by M Murphy
“What you’re telling me is that someone held onto a personal vendetta for a hundred and fifty years?”
“It’s not so hard to fathom. Europeans hold onto to grudges longer than that.”
Makem had a point. I knew of Irish families that came to America still holding onto feuds from the old country. I also was aware that he was talking about Elliott Tidwell. A man I had already met, and someone I had completely forgotten about. After he ran away, sword in hand, from my place I had put him far in the back of my mind.
“Let’s say I believe you, then what?” I asked.
“Then I point you in the right direction and you go get your girlfriend back.”
I smirked at the girlfriend crack. “You know then where she is?”
“Not exactly, but I know who took her, what direction they headed, and where they could possibly be going in that direction.”
“You were following Hannah and me at the cemetery. Weren’t you?”
“I was there, but too far off to stop anything from happening…Scout’s honor.”
“You must have taken the urn then while I was out cold. Trenholm and his cronies probably would have wanted that as far away as possibly from me.”
“What urn?” Makem asked.
“The one off of the pyramid mausoleum.” The man looked clueless. “If you didn’t take it then whoever took Hannah has it.”
“What’s so special about the urn?”
“Nothing.” I said pulling up to the arrival area of the airport.
There was no sign of Colin yet and I needed to circle around again before security crawled up my ass.
“I need to get out.” Makem said.
I allowed him the opportunity before pulling away from the curb and joining the rest of the traffic making laps around the airport and through the arrival area. From my mirror, I could see Makem put his phone to his ear. It took me three times around before I spotted Colin coming from the terminal, but I had already passed by him. On my fourth lap I stopped. Colin tossed his bag into the trunk and got into the front seat. As soon as he closed the door, the rear passenger side door opened and Makem got back in.
“Who’s this?” Colin asked me.
I looked back at Makem with a question on my face.
“Drive.” Makem said. “I’m going with you.”
Chapter 61
Colin’s broad shoulders were rigid as he sat is his stiff suit. He was a Bureau boy through and through, with every hair in place on his thick head, clean shaven, and each item of the clothing he wore was pressed, lint free and the perfect distance between cheap and expensive. By the way he was sitting, I could tell he was carrying, but he always did. Makem was too, and from the moment I introduced them I could tell they were destined to hate each other.
“Why the sudden change of heart?” I asked Makem.
“I think you know.”
“All I know is that you weren’t informed on the urn. I tell you about it and you make a phone call. Suddenly, you’re back in the car with me. Want to explain?”
“Nope, I’m here to make sure you find your friend. Trenholm and I don’t want you point fingers at us for this one.”
“Okay then.” Colin interjected. “Tell us where she is.”
“Elliott Tidwell. His family ties run a long way in the area, and they’ve had it out for the Trenholms since the war. When I
was following Jack, I spotted him snooping around on occasion. I
know for a fact he owns the pickup that drove off from the cemetery, and his family still owns a spit of land south of town. It’s about the only thing they’ve been able to hang on to.”
“Why’s that?” Colin asked.
“After the war some families in the South were able to carry on and rebuild fortunes. These were usually the ones who had the ability to pay the freemen for their work, and they kept their plantations running through crops and new diversifications. Others, who were barely staying afloat before Emancipation, struggled. The Tidwells struggled and throughout the years sold off everything from property to furniture to survive. Now, everything they had is gone except for a small sliver of land that was once a 700 acre plantation.”
“Thanks for the history lesson.” Colin said.
“Yeah, but where do we go?” I asked.
“South on 17. It will take us about an hour to reach the plantations along the Combahee River. Tidwell’s place is out there somewhere.”
“Somewhere?”
“I’ve got directions from Trenholm. No address, just directions. He said it’s going to be pretty isolated and probably unmarked.”
“Sounds fun. Three Ohio boys traipsing around in an isolated forest in the Deep South, looking for a kidnapper who seems to hold onto Civil War grudges and runs around with a sword.” I shook my head in disbelief.
“How do you know he carries a sword?” Makem asked.
“I’ve met the man before.” I decided to fill him in on the little escapade I had with Tidwell. There was no reason to give Makem information I didn’t have to, but that part seemed harmless.
“So you knew he was out there and yet you blamed Trenholm first.” Makem said.
“I was pretty sure that someone willing to fire warning shots at me would have no qualms about kidnapping.”
We had sat quietly in the car for about half an hour before I pulled over to get gas. Colin got out and grabbed a chicken biscuit from a nearby restaurant as I pumped, and Makem got on his phone again. Another twenty minutes of driving and we turned right onto White Hall Road, and suddenly I felt transported back in time. Life here seemed untouched, quiet, and in a confusing way how it was supposed to be. The small winding road, stone walls, the colonial church, and ancient trees had me relaxed as I drove. But the further we got off of the highway my apprehension grew as we became more surrounded by the isolation.
Chapter 62
“Stop the car.” Makem said. “Pull over to the side here.”
I pulled the car to the edge of the gravel and got out to take a look at my surroundings. Colin squeezed his large frame as he struggled to get out from between the car door and a rusted barbed wire fence on the edge of the woods.
“Thanks.” Colin said to me, finally getting free. “Where are we?”
“The Combahee River Basin.” Makem said. “Once home to the largest rice plantations in the country.”
“Why is it so quiet?” Colin asked.
“Because there is literally nothing around us. We are probably a good mile away from the next plantation and another mile up the drive to get to the house.” Makem pulled his gun, a 38, checked it and then holstered it back under his jacket. Next he pulled his phone. “No signal. We’re on our own boys. Oh, and don’t get hurt. The next closest hospital you’d be willing to go to is back in Charleston.”
“That’s comforting.” I said. “Where to now?”
All I could see around me was woods. There were two dirt paths that led into the trees on both sides of the road, but nothing else.
“These are hunting trails. Most of the plantations around
here are now used as game retreats. Trenholm told me to take this one and it will connect with the Tidwell property in about half a mile.”
“Are you sure?” Colin asked.
“Almost positive, but no promises. I’ve never been this far out before.”
“How do we know the Tidwell property?” I asked.
“I was told this trail should take us out of the woods right behind the old slave cabins on the property. From there, we’re on our own.”
Makem began to lead the way as we took the trail on the far side of the road. I looked at Colin, he looked at me, and both of us rechecked our Glocks.
We walked briskly but quieted. The only sounds came from the occasional bird and the rustle of leaves. The woods were a mix of pine, oak, and palmetto fronds mixed with a tangle of vines and low-lying wet areas. At one point the trail crossed a creek and I could see the marsh it flowed into from a di
stance. It was a weird contrast of environments. I was deep in the woods, but I knew within minutes I could be at the marsh, then a creek, then a river, and finally out to sea.
It took us about twenty minutes of walking in silence before Makem held up, and Colin and I gathered with him at the edge of the woods. About ten yards away were a cluster of run down shacks, which I had to assume were the old slave cabins. I
could also see a fence in a state of disrepair and across a stretch of grass a drive, not much wider than the hunting trail, which cut an open field in half.
“The house is that way.” Makem pointed to our left.
“Are you sure?” Colin asked.
“I’m confident, and there is supposed to be a barn on the property too.”
“We need to split up.” Colin said.
“I’ll walk the tree line to the right and get on the other side of that field.” I said. “Why don’t the two of you work your way left and split up when you get closer to the house.” I didn’t trust Makem and was sure Colin hated him, so I figured they could keep a good eye on each other. “When we get up there one of you go to the house and the other find that barn. I’ll head to the house as well.”
“I’ll take the house too.” Makem said. “Let’s meet around back and formulate a plan before heading inside.”
“Since you two are taking the house, why don’t I go on my own on the other side of the field?” Colin asked.
“No. I need you to stick with Makem on this side of the property. The slave cabins are on this side of the drive and I know the river is too, which means I have to assume the barn was built over here as well. You wouldn’t want your barn too far from your workers or your loading area. If I’m right then that means we need two people to stay on this side so they can split up.”
“Makes sense.” Colin said.
“Alright, let’s go find Hannah.” I said, as a moved off alone through the woods to my left.
I watched as the two of them moved left. Slowly walking through the trees making as little sound as possible. When I finally made it to the edge of the drive I crouched down for a moment and sat perfectly still, quietly listening. There wasn’t a sound but Mother Nature. I glanced up the drive to my left and again to my right before darting across the dirt drive as fast as I could. Slipping back among the trees, I crouched once again a listened. The sound came from a distance and was growing. I could hear an engine and rubber on well-packed dirt. The engine sounded a little rough as it grew closer, and then I began catching glimpses of white between the tree branches. Coming up the drive and heading towards the house was the same white pickup truck that I had seen at the cemetery. It now lacked the lawn equipment, but it sure carried the wirehaired silhouette of Elliott Tidwell.
Chapter 63
Knowing where your enemy is helps…a lot. I now had an idea where Tidwell was and it allowed me to move faster through the woods and towards the old plantation house. The noise from his truck would cover up the sound of me crashing through the trees and the trees would keep me covered from view. The best thing we had going for us was the fact that Tidwell’s truck was old and loud, which would warn Colin and Makem that he was coming, and notify me when he passed my location and moved further down the drive. The engine turning off would be my warning to tighten up and go on the defensive again. My hope was that Colin and Makem were ahead of me and saw Tidwell get out. That way we would have a grasp on his whereabouts, and maybe he would lead one of them to Hannah.
I was in sight of the dilapidated home as the truck motor was turned off, but I could not see Tidwell or his pickup. Stopping in my current position, I squatted among some palms and watched the front of the house. For about five minutes, I sat and waited, and when no one appeared I assumed Tidwell had gone in a back way. Making my way slowly and calmly to the edge of the clearing that surrounded the old plantation home, I could finally get a visual on a barn on the other side and a glimpse of water that ran
past the property. I didn’t know if it was the Combahee River or some tidal creek and really it didn’t matter. The point was I finally was getting a grasp of the layout and that was important. Now,
somehow, I had to make my way from the edge of the woods and to the house without being seen.
Towards the back of the home, there were a cluster of trees dominated by an ancient oak. Its branches spread wide like an octopus encompassing most of the yard. Around its outstretched arms were clusters of unkempt shrubs, flowering hydrangeas, and crape myrtle. If I could make it there, I would have a perfect view of the house and be hidden, but between me and the old oak was nothing, nothing but a stretch of open grass and weeds. I would simply have to make a run for it, too risky and unprofessional, but it was my only shot.
Sprinting as lightly as I could, I waited for the sound of a door, a raving madman with a sword, or more simply a gunshot but there was nothing. I made it to a spot where a large oak branch with the circumference of a truck tire mingled with a cluster of shrubs. I knelt, catching my breath, and began to scan the back of the house for any activity. There was none. I could hear an outboard motor in the distance as it planed the calm waters of the river. It distracted me, and I wished I was onboard heading out on a fishing trip. A tap on my shoulder and I was scared back into reality.
“Makem, you scared the shit out of me.”
“I know.” The man whispered with a smile. “I was on the other side of the tree when I saw you sprinting across the lawn like an ostrich with its head cutoff.”
“It wasn’t my best moment but it was my only play.”
“Figured. Colin’s checking out the barn, and from what I’ve seen Tidwell’s inside the house. He pulled up in that old truck and went in the back entrance with a bag of groceries.”
“Any movement from inside?”
“Nothing.”
“I counted three entrances to the house. Coincidence?”
“More like dumb luck.” Makem said. “So the plan is to wait for Colin and all go in together?”
“From what I see there is the main entrance in the front and out back here there is a door that parallels that. There is also the smaller opening that probably once was the servants’ door below the porch. I would hate for the two of us to go in guns blazing and Tidwell escape through the third. I have to assume he knows these woods like the back of his hand.”
“Can’t agree more. So we sit and wait?”
“For now.”
Chapter 64
The man peered out the window towards the back of the property. He had a cup of fresh coffee in his hand and a sword strapped to his hip. Tidwell wasn’t sure that he had seen anything at all, but something had caught his attention. A blur out of the corner of his eye had seemed to dash behind a cluster of bushes around the great oak at the back of his family’s property. It could have been nothing, it could have been simply an animal, or it could have been something else. He sipped and watched, waiting for more movement. If something or someone were behind those bushes they would move sooner or later.
Tidwell stood in the old dining room of the house. Wood floorboards squeaked and needed replaced. The table was missing, being sold off years ago along with paintings and a buffet that had graced the room, and once where there had been expensive curtains now hung three dollar blinds from the local hardware store. If there was a better representation of the disgrace his family suffered Tidwell couldn’t think of it. Keeping an eye on the window, Tidwell made his way over to the only piece of furniture left in the room. It was a wooden cabinet that stood seven feet tall and had two doors filled with elaborate carvings. Perfectly dust free, the cabinet was where generations of Tidwells had stored the family guns. A southerner would sell off land and possessions to keep the family home, but the guns were always the last to go. The
Tidwells had never been desperate enough to part ways with their small arsenal.
Every item in the cabinet was as sparkling and spotless as the sword at Tidwell’s side. Each piece was polished,
barrels cleaned, and all loaded. Grabbing two double barrel pinfire pocket pistols, Tidwell stuck them in his belt and then retrieved a more modern Winchester 1873 model rifle. It was one of the last items in the cabinet that the family had been able to afford.
With his eyes staying steady on the bush line in the back of the house, Tidwell stood the rifle up by the window and returned to his coffee, sipping, waiting, and watching for the slightest of movement. If the leaves even rustled he would probably shoot. At best it would be a Trenholm or even Jack Francis, and at worst it would be a rabbit or some dumbass who accidently stumbled onto the property. Ever year a couple northerners would rent a nearby plantation for a hunting trip and every year a few would get lost in the woods. Maybe if Tidwell shot a few they would be more careful about where they wandered off to.