Buried Roots

by Cynthia Raleigh

  This packet was a result of a search on the 36th Regiment. This time, the documents were in an archival box; the acid free paperboard type made to help preserve aging, fragile paper. There were numerous items in the box: the expected wills, inventories, deeds, and other estate and probate type paperwork, but the box also included a few letters, receipts, diary pages, and a sheaf of papers that looked like memoirs.

  Perri slid the box about a foot away and very cautiously removed the top item from the box, placing it in front of her. She glanced around self-consciously. She wasn’t wearing gloves to handle the documents, as some other archives she had visited required. There was a current movement away from wearing the white gloves to handle archival documents, citing the fact that a person’s sense of touch was significantly reduced by the gloves, potentially causing more damage than clean hands. Without the tactile feel of the page on the skin of the fingers, it could be difficult to tell if a page was crumpling or coming loose from the binding.

  The first item was a four-page inventory for a farmhouse in 1809. The owner of the home was indicated as a Patrick Fleming, born in 1756 in Ireland and passing away in Virginia in 1809. His wife, Moira Fleming, survived and would retain the bulk of the estate, but several items were bequeathed to their daughter, Mary “Polly” Fleming “for her upcoming marriage.” The items going to Polly were: one oak bedstead with linens, two coverlets, one spinning wheel, one oak kitchen table, two ash slat back chairs, one hardwood storage box, and one set of pewter plates. Only kitchen knives, listed, but this inventory was way too early for the knife Perri was looking for anyway.

  Next followed several different documents concerning Patrick Fleming’s life. There was a printed copy of a microfilmed document showing Patrick on the passenger manifest of a ship from Ireland (departure city not listed). The Ann and Margaret arrived in Boston on October 14, 1767, bringing eleven-year-old Patrick Fleming and his family to a new life. The Flemings had finally settled in Virginia and had a prosperous life if the inventory list was a good representation.

  There was a half sheet photocopy of a page from a book verifying Patrick Fleming’s service in the Revolutionary War.

  A high-quality piece of stationery was next. The creamy colored, thick paper was a letter, dated December of 1809, written with bold capitals and inky flourishes, from a man named Edwin to his fiancée Polly. Presumably, this was Polly Fleming. The letter wasn’t long, but the fanciful, emoting, wooing protocol that was popular at the time was flattering and expressed his condolences over the death of her father and his heartfelt desire for the day he and Polly would be wed.

  Perri put the combination condolence/love letter onto the finished stack and noted it was followed by their marriage certificate from April 24, 1810. She recognized the antsy feeling creeping in that she often got while searching for specific facts and details when she wasn’t finding them. She fought down the urge to spread all the papers out and scan them and placed the certificate face down on the stack as well.

  The next item was seemingly more on topic. It was a sheaf of several leaves of varying types and grades of paper which were pierced in the upper left corner and held together by a piece of twine. The writing crowded to the last bit of paper all the way around, creating the illusion that the words were swarming across the page and pouring over the edges. The writing would have been tough enough to read in the penmanship of the 1800s, but the words being crabbed together made it even more difficult. Perri caught portions of the text and saw that at least part of the content concerned the Civil War. She put this aside to examine more carefully after going through the stack of less intensely written documents. There were only a few more items.

  Next was a record of a court appearance concerning a boundary dispute between several landowners in Chesterfield County. Land was to be cleared for a new road to provide access to a creek. There was disagreement about who owned the land that was to be taken for the road. An extensive description was offered, using landmarks such as “south around the fence as cleared at present, thence west along a ridge into the cart way leading from Miller’s barn and continuing to the corner of Farr’s line.”

  Perri shook her head, skimming the remainder of the directions. It probably made perfect sense at the time, but the location description was vague and maybe even useless now. The best she could determine from the wording, to provide public access to the water, a road was to be put in with a northwest approach to and ending at a creek. A decision had been made that each land owner would be paid for their share of the ground needed for the road. A value was agreed upon and the claim was settled. Perri moved on to the last group of documents, which all appeared to be letters and diary pages.

  She picked up the first one, it began, “Dearest Isaac, I am most apologetic for my long delay in writing to you…” Perri blinked several times. It was just after noon. Her stomach was empty, her eyes were dry again, she was thirsty. It would be better to refuel with lunch and get back to work refreshed. She had to bundle the documents back into the box and leave them with the librarian, but they would hold them for her until she returned as long as it was within an hour. She left the room and recovered her purse and bag and headed out to walk in the misty rain to a café down the street for lunch. Hopefully, her mind would clear a bit and she could start fresh.

  Chapter 30

  Nina startled awake, unsure if she had heard a voice or dreamt it. A shaft of light streamed through a narrow opening in the doors of the cellar, motes of dust swirled within in, suspended, nearly weightless. The opening was widening. She probably hadn’t imagined the voice. “Put the hood back on,” the woman’s harsh voice assaulted her ears.

  “Why do I have to keep putting the hood on?”

  “So you don’t see anyone. I thought you were smarter than that. Isn’t it obvious?”

  “I thought you might have some other reason.”

  “Oh yeah? Like what?”

  “Maybe you are all lepers and are hideously ugly, how would I know?”

  “Smart mouth today, huh? Just put it on and stand still.”

  “What are you going to do if I don’t, turn me into a turnip?”

  “Don’t argue, you’re in no position to argue, just do it.” The woman spat out the words.

  Nina knew she shouldn’t but she got a little pleasure out of agitating the woman. She definitely preferred the man over this harpy. She reluctantly stood up from her perch on the old box. Every muscle she had was stiff and her head wouldn’t turn to the right, the neck muscles were taut and sore.

  “Come on!”

  “Give me a minute. I’ve been slouched on an old potato bin or something for hours. You couldn’t even give me a chair?”

  No reply. Nina tried to see the woman but she was standing behind one of the root cellar doors and the light was shining around the edges too much to see anything. She spotted the hood, which turned out to be an old book bag or pouch of some sort with a broken zipper. Upscale kidnapping equipment. She picked it up and tried to beat the filth off of it before putting her head in it.

  Having complied with the order, she stood in the center of the root cellar in her pajamas and robe with a bag on her head, and waited. “I can’t walk up those stairs like this. You’re going to have to come get me.”

  “You can do it, get moving.”

  “Fine. If you’re confident your boss doesn’t mind me falling down and breaking my neck, sure thing.” Nina wobbled around and edged forward, purposely being clumsier than she felt.

  She heard a disgusted retort following by rapid footsteps descending the stone stairs. The woman grabbed her by the arm and yanked her forward suddenly enough that Nina’s head snapped backward which produced a yelp of pain. The woman half pulled, half dragged Nina up the stairs and across the same expanse of grass, up the steps and through the door to the house.

  After Nina was seated in the same chair she had occupied the night before, she once again heard The Voice. “Did you get any rest last night?�
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  “Are you kidding me?”

  “I don’t often kid around, Mrs. Watkins.” There was a pause and Nina could hear someone leave the room.

  Nina’s defiance was rapidly draining away as the silence stretched on. The man was still behind her, but was being very quiet, saying nothing and not moving. She swallowed. It sounded loud to her.

  The footsteps returned and her hand was placed on the handle of a mug, more gently this time. “I assume you drink coffee in the morning, most people do. There is some toast available on the table being placed next to you. You may remove the hood, but as before, don’t turn around. It will be easier to reason with you once you have had something to eat and drink.

  As Nina removed the hood, she thought about books she’d read and movies she had seen. She considered the possibility of antifreeze in the coffee or arsenic sprinkled on the toast and decided the man wanted her alive, for now. She turned her head as much as she dared. There was a china saucer sitting on a small round table next to and slightly forward of her chair. She took the saucer and set it on her lap, sipped the steaming coffee, and took a bite of the buttered toast.

  Having given her several minutes, the man spoke again. “Let’s begin again.”

  “Ok. I still don’t have the knife you want.”

  “I understand that. I want you to arrange to get it.”

  “How am I supposed to do that from a dirty vegetable bin?” Nina was hungry. She finished the piece of toast and washed it down with coffee.

  “That isn’t difficult. You will be allowed to call your husband to plead your case.”

  “They’ll find you.”

  “No. I’m not stupid.”

  “Fine. Buddy, I’ll be glad to have them give it to you. I don’t care about the damned knife.” Nina looked to the ceiling. She could see an oval on the wall just above where she sat where the paint was brighter. Something had been removed. She thought it may have been a mirror. It wouldn’t do for her to sit here and be able to see the people behind her. But why put her here then? It seemed like a large enough house.

  “But I do.” Her thoughts interrupted by The Voice’s reply.

  “I know you do. I just don’t know why you went to all this rigmarole to get it. You could have asked for it, offered to buy it, and no one would have cared. But now you’ve turned that molehill into a really big mountain.”

  “That’s unfortunate, I agree. But we can conclude this in a satisfactory manner for everyone concerned if you and your husband cooperate.”

  Nina shook her head in disbelief, “Of course he will cooperate too. Do you really expect to get away with this? Good grief, I sound like a bad movie, but seriously, do you?”

  “There is no reason I shouldn’t. You don’t know me, or anyone here.”

  “Not at the moment, but I will. We all will.”

  The legs of the man’s chair rasped against the floor as he stood. “You will call your husband and very briefly tell him to obtain the knife. Tell him I want him to have it by three o’clock this afternoon. He will receive another call before that time to tell him how to proceed.”

  “What shall I call you?” Nina asked.

  “You don’t need to call me anything. Just get your point across.”

  “What time is it now?”

  “You were a bit of a sleepyhead this morning. It’s eleven o’clock already. You are not in possession of a lot of time. Are you going to cooperate?”

  “Yes, yes, whatever, just let’s get this over with.”

  “Very well. Decide what you are going to say and we’ll bring a phone to you shortly. Remain seated where you are. Don’t turn or we’ll be forced to cowl you again like a frightened horse. Don’t make me treat you like livestock, Mrs. Watkins.”

  His footsteps were audible as he left the room and traveled either down a hallway or through an adjacent room, then on a stairway and faded away when a door closed. Nina made a motion to turn but a voice stopped her. “Don’t do it.” The harpy was back.

  Nina’s shoulders sagged. ‘Might as well start getting my speech squared away,’ she thought to herself. She wondered what she could say that might lead Tom to where she was. She couldn’t think of anything that would help.

  Chapter 31

  Tom sat on the cabinet built to surround the heat register by the window of Archer’s office. Archer was riffling through a series of papers dedicated to Roger Morris’s career. Tom’s knee bounced up and down as he waited.

  “What we have here looks like a petty thief and looter. He’s been arrested several times for metal detecting and looting relics from battlegrounds, national parks, and other state property. The results of his arrests have mostly been fines, but he did spend three months in jail in Jefferson County, Alabama for looting Native American relics. It was on private property with permission, but Native American relics fall under different statutes. They cannot be removed, kept, or sold. They automatically become property of the State. He got jail time for that one.”

  “Not a surprise.” Tom mulled this over while Archer read some more. “Alright, if this guy, Roger Morris, is the one who found the knife, why was he trying to buy it at the re-enactment? I don’t get it.”

  “It could be a number of things, but the solution that seems the most apparent is that our buddy Morris located the knife either for Tyndall or on his own and contacted Tyndall to sell it to him. He sent it to Tyndall who was selling it to a buyer. Morris probably got paid for obtaining the knife to begin with which was most likely intended to be the extent of his involvement. Unexpectedly though, Tyndall up and dies. All the inventory gets taken away.

  Tom picked up the thread. “The buyer wants his item but doesn’t want to do it him or herself, or doesn’t know how. Who else to go after it but Morris?”

  Archer nodded in agreement.

  “Ok, you think Roger Morris is the man who has Nina? But where would he go with her? You said he was from Alabama, is that right?”

  “Yes, he is. He knew the knife’s last known location was here in Richmond. He may even have worked with Tyndall before. He tried to get the knife back at the event, even if it meant that he had to buy it. Unfortunately, Nina had already purchased it.”

  Tom took a deep breath before asking, “Does this guy have any record of violence?”

  “No, he doesn’t. None at all, not even a misdemeanor of any sort. He seems to be mainly a looter. That’s what I don’t understand about Russell Calder being killed. To go from hocking regiment badges and musket balls to murder is a big step.”

  “You think he snapped or got pressured into it?”

  “I really don’t know. It would clearly be out of character. I’m not saying it can’t happen, but odds are that it won’t. At least now we have something to go on. We’re checking for credit cards and bank accounts right now to see if he’s using any traceable financial pathways.”

  Tom stood and walked back and forth across the office. He stared at his left wrist where his watch should be, “What time is it? I forgot my watch.”

  Archer pulled up the cuff of his sleeve, “It’s 11:29.”

  “What do we do now? Or, what do I do? Maybe I should…”

  Tom’s phone rang. He looked at the screen. The number was marked ‘Private.’

  Archer asked, “Who is it?”

  Tom said, “I don’t know, says Private.”

  “Answer it! Now!” Archer stood and leaned over the desk.

  Tom fumbled around a bit but managed to press the phone icon. “Hello?”

  “Tom, Tom this is Nina.” Nina’s voice was shaky and sounded tinny.

  Tom’s voice quavered with emotion as he replied, “Oh god, Nina, you ok? Where are you?”

  “Tom, listen, I have limited time...”

  “But who?”

  “…and I need you to listen. Get the knife. Get it from Archer. You have to get it before three o’clock this afternoon. You must have it by three this afternoon. You’ll get another call.”

&n
bsp; “Nina, I need to know where you are, are you ok?” He paused. “Nina? NINA? She hung up.”

  “What did she say, exactly?”

  Tom sank down in one of the visitor chairs, overcome with both relief and anxiety. Nina was alive, but she wasn’t free and he didn’t know where she was.

  “Tom. Look at me. What did Nina say, exactly?”

  “Ok.” Tom replayed the very short conversation in his mind, then repeated it to Archer, who wrote it down, word for word. “She didn’t answer me at all, she just kept talking like they were hurrying her, not wanting her to stay on the line. I bet they’re worried about it being traced! She sounded very far away.”

  “Can I have your phone for a while? Let me take it to the tech lab. Let’s see what we get on a location.”

  “You don’t sound very positive.”

  Archer shook his head, “I’m positive we can get a location for the call, but it doesn’t mean we’ll find them at that location. If they made the call and then moved, we may find the phone but not Nina. Criminals get throw-away phones and toss them when they’re finished.”

  Tom was hopeful, “But we can be ready for the next call. They have to call again at three and surely they don’t want to just keep moving her around.”

  “We can do that, and we will.”

  “Arch, man, we don’t have very much time. It’s almost noon now, we’ve got three hours!”

  Archer shifted gears, “Getting the knife is not a problem, we have it right here.”

  “I know!” Tom kicked at the leg of a chair. “I’m sick of that knife. Whoever wants it so badly that they kidnap my wife is welcome to it. As a matter of fact, I’d love to give it to them right now, unsheathed.”

  “Yeah, I know. I’ll check it out of the evidence room. Cool your jets here for a while if you can. In the meantime, let me take your phone to the lab and check to see if anything has come up with the financials. Otherwise, we’re basically going to have to just wait for them to call back.”