“We’ve got to get our research materials,” Frank said as he scrambled up the embankment. Maggie was close behind. When they got to the edge of the site field they could see the house better. Great flames roared behind several of the upstairs windows. In back of the building was a smaller fire.
“Your car is burning too,” said Frank.
Maggie was crying and screaming at the same time. “The notes. The equipment. All our work.”
He stopped her from running into the house. “It’s not safe. Keep back.”
Frank saw someone running around the house toward him. He was too far away for Frank to see his face or to do more than guess that it was a man by his heavy build.
“Hey you, mister. What are you doing there?” he called. The man stopped, turned and ran back around the house and out of sight. He resembled Spyder in his bent over running position.
Sparks were dropping from edges of the roof and were carrying into the trees. Burning leaves were floating in the air around Frank and Maggie. A fire siren began to wail in the distance.
“River Sunday,” said Frank. “Somebody saw the fire.”
He reached the truck and pulled open the small steel door.
“Get in,” he yelled to Maggie. She jumped past Frank into the cockpit and fell across the canvas seat. She pulled herself to the other side of the cab. Frank followed her on to the seat. He turned the key and pressed the starter. The truck churned to life and Frank put the vehicle into reverse. He looked out the side as the truck lurched backward.
“Are you all right, Maggie?” he said over his bare shoulder.
“I’m all right.”
They were still naked from the river. “We need clothes,” said Frank. “There’s some of my stuff on the floor in front of you.”
She reached down and absently pulled on Frank’s jean shorts and tee shirt. Her eyes full of fear, she gazed at the flames, the reflection of the fire fierce on the windshield in front of her. He stopped the truck. “I’m going to leave it here down at the end of the site near the river. It’ll be out of the way of any fire trucks.”
They watched as Maggie’s government sedan exploded, roaring up in flames and then as quickly subsiding as the gasoline was used up. She was shaking as she watched it.
“My car had everything in it, all my records from other jobs, my tools.”
Frank pulled on a pair of work shorts. Then he reached over and hugged her tightly. She was trembling. “I could have been sleeping in that house, Frank.”
“You’re safe. It’s all right.”
“Who was that man, Frank? Why did he do this?”
“It looked like Spyder. He could have killed you.”
“Why the house? They had us out of here in the morning. It would all be over.”
“No, it wouldn’t,” said Frank.
Realization came across her face. “That’s right. The records. The bell.”
He looked at her, her face lit up by the flames in the distance. She held his hand. “We’re targets too.”
“Yes,” he said.
“Promise me you won’t let this site be lost, you won’t let Jake win.”
“I promise,” he said.
Just then a fire truck pulled off the highway and into the lane, its siren adding to the anxiety. It was followed by a long tanker truck and then by a small rescue vehicle. As the firemen began to lay out their hose, one of the men noticed Frank and Maggie walking toward them, a portable radio in his hand.
“You over there,” the fireman called. “Anybody in the house?”
“No,” said Frank. “We’re all out.”
“You folks hurt?”
“We’re OK,” said Frank.
“There’s a car burning out back,” the radio crackled. The fireman motioned to a team who then went over to the car with one of the hoses.
The fireman continued. “You folks got any idea how it started?”
“I saw a man running away when I came up here.”
“You weren’t in the house, Mister?”
“No, we were at the beach. There was trouble at the bridge.”
“Yeah. I heard. So you guys came up here and found it burning and some guy running away.”
“Yessir,” said Frank. The fireman looked at him, smiled, and walked away.
“What did they say?” asked another fireman standing by the pumper truck.
“They don’t know. It’s probably electrical. These old houses have a lot of bad wires. They weren’t in the house so maybe they left something electrical turned on inside, something that shorted out.”
“That’s the shipwreck site over there, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. Jake Terment’s problem child.”
The firemen turned back to their work. Cars filled with teenagers, families, various local people, were beginning to arrive on the road outside the farm. They parked on both sides of the road. People were walking in the middle of the road toward the burning farmhouse. Frank watched the arrivals for a few minutes.
“It’s like a carnival for these people,” said Frank “They don’t belong here.”
“Happens at all these fires, Mister,” said the fireman as he pulled at the folded hose on the back of the truck. “Sometimes we try to stop them if it is a big fire. Most of them are our cousins and families anyway just coming to see us work.”
Frank and Maggie stood watching as the spectators began to gather.
“I bet this will be seen for miles,” said an excited teenage girl standing next to Maggie.
“It’s my home,” said Maggie.
The teenager looked at her, her face almost angry that Maggie had challenged her.
“I wonder if anything will be saved,” Maggie said to Frank.
“You people are lucky to get out of there alive,” said the fireman. “This place was a real firetrap. I’m surprised it hasn’t gone up before, old as it is and nobody living here much anymore,” said one of the firemen. “Jake Terment offered us this place a few years ago to use in our practice. We were going to burn it down for training.”
Another fireman said, “One of the guys said it was burning in two places when he walked out in back. Both of them up in the roof. A car burning too.”
“Two places. That don’t sound like an electrical fire to me,” said the fireman. “Maybe somebody don’t like you folks.”
The building was engulfed in flames. There were two hoses playing water on the fire but the water was useless against the high flames.
“We just want to stop it from spreading, grassfires, the outbuildings, that’s about all you can do with a building like this,” said the fireman.
“You two must be exhausted,” said a voice from behind Frank and Maggie. Birdey Pond stood there. She reached out to comfort Maggie. Maggie moved toward her. The older woman put her arms around Maggie.
“I know. I know,” said Birdey, comforting Maggie. “We saw the shooting out at the bridge. Jake Terment telephoned me as furious as I’ve ever heard him. Threatening. He claimed it was one of my friends who was shooting at his tenant farmer.”
She paused, “No, I didn’t do it but I wish I’d thought of it.”
She looked at Frank. “Come over to my house at least for the rest of the night. You two need some rest.”
“I’m staying here,” Maggie said, sudden strength in her voice.
“This fire more of Jake’s work?” Birdey asked.
“We think it was set,” said Frank.
“Sorry,” Maggie sobbed. “I just see myself inside that house.”
A crash of the falling roof sent sparks high into the night air, red specks twisting and turning against the blackness, against the gray wisps of acrid smoke.A sigh of excitement rose from the spectators. They spotted the cat. The animal had been trapped in the farmhouse. It came out on a window ledge on the second floor. The flames were behind it, making the animal a blur of black against the rapid light and the red glare of the flames. The cat had only moments to escape. It sat calmly on
the ledge, looking from side to side in a trance like manner as if looking for a mouse to chase rather than trying to keep its own self alive.
“Look, he’s going to jump,” screamed a woman in the crowd. Then, as the crowd let out another sigh, more like a communal scream, the cat, its black spots almost glowing against its orange fur, jumped directly towards the ground, the full two stories, legs spread apart as if to help it fly through the air. Then hitting the grassy ground, it bounced upward, mouth open in a hiss which had no sound. Finally the cat tore through the crowd toward the far hedge of honeysuckle and disappeared in the night.
Frank and Maggie turned toward the dig area, the flames behind them casting their shadows far ahead, the shadows dancing with the flames, the smell in the air sharp with smoke. The site had become a spectator bleacher. Its closeness to the road, its relative openness and the pits of the dig allowed the spectators to sit on the edges of the pits with their legs dangling over the sides. All this had made the scholarly dig site into an outdoor party peopled with laughing and carousing guests of all ages.
In the darkness there were many pinpoints of light where the spectators had flashlights. The beams randomly shot rays into the night or against the gray shroud of smoke rising over the house fire, the wall of smoke drifting away but still solid enough to bounce the light back.
There were dozens of men, women, children of all ages, all of them white. Frank looked for any blacks but saw none. Some of the people had brought along folding chairs. The spectators could be heard complaining as their chairs sank sideways and spilled them into the wet soil. Others had brought beer and portable radios. There was the sound of rock songs mixed with country ballads all producing a heavy beat, not a melody just a beat like a huge drum. Children tied each other in the surveyors twine or played swords with the dig stakes. Several men and women had established contests comparing their performances at urinating on the skeletons.
Occasionally the farmhouse would flare up and the intense light would reflect from the upturned faces of the crowd. The faces were hundreds of small white ovals, dull orbs in the black, punctuated by the tiny lights from their flashlights.
“All gone. All we’ve worked for,” said Maggie.
Frank held her close as they walked across the site, not speaking to the people. One very old man, barechested, his white chest hair glistening with sweat, complained that Frank was blocking the man’s view of the fire. Frank and Maggie said nothing and kept moving on. The fire was dying, the dry wood almost used up and the flames tearing at a few remnants not yet incinerated. The excitement ebbing, some of the people were starting to move back to their cars.
A cardboard box of empty beer cans was perched on top of the pump which had been overturned. Maggie removed the box. Frank helped her turn the pump upright. In the dark, they could not see the probe pits. Frank felt some of the skeleton bones in the earth under his bare feet. He knew then that the skeletons had been tossed around in a ghoulish game by some of the spectators.
When they reached the gate to the property they could see the extent of the madness. There were cars parked in skewed attitudes along the road, some with headlights still turned on. Even as many of the persons were leaving, along the road there were more spectators approaching the farm. Mothers and fathers with their children looked anxiously for a place along the side of the road to park. Among those walking towards the fire, there was disappointment in their eyes that they were late. Children pulled at their parents’ hands, urging them forward.
Jake was standing in the middle of the road with two of the policemen. As Frank got closer to them, he recognized the chief of police.
“What happened here, Frank?” asked Jake, his southern smile broad on his face.
“We don’t know, Jake. There was some guy running away when the fire started.”
“You two must have left some light on,” said Jake. “The wire in the house was all frayed, worn out. This place really wasn’t livable. I’m glad you folks were not hurt. I tried to get you to stay in at the Chesapeake Hotel. You can’t blame me.”
“That’s where I slept, Jake,” said Maggie, staring at him. “Aren’t you at all concerned that we might have been killed? I was lucky. I was out of the house when it started.”
Jake moved his eyes from her stare.
“Look at what these people have done to our work,” said Frank.
“I’m afraid our local people don’t have much regard for holes in the ground, not when there’s a fire to see,” Jake grinned at the police chief who smiled.
“Our work is ruined,” said Maggie.
“I can’t worry about that, Maggie. I just lost a house. Seems to me someone could think about that. I just lost my tenant farmer house. Besides, this digging here wasn’t supposed to be permanent. I’ve already given the two of you fair warning that my men will begin bulldozing tomorrow morning. “
“We planned to work until your machines start.”
“Well,” said Jake, his voice dictatorial, “I guess your work is really finished.”
“How can you just let all this happen?” said Frank. “You told me the other day you didn’t want a lot of strangers hanging around. How can you let all these people in here?”
“Look here, I’m not letting anything happen,” said Jake. “This is my house that just burned down. Somebody tried to blow up my boat. This is my land that you are digging up. Folks know I’m getting all kinds of trouble. They came here to help. That’s the way we are down here in the country. They found my house was on fire and they came to help. Down here in River Sunday this is the way we do things. I’m not about to tell my friends to leave when they have come to help me. You two get yourselves together, get your stuff packed up, because in a few more hours you two are going to be trespassing on my land. If you are not gone by then, I will have to remove you.”
Jake looked at the chief. “Billy, you see them around here in the morning, you get them off my land. You get something on that old woman too for what she did to my boat.”
“We’ll take care of it, Jake,” said Billy. “Come on, boys,” he waved at the other officers near him. “Let’s get these cars moved so other people can get by.”
Frank stood with Maggie at the edge of the honeysuckle hedge for a long time. They watched as the rest of the farmhouse collapsed inward, sparks twisting upward into the sky in the white smoke of the dying fire. They saw the fire engine blinker lights switched off one by one as the firemen packed up their equipment and left, the drivers gunning the engines with roars of unmuffled exhausts.
Chapter 19
Slave Graves Page 18