by M Murphy
“What do you mean?”
“They might have been driving around longer then they needed to so we wouldn’t be able to figure out where we were going.”
I could hear the door open from above and the sound of voices came to me in a mumbled form. Footsteps, more than just two men, made their way across the floor above us.
“We’ve got company.” I said to Hannah.
“Yeah, but who?”
The door to the cellar opened and the sounds of footsteps began their march towards us almost in unison. From the darkness of my hood, I could tell lights had been turned on around us, bright lights…interrogation style.
The hoods came off and the light was immediately blinding. When my eyes began to adjust, I could see two of our captures off to either side of Hannah and I. From what I could tell they were the same duo that had stopped me in Marion Square.
“What’s the meaning of this?” I asked the one to my left, but he simply stood there ice cold.
A voice came from directly in front of us, but the lights kept me from seeing the figure.
“Mr. Francis, it seems you and your little friend here have been poking around in things that are none of your business. I’ve been told you’ve been repeatedly warned, but from what information I have on you it seems like you’re the stubborn type. A good trait in an investigator, but it often leads you to have issues with authority. I believe that’s why you were never cut out for Bureau life.”
The figure stepped from the light and I could now see a face. I knew this man, not personally, but I knew him. He wore a navy blue suit, light blue tie, and had an American Flag pin on his lapel. His polished brown shoes sparkled in the light, but not as much as a large ring on his finger. It was a Citadel ring, just like the one Tommy Makem wore.
“Deputy-Director Bennett.” I said to the man in front of me. “Whatever are you doing here?”
James Bennett was a thirty-five year veteran of the FBI. He had been Deputy-Director for the past fifteen, and survived
three Directors and two Presidents above him. The Citadel ring was all the connection I needed, but I was pretty sure Bennett was a South Carolinian born and raised.
“I was asked to make an appearance on behalf of a dear old friend. It seems that you have become a nuisance and my assistance was needed.” The Deputy-Director said.
“A dear old friend?” I was pretty sure who he meant.
As if on cue, George Trenholm stepped from the shadows to join Deputy-Director Bennett in front of Hannah and me.
“Hello Jack.” Trenholm said. “And this must be the professor that my son enjoyed so much.”
Hannah smiled, but not with pleasure. It looked more like she was ready to spit in the man’s face.
“Now, what to do with these two?” Trenholm said, turning towards Bennett.
Chapter 80
They left us to ourselves for quite some time. We were both still tied to our chairs and the lamps shone brightly in our faces. My forehead was beginning to sweat from their heat. Hannah and I talked very little, and I was beginning to worry about her more than myself. Life is simpler when you only have yourself to worry about, but once you begin to feel responsible for someone else it takes on a whole other level of complexity.
“They don’t know what to do with us.” I said to Hannah.
All I got was a small grunt in response. The poor woman had been through a lot and all for a research project. When I started my career I knew that I would be putting myself in danger, but I don’t think that’s on most people’s minds when they choose the life of a college professor.
The delay and the wait had me thinking. Our captors didn’t quite know what to do with us. In most cases, we probably would have simply disappeared but it was not that easy. Hannah would be missed and her connection to the Trenholms, through Jason, was too apparent. I had an FBI Agent looking out for me, and even though the Deputy-Director could probably silence Colin he would cause a lot of trouble along the way. So where did that leave them?
It was at least two hours, maybe more, before I heard footsteps coming from above and then the cellar door opened. The two goons lead the way followed by Deputy-Director Bennett, Trenholm, and a new figure…Professor Thompson.
The old college professor looked at Hannah and me and shook his head as if getting ready to scold us. He no longer seemed like the sweet Southern gentleman I had met at his Tradd Street residence, but instead a man bitter with disappointment.
“I never dreamed it would come to this.” Thompson said in his South of Broad drawl. “Mr. Bennett and Mr. Trenholm seem to be at a loss trying to decide what to do with you two. Mr. Trenholm, I afraid, never wants to see you again, but some of us realize that if you simply disappeared it would only cause more problems. My opinion is to try and bring the both of you to your senses and then maybe we can all return to our lives. I understand Professor Welsh’s need to find answers, but Mr. Francis what is your stake in all of this? Are you out to make a name for yourself?”
“I simply want to know the truth. What is so important that your son had to die over it?” I asked looking at Trenholm.
“The truth?” Thompson asked. He was silent for a second thinking about his next words carefully. “Alright, I’ll give you the truth.”
“This country works because there are different people with different beliefs, and not because we are all the same.” Thompson began. “The South is a truly different place, unique, and beautiful despite of and because of our history. What you’re digging up is the past, and a part of that past causes a lot of people pain in all parts of our nation.”
“What we are digging up is the truth. How is that bad?” I asked.
“History is not always about what the truth is, but instead on how we want to remember it. What you’re digging up could change how people view history. It would change people’s perception of the South and cause a reaction that no one in this room could fully comprehend. Let’s for a moment say you found a stockpile of hidden Confederate treasure, protected by a secret group with members in all walks of life. These members hold powerful places in our community and our government. I’m not talking here in the South but all across this country. What if this nation thought that these men were hiding large sums of money to one day retake up the Confederate Cause? It would send shockwaves of distrust throughout our society. Let me tell you that nobody wants that, so it’s important that what was done in the past does not come back to haunt our future.”
“What you telling me is that you’re simply protecting a secret to save the solidarity of the Union?” I asked suspiciously.
“Yes.”
“I don’t believe it. If there is one thing I’ve learned since coming to Charleston is that beliefs aren’t quickly forgotten. There has to be more to it.” I said.
“Mr. Francis, look at our country right now. The industrial North is collapsing. Cities that were once the pride of this nation are now desolate and bankrupt. People every day are migrating to the South in large numbers. Here our cities grow strong with new and healthy industry. Our goal is not to have the South rise again, the South has already risen. Did you think for one second that we would take up arms in this day and age? No, the battle for dominance is done through politics and economic engines. The best and brightest from the South look forward to staying home and nurturing their talents, and the cream of the crop from the North are now running to the opportunities we can provide them. Why would we want to shatter appearances by exposing a hundred and fifty year old secret?”
I thought about what Thompson said, and he was right. Once mighty cities like Detroit, Cleveland, and Pittsburgh were half of what they used to be. The industry that had won the war for the North was no longer there. Instead, empty factories rotted away and the population grew smaller. The South had never relied on industrial jobs so they were in a position to carry on when the North took the hit. How many people did I know that had relocated to cities like Charlotte, Atlanta, and Austin? The South had risen again
without anyone really noticing it, and now these men in front of me were greatly profiting from it. They controlled the infrastructure; education, tourism, and banking.
“What then?” I asked. “You want us to simply forget everything we know and move on?”
“You can’t live in the past, Mr. Francis.” George Trenholm said.
I looked to Hannah and she looked back to me with an expression that told me she was tired and didn’t quite know what to do.
“What about Hannah’s work?” I asked Thompson. “What is she supposed to do?”
“Each has its lesson; for our dreams in sooth, come they in shape of demons, gods, or elves, are allegories with deep hearts of truth that tell us solemn secrets of ourselves.” Thompson said.
“What is that cryptic nonsense?”
“Henry Timrod.” Hannah answered for me. “He was a famous poet from Charleston and the voice of the South during the Civil War.”
“Superb, Professor Welsh.” Thompson said. “Now do we all have an understanding?”
I looked to Hannah again and I knew the answer. “We’ll forget everything. No one needs to get hurt and your lives can all return to normal.”
Thompson looked pleased, so did Deputy-Director Bennett, but Trenholm still had an unsettled expression on his face. Something told me that if the truth was ever exposed he might have the most to lose.
“Trenholm, you don’t look happy. Are you going to be able to put this all behind you?” I asked him, with a smug look on my own face.
“Just stay out of my way Francis.” The man sulked off back up the stairs.
Deputy-Director Bennett nodded to his two goons and they untied us from our chairs. Thompson and Bennett turned to make their way back up the stairs as I felt the ties on my hands loosen, and then the darkness came as a black hood once again covered my head.
Chapter 81
I hate the unfinished, the unknown, and also giving into men that I despised. However, when the two goons dropped Hannah and me off in front of Mrs. Legare’s house, I knew it was over. The old woman sat on her lower piazza watching us get out of the back of the black SUV with a look I had never seen before. Something on her face told me that she knew everything, and had sided with Trenholm and the rest of his cronies. Maybe they were right. Maybe some things were best left where they lie.
Hannah had been quiet the whole ride back and her face expressionless. There was no way of telling how she felt about the whole experience. The poor woman had now been kidnapped twice and shot once, and for what? Jason’s death and sitting with an upset Bryce the day after his wedding were long in the past. Jason’s murder would forever go unsolved, and Bryce would move on to his happy life with his new wife. He would get entrenched in the Charleston lifestyle through his new matrimonial connection, and yet never know the truth about the social class he was joining into.
We made it passed Mrs. Legare with a simple wave and went straight up into the carriage house. Hannah plopped down on the couch and immediately pulled out her tablet. I was actually surprised that Bennett and his muscle hadn’t taken it from her. In the kitchen, I grabbed two glasses and a bottle of brown and
poured a large dose of bourbon for Hannah and myself. She still hadn’t said a word and I was beginning to worry. I cradled my glass in my hand, slowly taking the occasional sip, and waited for the woman across from me to break her silence.
“What do they expect from me?” Hannah finally broke her silence after nearly ten minutes. “I should be fearful for my life and thankful I still have it, and yet I can’t stop pouring over the research we’ve collected.”
“It’s time to let it go.” I said, calmly.
“I know. Perhaps I’ll put everything away, save everything I have, and comeback to it years down the road.”
“Probably best.”
“You know they’re right.” Hannah said, as she put down the tablet and reached for her bourbon.
“About what?”
“Everything. The state the country currently finds itself in. The burgeoning new South. I think we both know that finding the remains of the Confederate Treasury would unearth more than gold and silver. The South is barely coming to terms with its slave history, and that took too long. What would a more modern conspiracy against the Union do to the fragile social relations of our nation? We, as a people, have become overly sensitive and therefore we may need to be protected from ourselves every once in a while.”
“So that’s the lesson I’m supposed to learn here? Americans are fragile and need protected from ourselves. I don’t believe it one bit.”
“I think the lesson is to not let a society become as easily offended as we have become. Then truth will have a better chance of surviving.”
We sat for a moment in silence and I topped off our drinks.
“Are you going to keep all that then?” I asked, pointing to her tablet.
“I think I will. Times change you know.”
“They do.”
I picked up my phone and a moment later I could hear a sound come from the tablet on the coffee table.
“What’s that?” Hannah asked.
“I just sent you everything I had collected, some photos and records.”
“Oh, thanks. What now?”
“What now? How about dinner? I’m starving.”
Epilogue
A few days later I was packing for my return to Cleveland. Mrs. Legare had been less friendly with me since the run in with Mr. Trenholm and Deputy-Director Bennett, so I took it as a sign that I had officially worn out my welcome in Charleston. Hannah had been scarce over the last few days and I assumed it was because she also knew that it was time for the two of us to go our separate ways. Instead, it was as it had always been…I was on my own, except, of course, for Colin.
Colin was flying back with me and was determined to drink every last beer I had in the carriage house before we left. He was packed and relaxing on the front porch with a cold one, where I had a feeling he would stay until our early morning flight. The tales of his boss’ involvement had startled him a little and he was now keeping a lower profile.
I could hear my phone vibrating on the kitchen counter and when I reached it, I could see that I had just missed a call from Hannah. One last goodbye, I thought. On the call back it rang three times before she picked up.
“Jack, are you still in town?”
“Yeah, until tomorrow morning. Why?”
“I need to see you.” She sounded a tad desperate.
“I was going to say goodbye.”
“I didn’t call you to say goodbye. Any chance you can come meet me?”
“Sure, where?”
“Magnolia Cemetery. The pyramid mausoleum, remember?”
“Sure do. I’ll be there in fifteen.”
I hung up with Hannah and called out to Colin that I was taking off for a bit. He didn’t seem concerned. When the cab dropped me off, I could see Hannah leaning against a car a few yards from the pyramid structure. The urn was still missing from its front entrance, but I noticed that Hannah didn’t seem to care. She looked excited and a bit anxious.
“Remember taking pictures of the mausoleum with your phone?” She asked as I approached.
“Yeah, why?”
“Over the past few days I’ve been going over everything we collected in our search, including what you sent me the other day.”
“I thought you were going to put that away and forget about it for a while.” I said.
“I will. Anyways, your pictures, the ones from the backside, revealed something I hadn’t seen before.”
“What’s that?”
“The stained glass window.”
“I told you about it.” I said. “Explained it in detail, at least I thought I did.”
“But you left out something, something I saw in the pictures and was revealed to be important by Professor Thompson the other day.”
“Out with it then.”
“The words Rhymed Intro and Carol
ina.”
“Sounds like something out of a poem.”
“Exactly,” Hannah said. “Carolina was a poem by Henry Timrod, the same poet Thompson quoted. And better yet, Rhymed Intro is an anagram for Henry Timrod. I believe this was the real clue here. That’s why I couldn’t decipher the urn.” Hannah brought out her trusty tablet and showed me an image of the urn, now with markings highlighted. “Carolina was a poem about the great Southern patriots throughout the history of the state. It spoke of heroes of the Revolution and Civil War.” Hannah pointed with her finger to the shape of a square, an obelisk, the scales of justice, a cross, and the palmetto moon that represented the State of South Carolina. “There is only one place where these all come together, including Henry Timrod, and it’s a place that honors the same type of men spoken of in the poem.”