Sure enough, within a minute T.J. and Bortnicker were on a conference call in Dr. Landon’s office with a decidedly southern belle-ish Margaret Thibodeaux.
“And to whom do I have the pleashuh of speakin’?” she trilled.
“Uh, my name’s T.J. Jackson, Ma’am, and I’m here with my friend Bortnicker,” answered T.J., taking the lead.
“Would that ‘T’ be for Thomas, young man?”
“Yes, but sorry, no relation to Stonewall,” he replied respectfully.
“Aw, what a shame,” she said. “Oh well, how can I help you fine young men?”
“Ms. Thibodeaux,” broke in Bortnicker, taking over, “we’re trying to find information on a particular Confederate cavalryman who we think fought at Gettysburg. Major Crosby Hilliard who served—”
“Under Wade Hampton and was himself a native of Charleston.”
“Right! You know of him?”
“Deah boy, the Hilliards are an ancient and noble family whose prominence in Charleston society predates the American Revolution. Their patriarch, Josiah Hilliard, established one of the first major tobacco plantations in the region. He owned hundreds of acres and—”
“Slaves?”
“Yes, well of course, that was considered a necessity in those days, unfortunately. Josiah Hilliard was well-connected within the state and all the way to Washington.”
“So he would have been friends with Wade Hampton’s family?”
“Land sakes, yes.”
“So when Hampton raised his ‘Legion’ it was a natural that Crosby Hilliard would be involved?”
“Yes, of course. Unfortunately, Mr. Bortnicker, the story of Crosby Hilliard is one we might call a bit checkered.”
“How so?” Both boys edged forward on their seats.
“Well, as the story goes, Crosby Hilliard and Wade Hampton frequently hunted together and attended many of the same social events, though Hampton was ten years or so his senior. I think General Hampton viewed Hilliard as a kind of wild younger brother whom he had to take under his wing.
“But despite his best efforts to mold Crosby into a gentleman planter, Wade Hampton could not manage his protégé’s mercurial temper for him.
“There was a young lady in Charleston at the time named Mary Londoner, who by all accounts was both beguiling and flirtatious. She unfortunately found it entertaining to pit two of Charleston’s most eligible bachelors, Winthrop Barry and Crosby Hilliard, against each other, allowing each to escort her to various gatherings and balls in the area. As you can imagine, their patience for each other grew thin, fueled by the machinations of Miss Londoner.
“Then, one day it spilled over, in the middle of Market Street not fifty yards from where I now sit speaking to y’all. Crosby Hilliard came upon Mr. Barry and Miss Londoner arm in arm, promenading in public and, if accounts are to be believed, whispering sweet nothings in each other’s ears.
“This was more than Crosby Hilliard could take, apparently, and he challenged Winthrop Barry to a duel right there and then.”
“Wow,” said T.J.
“Wow, indeed,” she answered. “So on the appointed day the two suitors and their seconds met out near what we call the Battery today and had their duel.”
“What happened?” said Bortnicker.
“According to local legend, the men hefted their pistols and stepped off. But it gets cloudy here. Some say that Hilliard killed Barry fair and square with a bullet through the heart. Other reports have Barry’s pistol jamming and Hilliard shooting Barry as the latter was raising his off-hand to alert Hilliard to the situation.”
“Ouch,” said Bortnicker. “So what happened to Hilliard?”
“What happened? Why, nothing, deah boy,” Thibodeaux said assuredly. “It came down to one man’s word against another’s, and the Hilliard family’s status in Charleston precluded any charges being brought. Besides, duels were not governed by conventional law. That’s not to say, however, that word didn’t leak out that Crosby Hilliard had not acted in the most admirable manner. In any event, whatever relationship he’d planned to forge with Mary Londoner was dashed, but Crosby Hilliard was about to be saved by divine intervention.”
“What was that?” said T.J.
“Why, Fort Sumter, of course,” said Ms. Thibodeaux. “From the very area where Hilliard shot Barry dead, Confederate artillery commenced shelling Fort Sumter in Charleston Harbor on April 12, 1861. The conflict was underway, Wade Hampton snapped up Hilliard and made him a lieutenant, and off to war they went.”
“Do you know what happened to Hilliard after that?” asked Bortnicker eagerly.
“Let me put my staff of two on it, and by tomorrow this time we should be able to provide further information on Crosby Hilliard. Shall I call you at this number?”
“Well, you could email us, if that’s easier,” said Bortnicker.
“I’m sorry, young man, but I try to avoid email or texting or Tweetering or whatever you call it... It’s all too cold and impersonal. I’d much rathuh speak to you wonderful gentlemen again. Do we have a date for, let’s say, ten tomorrow morning?”
“Yes, Ma’am, thank you,” said T.J. in his best choirboy voice as Bortnicker frowned. She clicked off just as Dr. Landon popped in.
“Any luck?” she said hopefully.
“I think we’re in business,” answered Bortnicker with a smile. “But Ms. Thibodeaux needs us back here tomorrow to take her call. Is that okay?”
“Oh, sure,” said Landon. “And meanwhile, you tell that Michael Darcy that I said hi. You know,” she said, patting the side of her bun, “we were quite the item for a little while our sophomore year.”
The boys kept as straight a face as they could, at least until they exited the Research Room and fell all over themselves, temporarily putting their differences aside.
* * * *
That afternoon, as the boys helped Aunt Terri clear a section near the back of her lot for a new compost heap, Mike returned from lunch to find Mary Ellen Landon pushing a utility cart of hanging file boxes past the ranger office. Though they worked in the same building, Mike tried to cut her a wide berth because, frankly, she never failed to embarrass him with semi-suggestive remarks that harkened back to their high school days. As far as he was concerned it was ancient history, but Mary Ellen never failed to give him the creeps.
“Well, hi there, Ranger Mike,” she said coquettishly.
“’Lo, Mary Ellen,” he mumbled.
“Guess who came to visit me this morning?”
“I haven’t the slightest idea.”
“Why, your very own lovely daughter, your nephew, and their somewhat interesting friend.”
“Really? What for?”
“Well, it appears they’re researching a Confederate cavalryman who fought in the battle.”
Darcy felt his stomach flip. “Did they have a name for this guy?”
“Oh my, yes. Major Crosby Hilliard of the Army of Northern Virginia, under the command of Wade Hampton.”
Mike closed his eyes and counted to five, his way of calming himself down. What on earth were those kids up to?
“Something wrong, Mike?”
“Nah, Mary Ellen, just a summer allergy headache.” He managed a smile. “Did they find what they were looking for?”
“Yes and no. The trail went cold in our resource room, but I put them in touch with a friend of mine in Charleston who’s trying to help them.”
“I see.”
“Oh my, have I spoken out of turn? I assumed you were aware of the kids’ research project.”
“Don’t worry, Mary Ellen, I know they’re working on something. Thanks for helping them.”
She laid a hand on his shoulder. “Oh, Michael,” she cooed, “you know I’m always here to help. Just give a holler.” With that she grabbed the cart and eased off down the hallway, whistling through her teeth.
So that’s what’s going on, he thought. It all made sense now. The visit to Carlton Elway. Bruce Morrison que
stioning him and giving him funny looks. They know. But how did they find out? And how did they manage to ascertain the horseman’s identity? Most importantly, why hadn’t they confided in him? Darcy and his daughter had never kept secrets. He and Terri had even disclosed all the details of LouAnne’s adoption while she was still a child. Why the secrecy now? And were those kids putting themselves at risk somehow?
Darcy was in a quandary as to how to get them to come clean with him. He had never used the heavy-handed approach when he was teaching and didn’t want to start now. On the other hand, he didn’t want the kids getting in over their heads to the point where he couldn’t help them.
As Mike mounted the tour bus for his afternoon presentation he decided to wait for that evening’s dinner gathering to see if the teens would be forthcoming or if he’d have to pry it out of them, which he had been quite good at in his teaching days. One way or another, he had to get to the bottom of this.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“This is some amazing goulash,” said Bortnicker as he crammed a forkful of dripping noodles into his mouth. “All that digging out back has made me ravenous.”
“Yeah. Great eats, Aunt Terri,” agreed T.J.
“You boys worked hard out there,” said Terri, “so eat as much as your heart desires.”
“Pass the rolls, please,” said Mike, eyeing the teens. He cleared his throat. “So, you guys do anything exciting today? Besides digging in the yard, that is.”
All three simultaneously stopped chewing. LouAnne, trying desperately not to be caught in a lie, ventured, “Um, Daddy, we were at the museum today, doing a little research.”
“Really? On what?” said Darcy, nonchalantly twirling some egg noodles on his fork.
“Well,” volunteered Bortnicker, “I’ve always been kinda fascinated by the role of cavalry in the Civil War, and since Jeb Stuart is blamed a lot for losing the battle, we were, you know, looking into that angle.”
“Uh-huh. Any names in particular jump out at you?”
All three stared at their dinner plates.
“Would somebody please tell me what’s going on?” said Terri.
“Shall I begin?” said Mike. “We’ve got a situation here that I believe involves these kids. One where everyone involved is guilty of not sharing information. Am I right so far?”
Silence fell over the table like a damp cloud. The Darcys’ grandfather clock ticked in the living room.
Mike sighed impatiently. “T.J.? Bortnicker? If I don’t start getting some answers you two coconuts are going to be on the next bus to Connecticut.”
Bortnicker was about to open his mouth when LouAnne cut in. “Daddy? What did you mean exactly when you said everyone involved was guilty? Does that mean you’re included?”
Terri looked at her husband. “Mike, I’m still in the dark here. What is this all about?”
Darcy ran his hand over his face, searching for the words. “All right. Starting a month or so ago, there have been some shootings in the Battlefield Park.”
“Shootings?” Terri gasped in horror.
“Yeah. First there were a couple kids from the college who were drinking in the cemetery late at night. Then there was this relic hunter who, again, was on the battlefield illegally in the early morning hours.
“Both victims were killed with a Civil War era pistol, similar to the one I have. Then there was—”
“Weinstein,” cut in T.J.
“Who’s he?” said Aunt Terri.
“This guy from the T.V. show Gonzo Ghost Chasers. He almost became victim number three, but apparently the shooter’s gun jammed.”
“And who told you this?” said Mike.
“Weinstein was staying at the Charney Inn, Daddy,” explained LouAnne. “One night he got really bombed and told T.J. and me all about it.”
“So that’s how you got involved in this?”
“Yes, Mr. Darcy,” said Bortnicker. “That’s when T.J. asked me to come down, because I’m pretty good on Civil War history.”
“So, how did that lead you to Major Crosby Hilliard?” said Mike.
LouAnne frowned. “Well, er, Dr. Landon...”
“That’s what I figured. Now answer my question. How do you know the name of the horseman?”
“Horseman?” said Aunt Terri. “This guy has a horse?”
“He’s a Confederate cavalryman, Mom,” said LouAnne.
“A real one?”
“No,” said T.J., “a dead one.”
“What?” said Mike.
“He’s a ghost, Uncle Mike,” said T.J. with a shrug. “It’s that simple.”
“But how do you know?” said Terri.
“Mrs. D., we met him,” said Bortnicker.
“Met him? Where?”
“On the battlefield,” whispered LouAnne.
“And when was this?” said Mike, his anger rising.
“The other night,” confessed T.J. “We snuck out after the Phillies game.”
“After I expressly told you to stay out of there at night? Are you all crazy?” By the looks on their faces, Darcy had a good idea his face had turned an interesting shade of purple.
“Honey, please calm down before you have a coronary,” said Terri. She turned to her daughter. “LouAnne, what is the reason for all this? Why are you three putting yourselves at risk?”
“We want to help him, Aunt Terri,” said T.J.
“How?” said Mike incredulously.
“Daddy,” said LouAnne calmly, “it’s like he’s stuck between this world and, well, whatever comes after it. We’re trying to help him leave this place. Maybe if he does, the shootings will stop.”
Mike threw his napkin on the top of his half-eaten dinner, his appetite lost. “I’m afraid to ask, but what’s your next step?”
“Well,” said Bortnicker leaning forward excitedly, “we’re awaiting some information on Hilliard from Charleston, which was his hometown. It might be useful in getting him out of here.”
“Whoa, whoa, wait a minute,” said Mike, wagging a finger in their faces. “You don’t think for a minute I’m gonna let you go out there again, do you?”
“Uncle Mike,” pleaded T.J., “the way we see it, we have to resolve this situation as soon as possible. We have a feeling something bad might happen, and pretty soon.”
“Listen, T.J.—”
“He’s right, Daddy,” broke in LouAnne. “We all have this feeling. It’s hard to explain, but when we met him he was like, so sad, and confused. Daddy, you always told me to help others, to put other people before myself. Well, now we have the opportunity to send this man home, hopefully before he hurts someone else in his misguided way.” She started to cry. “I’ve never been so serious about something in my life. You have to let us try.”
“But he killed—”
“He trusts us, Daddy. I think he knows we want to help. Besides, he thinks T.J. is Stonewall Jackson’s son or something. He could never bring himself to hurt him.”
At that moment Bortnicker suddenly bolted from his seat towards the kitchen.
“What the—” said Mike, exasperated.
Just as quickly the boy bounded back into the room, a Kleenex in hand, apparently, for LouAnne. However, in his haste he caught his foot on the edge of the dining room sideboard and went head over heels, coming to rest at the foot of LouAnne’s chair, where he simply stuck up his hand with the tissue held aloft. Even Mike had to chuckle as his daughter plucked it from the boy’s fingers.
“Listen, you guys,” said Darcy, softening, “I know your hearts are in the right place, but this is dangerous ground you’re on.”
“Do you think anyone else knows what you’re doing?” said Terri.
“Well,” said Bortnicker, “Mr. Darcy’s boss acts a little suspicious, and the other night Carlton Elway was tailing us, I think. But a police car picked him up. It looked like the Chief’s car.”
“Great,” moaned Mike.
“And then there’s always Dr. Landon,” said LouAn
ne.
“She’s in on this, too?” said Terri, “Mary Ellen Landon with her big mouth?”
“She only knows we’re researching the guy, Mrs. D.,” said Bortnicker. “I take it you’re not one of her greatest fans.”
“But she’s one of yours, Daddy,” teased LouAnne.
“We’re getting off topic,” said Darcy impatiently. “What do you see as your next move, guys?”
“Well,” said T.J., “Bortnicker and I have to be in Landon’s office at ten tomorrow morning to take a call from Charleston with any additional info on Hilliard. Then, I guess it’s back to the battlefield for another meeting.”
“Not without me, there isn’t,” said Mike, shaking his head.
“Dad, that won’t work!” said LouAnne emphatically. “The last thing we need is you getting shot. You have to let us do this ourselves.”
“Mr. Darcy,” said Bortnicker diplomatically, “let me offer a compromise. Maybe if we could fix it so you’re kinda in the area, there but not really there?”
“And how will we do that, Bortnicker?”
“Let me think it over. I’ll come up with something.”
“Omigod! I’m gonna be late for work!” blurted LouAnne. Indeed, the time had gotten away from them.
“I’ll run you over there, honey,” said Mike. “Let me grab my keys. T.J. and Bortnicker, you stay put. Watch CSI or something. And LouAnne, you are not to walk home alone tonight. You call me as soon as you’re done and I’ll come get you. Understood?”
“Yes, Daddy,” she said sheepishly.
* * * *
The rest of the evening passed rather uneventfully, everyone watching TV silently while lost in their thoughts.
When they were back in the guestroom T.J. asked, “You think Uncle Mike is gonna help us or hurt us in all this?”
Last Ghost at Gettysburg Page 15