American Dreams Trilogy

by Michael Phillips

“Hmm…”

  “What if the people themselves are untrue,” asked Seth, “not the thing they say they believe in?”

  “I hadn’t thought about that either.”

  “Don’t you think that whether a thing, like Christianity, is true or false is independent of the people who believe it?”

  “I don’t see how it could be completely independent of them. How else are you to judge something like Christianity than by the Christians who believe it?”

  “Maybe the two aren’t completely independent, I agree with you there,” rejoined Seth. “But I would still say you have to judge it on its own merits. You have to find out whether it is true or not. There are people who live consistently by their beliefs, and people who don’t. That doesn’t change the inherent truth or falsehood of the thing itself. It seems to me that you have to evaluate anything on the basis of truth, while recognizing that some people live more consistently than others.”

  “Maybe you’re right. But being an atheist makes life a lot less complicated. You can just live and be happy.”

  “Maybe I should ask, then—do you want it to be true?”

  “You mean that there’s no God… do I want there to be no God?”

  Seth nodded.

  “I don’t know,” replied Cherity slowly. “I never thought about whether I wanted it to be true or not. That’s a hard question. But I don’t see what it has to do with anything? Wanting something to be true won’t make it true. I may want the sun to shine, or want to be taller, or want to live in the country… but it still may rain, I will still live in Boston, and I will still be a little runt that people mistake for a kid.”

  Seth roared. “You are hardly a kid!” he laughed. “I have the feeling you can hold your own with just about anyone!”

  “You know what I mean! I’m too short.”

  “You’re just right… you look lovely and I wouldn’t change a thing about you if I—”

  Suddenly Seth stopped and glanced away.

  Cherity saw his embarrassment and shared it, knowing that she had inadvertently caused it. To hide the red also rising in her own cheeks, she dug her heels into Golden Cloud’s sides and cantered off toward the peak. Seth waited a moment, then followed. When he caught her, Cherity had dismounted and was gazing about her down at the valley below.

  “Harper’s Peak,” she sighed. “I’ve dreamed about this view ever since last time. It makes me so happy to be here again.”

  They stood for a minute or two in silence.

  “Do you still see a lot of—what was their name, your friends who live down there on the other side of the town… Beau—”

  “Beaumont,” said Seth.

  “Oh, yes—Wyatt was the boy’s name.”

  “He’s hardly a boy now,” said Seth with a tone in his voice that Cherity couldn’t exactly identify. “He’s twenty years old and big and strong and… well, let’s just say that he reminds me more and more of his father all the time. To answer your question—no, I don’t see much of him these days, or Cameron either.”

  “The younger boy?”

  Seth nodded. “He’s no boy either. He’s developed a mean streak. I don’t know, they just…”

  His voice trailed away. “I don’t know,” he said with a sigh. “It’s funny how people change, that’s all.”

  Even as he said the words, Seth was wondering to himself how he could shift the conversation so that the third member of the Beaumont trio did not come up.

  “And what about their sister?” said Cherity. “She’s your age, isn’t she?”

  “Uh, yeah,” said Seth with an inward groan.

  “What’s her name—I forgot.”

  “Veronica,” said Seth, his neck brightening again.

  “Are you and she still… uh, good friends?” asked Cherity. The question had just popped out, and it was not until the words had passed her lips that she remembered the brother Cameron’s tease from three years earlier. But it was too late to take them back.

  “Yeah…” replied Seth hesitantly. “I guess I see her more often than I do her brothers.”

  “Maybe I’ll have the chance to meet her.”

  “Uh… yeah, maybe. But I doubt if the two of you would hit it off.”

  “Why not?” asked Cherity.

  “I don’t know—you’re just… I don’t know, different, I guess. She’s not interested in horses.”

  “I’m interested in more than just horses.”

  “I know, that wasn’t what I meant.”

  Seth began walking about, trying to clear his brain. A few minutes later they mounted again and began the ride back down the ridge following the same route they had taken three years earlier. It was quiet as they went, a more subdued mood settling upon them.

  “Can we explore the caves again?” asked Cherity excitedly.

  “You really want to? You were scared last time.”

  “I wasn’t, I tell you!” laughed Cherity. “And even if I was—which I wasn’t!—I wouldn’t be now. I’m older. I was just a little girl then. I want to explore for the Indian treasure.”

  “Who told you there was Indian treasure?”

  “You did—or I thought you did.”

  “I did not,” laughed Seth.

  “You said there were legends and burial sites. So there has to be treasure.”

  “You are making up all kinds of things about last time! All I said was that there were rumors.”

  “But I bet there really is a treasure,” insisted Cherity. “That’s how rumors begin… I’m sure of it.”

  “Why would you think that?”

  “Rumors have to come from someplace. And your mysterious Mr. Brown was an Indian. He must have had something to do with it. Can we go look in that house of Mr. Brown’s—it’s nearby, isn’t it?”

  “Not far.”

  “I bet there are clues if we just know how to look for them.”

  Not sure what to make of Cherity’s enthusiasm, but seeing no harm in it, Seth led the way to that portion of his father’s property they still called the Brown tract.

  As they entered the house, Cherity expected a ramshackle place so old and run-down and full of dirt and cobwebs and decay that it might fall down around them. From what Seth had told her, she assumed the place hadn’t been used in twenty or thirty years. Instead, as she walked in, the house even almost smelled inhabited. A few chairs were about, a table sat in the center of what must have been the kitchen, and all the windows appeared to be intact.

  “I thought you said Mr. Brown left years ago,” she said glancing around. “Look, this table isn’t even dusty. Somebody’s been here more recently than that!”

  Seth did not reply at first, not knowing whether to divulge the fact that Greenwood’s blacks used the place for secret church meetings, and that sometimes his mother met the black ladies here out of sight of prying eyes.

  “And look…” said Cherity as she wandered into the largest room, at the far end of which stood a great wide stone fireplace, “here are more chairs, and rugs where it looks like people have been sitting on the floor. There have been people here… and not that long ago!”

  “Yeah,” said Seth, “my mom sometimes comes here with the black women.”

  “You never told me that before!”

  “You didn’t ask,” laughed Seth.

  “Why do they come here?”

  “To make sure they aren’t seen. You’ve got to remember that white people don’t like how my parents treat black people.”

  “What’s this?” said Cherity, approaching the fireplace and gazing at a strange emblem or painting on the wall above it. They stood looking a few moments at the odd symbols painted on a thin-stretched skin of light-colored leather, almost white.

  “It looks Indian,” she added.

  “It probably is,” said Seth.

  “I wish I knew what all those symbols and drawings meant.”

  Cherity turned and continued about the large room.

  “How did Mr. Brow
n wind up here?” she asked.

  “I don’t know,” answered Seth. “You should ask my dad. But I’m not sure how much he knows. Mr. Brown was my grandfather’s friend. My father was away when all the trouble happened.”

  “What trouble?”

  “My father’s brother was found dead—somewhere out here on the Brown land. And then Mr. Brown disappeared. Later his animals were found roaming the hills.”

  “Do they think he did it, and that’s why he ran away?”

  “I don’t think they think that. From all I’ve ever heard Mr. Brown was one of the gentlest men you could meet. I never knew him myself—I’m too young… but that’s what they say.”

  “So there’s not just a mystery about the treasure,” said Cherity, revolving everything in her mind, “there’s also the peculiar circumstances of your—let’s see, he’s your father’s brother, so he would be your uncle—of your uncle’s death, and of Mr. Brown’s disappearance. There are three mysteries!”

  Seth laughed. “You sound like a detective! You turn everything into a mystery!”

  “Don’t you find it fascinating—especially when his house is still in such good repair… that Indian thing above the hearth. I’m sure there are clues, if we just knew where to look.”

  Again Seth laughed. Curious about an odd-looking board that caught her eye, Cherity pulled back the edge of a portion of an old faded woven rug.

  “And look,” she said excitedly, “here’s a door in the floor!”

  Before Seth could object, she had the rug off and the door pulled open on its hinge. Quickly she began to scramble down the steep stairway.

  “Every house has a cellar,” said Seth as he knelt down and peered after her. “It doesn’t mean there’s something sinister going on!”

  “But this isn’t just any house,” came Cherity’s voice from below. “This house belonged to a mysterious Indian! Maybe the treasure’s down here! Do you think you could find a cand—”

  “Wait!” interrupted Seth. He paused, then stood to listen. “I thought I heard something.”

  Cherity stopped on the stairs. It was silent a few seconds. Slowly she began tiptoeing back up into the room, listening intently.

  “You’re right, I hear a horse,” she said.

  “Someone’s coming. Come on—get out of sight!” said Seth. He hurried to the wall and knelt down below the nearest windowsill. Cherity ran up and followed. He pulled her down beside him, then inched his head up to peep around the edge of the glass.

  “It’s Mr. Beaumont!” he exclaimed in a loud whisper. “What’s he doing here! I heard he was in Washington!”

  Cherity half stood to see for herself.

  “He’s coming straight for the house!”

  Seth sat back down on the floor, obviously thinking what to do.

  “Don’t you want him to see you?” asked Cherity.

  “Uh, not really… but mostly I don’t want him to see you.”

  “Why not?”

  “I can’t explain. Let’s—”

  Seth glanced around hurriedly.

  “You hide in the cellar,” he said, crawling back over the floor on his hands and knees. “Hurry!” he said. “We don’t have time to find a candle. I’ll see what he wants.”

  Cherity scurried back down the steep steps into the darkness. Seth shut the door over her, then stood, went to the door, took a deep breath or two to calm himself, then stepped out onto the porch as the father of his fiancée rode up. Obviously taken by surprise, Denton Beaumont reined in abruptly.

  “Seth, my boy!” he exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

  “I was just about to ask you the same question, Mr. Beaumont,” replied Seth.

  “Just out for a ride.”

  “You’re a long way from Oakbriar.”

  “I guess I wandered out of my way without realizing it,” said Beaumont, forcing an unconvincing laugh. “You know how fond your father and I always were of the Brown tract.”

  “I thought that was when you were young.”

  “You know what they say—old habits die hard!” laughed Beaumont again, though humorlessly. “Yes… I still love the old place. Why don’t you talk your father into selling it to me—I’ve been unable to.”

  “What would you do with it, Mr. Beaumont?” asked Seth.

  “Oh, I don’t know, I’m just a sentimentalist, I guess.”

  “I don’t think my father wants to sell it.”

  “That is clear enough,” rejoined Beaumont. “But why he does not is what puzzles me. I am prepared to offer far more than it is worth.”

  “I don’t think he feels he has the right to sell it.”

  Whatever caustic rejoinder may have been on Denton Beaumont’s lips, he fortunately kept to himself. “Well,” he said glancing about, “now that I see where I’ve come, I had better be getting back. I’ve been away long enough already.”

  He wheeled his horse around and rode off. Seth watched him go, then turned and walked back inside to retrieve Cherity from the cellar.

  “Why didn’t you want him to see me?” asked Cherity as she climbed back into the large room.

  “He just wouldn’t have understood, that’s all,” replied Seth. “He’s a suspicious man. I don’t want him asking questions about the Brown place. I’m glad he didn’t see our two horses on the other side of the house. If he were to find out about the blacks coming here, or my mother teaching their ladies, there is no telling how much trouble he could cause. I wouldn’t put it past him to have her jailed.”

  “Your neighbor and friend would do that!”

  “He and my father don’t get along very well anymore. Once we freed our slaves, that was the end of the friendship. He bitterly resents the stand my parents took. As the local commissioner, he could cause them a lot of grief. I would put nothing past him. There’s something going on. I’m certain he came here on purpose.”

  “You think he lied to you?”

  “To be blunt, I suppose yes. I don’t know what he was up to. But one thing I am sure of—he knows these hills like the back of his hand. He didn’t just accidentally stray this far from Oakbriar without knowing very well what he was doing. I only hope he hasn’t gotten word of what’s going on here, though that seems the only reasonable explanation. I’ll have to tell my dad.”

  “There is another possibility,” said Cherity.

  “What’s that?”

  “He knows about the treasure and was sneaking around looking for it.”

  “There you go about the Indian treasure again!” laughed Seth.

  “It makes sense, doesn’t it? You said he’s always been interested in this land. I bet he knows something even your father doesn’t know.”

  “That’s quite a theory.”

  They left the house and returned to their horses.

  “How did your father come to own the land if it was Mr. Brown’s?” asked Cherity as they began the ride down the hill.

  “I’ve never been altogether sure of that,” replied Seth. “It is a little puzzling. Like I said, Mr. Brown disappeared and… well, actually I’m not sure how the land came into my father’s possession.”

  “Can we ask him?” asked Cherity.

  “Who?”

  “Your father, silly! Can we ask him about it?”

  “I guess so. You’re really that interested?”

  “Of course! It might help us find the treasure!”

  Seth laughed. “You are a determined one!”

  “I want to ask him about everything! You said I should. Do you think he’ll mind?”

  “He won’t mind,” answered Seth, still chuckling.

  Thirteen

  The moment they arrived back at Greenwood, Cherity went in search of Seth’s father. She found him seated with her father on the veranda of the house. The men were enjoying mint juleps and laughing and chatting freely.

  “Mr. Davidson,” said Cherity as she and Seth approached from the barn, where they had left their horses with Alexander, �
�Seth says I ought to ask you about Mr. Brown and the mystery of his disappearance and the treasure.”

  “Treasure!” laughed Richmond. “Did Seth tell you there was a treasure?

  “Not exactly,” she answered with a sheepish smile, glancing back toward Seth as he came up behind her.

  “I didn’t think so,” said Richmond. “It’s the first I’ve heard of it.”

  “But don’t you think there must be!” said Cherity excitedly.

  “This girl of yours has quite an imagination, James!” laughed Richmond to his guest.

  “She always has.”

  “Then why did Mr. Brown disappear so mysteriously?” persisted Cherity. “And why else would your neighbor be snooping around and lie to Seth about it being an accident that he had ridden there?”

  Richmond’s forehead wrinkled in question. He glanced toward Seth.

  “That’s right, Dad,” said Seth, “though Cherity may be making it sound a little more devious than it actually was. We went for a ride up on the ridge. On the way back down Cherity wanted to see the Brown place. We hadn’t been there five minutes when Mr. Beaumont showed up.”

  “What did he do?” asked Richmond.

  “Nothing, once he saw me. We spoke for a minute or two, then he left. He said he was out for a ride and had strayed farther from Oakbriar than he had intended and hadn’t realized where he was.”

  Richmond took in the information without expression.

  “I still want to know about Mr. Brown,” said Cherity. She sat down on the steps and waited. It was clear she was not going to leave until she had an answer.

  Richmond’s face clouded momentarily.

  “Mr. Brown and my father were great friends,” he began after a minute’s reflection. “I doubt Brown was his real name, though my father didn’t know either. As my father explained it to me after I returned from England, the man he knew as Mr. Brown had come to Virginia fifteen or so years before in 1818 or 1820 or thereabouts. I was just a boy of eight or nine at the time and hardly remember it. Apparently there were mysteries associated with him right from the beginning. All we children were terrified of him. Stories immediately began to circulate about graves and bones and buried people and ghosts. Children will make up anything about someone who is a little different!”