the last time, Willard demanded that she confess her secrets. Once again, she refused, and asked him to finish what he started. After a moment’s thought, he told her she had caused the death of his only son, but he was not willing to let his thirst for retribution lead him to outright murder. He and his men would leave her. If she could free her hands and untie the cord, she could escape to resume the game of pursuit another day. However, if she lost her footing or allowed the cord to tighten to where she passed out, they would recover her body in the morning. On leaving the attic, he put out the lamp, throwing the brave woman into complete darkness. Here, Laura’s tale stopped. Jane, somewhat frustrated, asked

  “So, what happens to her?”

  Laura smiled in her usual gracious and annoying way, and said

  “She frees her hands, and unties the cord – it’s only a slip knot. She takes a while, and she nearly topples the crate. Captain Willard is secretly glad she got away when he returned. He hates her not as much as he claims. He would lose his purpose if she were dead.”

  Jane quizzed her on how she could think up such a fearful scene. Laura explained that the war had given her heroine the freedom to use her mind and talents. That made her role equal to that of a soldier, and a soldier must risk death to fulfill his duty. Capture and death at the end of a rope is the risk that every spy accepts to participate in their glorious cause. Jane agreed, she had read the memoir of Loretta Janeta Velazquez, but took issue with how Laura depicted the rough treatment of a lady. Jane confessed that had she been in such a position, she would use her wits to beguile and deceive the captain. Convincing him she would be more valuable to him alive than dead, he would defer his intents to another day.

  Laura admitted that Jane would do much better than her heroine with the brute. Susan was a woman of action, not words, more inclined to use her wits to defeat things rather than people. Laura could see the “strong mind” in the woman conquering the terrible nightmare. Regardless of the brutality of Laura’s scene, it intrigued Jane. She asked Laura to show her more after dinner. Laura told Jane

  “Susan is better than I am, sister. She is intelligent in so many useful ways, and strong, and beautiful, and brave.” Jane assured her

  “You could be all of that!”

  After dinner, Jane and Laura retired to the small parlor in the McAdams house. The room fell silent for a while. Jane poured Laura a cup of tea, and kindly assured her she should continue writing. Then, casually, she asked what adventure she planned for her heroine in the next chapter.

  Laura’s face lit up with excitement. She described how the fictional Susan, posing as the sister of a grieving mother, tries to smuggle a stash of English bonds through the Yankee lines hidden in a child’s coffin. The true mother, whose child had died of typhoid fever, wanted to take the child home to her family’s plantation. Their plan, however, failed. The Union officers would not let them pass, dashing all hope of delivering the bonds to Richmond. They needed to bury the infant, so Susan let the bonds remain in the coffin. The Yankees would never find them.

  Jane was aghast at the mention of English bonds in a child’s coffin. It was all Fred’s doings, and Laura knew about it! The Colonel and Jane had puzzled over the bearer bonds they had found in the house years earlier. He shared with her several curious incidents that occurred during the war that cast doubts on the true career of his brilliant young protégé. Now, Jane was wondering if McAdams continued those activities after the war with his own eager protégée – Laura! She avoided discussing with Laura what she and the Colonel had found; rather, she praised Laura for her new pastime, and encouraged her to write on – that is, so she could learn more.

  ****

  Sunday, January 22, 1882. At the parsonage of the Fourth Avenue Methodist Church at the corner of Fourth Avenue and Rose Street in Old Port, Dr. Greene and Reverend Sykes had a private conversation after services had concluded. Sykes was a tall man in his early seventies at the time. He spoke in a very lyrical Charleston accent.

  “It is so good to see you, Doctor Greene always so good to see you. Did you know that my boy Franklin is coming to visit this week? I do hope you and Mrs. Greene would honor us with your presence at a special dinner we have arranged for him in the banquet hall at Bailey’s Hotel.”

  The exact reason Reverend Sykes was arranging a special dinner for his son was nothing more than his fortieth birthday. He was an only child, and his parents lavished their affections on him. Liked by all, he was quiet, modest, and cheerful. Otherwise, he was an unremarkable individual and a lifelong bachelor who had worked as a clerk for the railroad his entire life, and loved it. Franklin William “Billy” Sykes was also the soldier that helped Mrs. Greene swim across the river during her rescue.

  “Yes, he is a remarkable boy,” Dr. Greene replied.

  “And where is Mrs. Greene? I thought I saw her leave with young Doctor Everett after services?”

  “Judith wanted to spend the day in the old house on Commerce Street.”

  “Alone?”

  “Alexander Mitchell lives next door. Since we built the new house, he has been looking after the place. His wife Margaret keeps it tidy. I don’t like it when she wants to spend a day or two there, but you know my Judith.”

  “What about servants?”

  “No Reverend, my wife will have none of that. She will not have a housekeeper, and she certainly wants nobody in her kitchen. That is her way!” With muted concern Sykes cautioned,

  “The old house is about a block from the south wharves. It is not the same as before the war. The unsavory sort congregate around the water you
know.”

  “Yes, I know. But she will do what she will do come hell or high water. Excuse me I didn’t mean to say that.” Sykes smiled and said,

  “Well we all slip… Now what is on your mind?”

  “Do you have anything in your records about our son?”

  “No. I wasn’t even there when they put him in the tomb. It all happened when the Yankees overran the town. The fellows at the cemetery did not want to wait around for any service. They made it out of town as quick as they could, but your wife did not make it out.” Somewhat embarrassed Dr. Greene answered,

  “I’ve heard that story. She said it was nothing.”

  “My boy told me differently continued the Reverend. He was there during the whole thing. The Colonel and some volunteers put their lives on the line to rescue her. Franklin helped her across the river – he said your wife is the best swimmer he has ever seen, including the fellows. But that’s neither here nor there. What is important to you is that you can count the Colonel among the best of friends. No greater love hath he than the friend who risks life and limb to save the life of his friend’s wife … it doesn’t say that in the Bible, but I’m sure the intent is there. Your wife wanted no fuss about it, so he and the boys agreed to keep quiet. Franklin felt bad he told me, but he let it slip when I told him that Mr. Sneed badmouthed the Colonel because he accepted no fighting commission during the war. That was awfully high and mighty of Sneed since all he did during the war was serve on the Committee of Safety.” Dr. Greene said,