“How was your day?” he asked at length.
“Busier than usual. I’m relieved to have it finished.”
“You hungry?”
Shaking her head, and still looking at him, she asked, “Did she come back?”
“Who?”
“Come on, Ben . . . Anna. Was she here again?”
“No.”
“She’ll come again. I’m sure of that.”
Trying hard to avoid any further conversation about Anna Atwood, he was finding it too difficult to get the beautiful woman out of his thoughts. As much as he wanted to share with Jenna what he had experienced, he felt such a disclosure would be impossible for her to accept. Another thought prevailed though, and that was that in time, Jenna might be the one person who would believe it all. Nevertheless, he’d wait it out, think it through repeatedly, until he was convinced that what occurred had really occurred. Again, a more sobering thought quickly overtook him—the realization that he’d never traveled to the past at all. That it really had been nothing more than hallucination, or even more drastically, the idea that the past had traveled to him.
“I got the quartz this morning, left it with Bob Bergman to polish.”
Jenna came into the room, looked closely at him, and said, “You sure you’re okay? You look kind of pale.”
“I’m fine, Jenna . . . really.”
“Did you get the brooch?”
“Bob was busy with customers,” he answered deceitfully. “I’ll get it later.”
“You’ll excuse me for saying this, Ben, but you really seem a little off.”
Another manufactured laugh before replying, “Maybe I’m just tired.”
“Well I have a surprise.”
“What?”
“Liz is in town.”
“Oh . . . ”
“Have you checked your voice mail lately?” Jenna asked.
He glanced at the message center on the desk. It was blinking red. “Imagine that, I actually got messages.”
“Anyway, she’s in town for the weekend, staying at the Evansville Regency. We’re going Christmas shopping later—a girl’s night out. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all,” he answered warmly. “There’s no reason for Liz to stay in Evansville. She knows she’s always welcome here.”
“Maybe she didn’t want to impose, or maybe she just needed some self-time.”
“Oh, by the way,” continued Ben, “I got in touch with Collins and he agreed to a meeting at his place, kept saying he wasn’t sure if he could help much, but seemed willing to tell us what he knows about the time the Young family lived at Atwood House.”
“That’s good, Ben. I’m sure he knows plenty—probably needs a little prodding is all.”
After Jenna had gone to meet Liz Raymond, Ben hurried over to the fireplace. The brooch was in the same niche where Jenna had found it. If there were traces of crystallized glue on the back as Bergman had suggested, the glue had been necessary to keep the brooch in place. Or something else, possibly a photograph had been affixed to the back. Maybe Bergman had been mistaken, and it was not glue but something else entirely. He’d read or heard about women putting perfume or scent trails on jewelry to intensify the effect, possibly the same idea as a pheromone. Quite possibly Anna could have done that with the brooch—maybe a brooch that she had never worn at all.
Chapter 32
Outside his home located a mile south of Newburgh, Collins sat near a fire pit, looking at the flames, and blowing smoke rings into a frosty night. Behind him, the yellow glow from the porch light was strengthened by the illumination of a lamp in a large front window.
“Don’t know if I can help you much,” said Collins, watching them approach before stopping a few feet from the fire.
Logs circling the fire, which had been cut from dead trees on the property, now served as seats. Under a tin-roofed shed, cords of firewood were stacked in several rows. Near the shed, was a log splitter, and several longer logs were nearby in a patch of weeds. The air was crisp and smelled of burning wood.
“We only have a couple of questions, which won’t take much of your time,” Ben assured him.
“Time and money. Don’t have much of either.”
Dismissing the man’s comment, Manning asked with a directness that surprised Jenna. “Do you know what’s buried on the Atwood property?”
“I enjoy the country. Couldn’t do this in the city, not legally anyway. But out here, no one bothers you, no one looking over your shoulder shouting out ordinances, got lots of freedom within these tolerable boundaries.”
“I think your father knew what it was,” pressed Ben. “Maybe he told you about it.”
Collins regarded him for several seconds before speaking again. “Maybe it’s time to let it go,” he whispered, as though about to loosen some heavy weight that had held him down too many years. “There aren’t many of us left who know the real story, and anything the government has concluded is nothing but fabrication. Deliberate disinformation—covertly–spread rumors.” He looked up at them, and said politely, “Might as well sit down and get comfortable.”
Picking up a pointed stick, Collins stirred the fire, which snapped a few times before sparking bright orange. The heat took the raw sting off a cold December night. Sitting on logs close to him, they watched and waited anxiously for Collins to continue speaking.
“The military knows all about the ley lines and the vortexes. What they hauled off the Newland property were pieces of what I think was a communication tower. Though my father saw most of the excavation clearly, he had no clear idea what was loaded onto a flatbed truck. It could have been anything; but whatever it was, I doubt it was a meteor. It’s my opinion that the meteor recovery was always the cover story.”
“Meteors, ball lightning, and swamp gas tended to be convenient covers frequently used by the military. Even today it’s the same storyline.” Ben seemed to be speaking more to himself than to the others and was now wishing he had not interrupted Collins so quickly.
“Only when he was hired by the Youngs to conceal a perfectly useable room inside Atwood House, did he begin to take more serious interest in the numerous UFO sightings that were being reported with increasing frequency. He realized something strange had to be going on—something the Air Force had no intention of acknowledging. Since the 1940s, and maybe even several years before that, Newburgh was overwhelmed with UFO reports. The military was routinely aware of these sightings.”
Manning seemed confused as he asked, “You’re saying the military recovered what might have been a communication tower, which was for some unknown reason in pieces. Then they hauled it away, not as junk, but with the intention of reconstructing it?”
“Possibly,” Collins answered. “If it was, think what that would mean.”
Ben nodded, “You’re right. It would definitely be significant.”
“I’ve seen photographs of what you’ve dug up near the bridge on the Atwood House property. Dr. White showed them to me. I don’t know if it’s the same thing the Air Force recovered, but don’t think so.”
“What do you mean?” Jenna asked.
“My father made drawings of what he saw. Pieces had been laid out on the ground, and there were several of them. I remember him saying each piece cast a pink hue, especially at night. The only way to hide the light was to put the pieces under heavy canvas tarps.”
“Do you have those drawings?”
“No, Mr. Manning. They were destroyed by my father when word got out that one of the military officers suspected he had them. From my recollection, what you found does have a few similarities to what the military took away.”
“Well, actually there’s nothing certain about anything we’ve considered.,” Ben admitted. “But you could be right. If it is a tower, a communication tower, that creates an entirely new scena
rio. Who put it there, and why?”
“There’s talk about the discovery in Shanklin’s pond. You’re probably aware of it.” Collins said.
Hesitating to reveal what they saw that night with Liz Raymond, Ben intentionally kept his response concise and noncommittal. “Heard the Shanklin brothers were draining the pond, digging it deeper to restock it with game fish. I didn’t really think much about it.”
Collins leveled a look at them, gave a slight nod, and said with an abruptness that neither expected, “Like the two of you, and that psychic, Dr. Raymond, I was there the night they found it. I saw it all, but still don’t have any idea why anybody would get excited about a big rock, and even stranger is its reason for being there at all.”
Jenna caught Ben’s arm. “Yes,” she clarified, “we saw the thing in the pond, nothing more than a huge rock like you said,” she conceded.
Already in the last minutes of twilight, the night, coming out of the northeast, would soon consume the distinctly jagged tree line that looked like a shaded relief cut into a small expanse of periwinkle blue sky. The lone star Sirius glittered white near the tail of a chalky moon. Shadows around the fire deepened, and the breeze seemed suddenly colder. In the flickering firelight, they could make out the smile on Collins’ face.
“What was it we really saw in the pond?” asked Larry Collins, without looking away from the flames. “It must have had a purpose.”
Before another word passed among them, there was a huge clap of thunder loud enough to shake the bones of the dead. An explosion of white light as radiant as any Sunday morning sunrise, streamed out of a crease in the night sky. And for almost a minute, they watched in disbelief.
Time for atonement! Time to fall to your knees and pray, or at least drop to your knees and repent a lifetime of sins. Time to ask forgiveness. God have mercy on a world of sinners too stubborn, too proud to kneel. No atonement for those without humility, even if it was Armageddon above their heads. How incredibly soon the End of Days had come, and not even the sanctified meteorologists had predicted such a catastrophic event. Hallelujah! The righteous were ascending. Time to praise the Lord. Although the Golden Gates were opening, there was confusion about who the righteous really were. How perplexing, and yet sublime, to be among ascending angels.
None could deny this miraculous opening of the heavens. Each saw the blue shimmer of water, and not one of them could determine how such a spectacular night could fall apart so suddenly. The three of them huddled together, looking upwards into another time and place. Somewhere, someone had opened a portal. Astonishing as it was, there had to be another, more earthly explanation. What that could be, they could not imagine. Ben thought about holograms cast on a black sky, but knew this had nothing to do with holograms. As strange as it was, what they were witnessing was impossible to dispute and even more impossible to comprehend.
At the edge of a long green field, pushing up against a grove of small leafy trees, was the vacillating image of a church with a modest white steeple. Close by, the indistinct image of a large house. Like melting wax, the image began to dissolve, and in seconds after it appeared, it disappeared. In its place was a starry sky with a crooked moon low on the eastern horizon.
Several seconds passed before Collins spoke in a clear calm voice. “Opening a portal is one thing. Controlling it is another. If they can accomplish that, then the world as we know it will never be the same. I have to admit that I never thought it was possible.” After a lengthy pause he added, “I recognized what we saw.”
“What?” asked Jenna.
“Yes,” Collins replied, “it’s a place I’ve seen before.”
Ben was not so quick to believe him. “You can’t be serious.”
“The church, the stream, and the vague image of a house, all appear in a photograph we discovered among some pictures taken by my grandfather,” Collins said. “If I’m not mistaken,” he continued after pausing slightly, “we’ve had a glimpse of the parsonage, which was on Atwood property near where the stream runs into the woods, not far from where a church stood.”
“Incredible.” Ben stared hard at Collins. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
Collins nodded slowly. “Apparently, the parsonage became dilapidated and was left abandoned when the pastor moved to Evansville.”
“What about the church?” asked Jenna. “We saw a church.”
“Yes,” continued Collins, “there was a church farther back, near the Shanklin property. It apparently burned down, but I’m convinced there’s more to that story. I’m sure the foundation or part of it is still there, and it shouldn’t be too hard to find exactly where the church stood, if you’re interested.”
“I just can’t believe this,” admitted Manning. “It’s too outrageous.”
“Seeing is believing,” assured Collins.
“Or, believing it is seeing it,” Jenna suggested.
“I can assure you,” Collins went on, “that if you look, you’ll find the old Baptist Church foundation. It’s out there. I remember my grandfather saying how people were afraid that the fire would spread across the dry pastures into the woods, and even into town.”
“You say the church was on the other side of the stream, near the woods?” questioned Ben.
“About 200 yards north of the bridge, I think. I’m not sure how the property lines run back there, or for that matter on which side of the stream it was built.”
“You’ve been very gracious, Mr. Collins,” Jenna said politely, “and what has happened here tonight, as remarkable as it was, could be an omen, an indication of stranger things to come.”
Collins nodded, “But this is not the work of God. On that, I stand firm.”
“Amen,” whispered Jenna loud enough for both men to hear.
Chapter 33
Not in the past ten years had there been snow as heavy as this in Indiana. Weaker fronts had come and gone, leaving little more than an inch of snow, which was not enough to last through Christmas Day. People who remembered were comparing this storm to the blizzard that had dropped more than six inches of snow on the Evansville area. Twelve years ago, two days before Christmas, the temperature had descended into the teens, and on a bitterly cold Friday evening the fat heavy snowflakes began to fall and didn’t stop until New Year’s Day. To date, it had been one of this area’s heaviest snowfalls.
With temperatures still above freezing, three inches of snow already on the ground and more on the way, it would be a spectacular white Christmas this year, a winter wonderland across the entire state. Many stores in Newburgh and Evansville didn’t close their doors until after midnight. Fires burned in the brick and stone fireplaces in the stately homes along the Ohio River, white smoke rising into a blackberry sky, looking like mist, before dissipating into the darkness. It was the kind of day that made the world a lonesome place and Ben Manning felt that loneliness deeply.
The snow was coming out of the north where earlier there had been a trace of orange trying to push through. It had been there only a minute before the heavy gray door slammed shut, before the entire sky went black and sullen. As he watched from the window, a black shape came into view. A thin figure dressed in a long black coat, narrow at the waist, full at the hemline, she was a vivid silhouette cut from the desolate sky behind her. Head bent, a statue chiseled from winter sky, the woman stood motionless on the bridge in a shower of swirling snow. She wore no hat and locks of dark hair hung loose around her collar and down her back. Only once did she look up, before letting her gaze fall across the snow in the direction of the woods surrounding Shanklin’s pond. Never had he seen such a lonely and melancholy image as this striking figure standing so dismally still.
Instinctively, he hurried into the library, took a camera from one of the desk drawers and returned to the living room. Pushing the curtains aside, he snapped off several pictures of the woman who was still on the bridge, only no
w under a black umbrella. It was Anna. It had to be Anna. Without even trying to understand, he pulled on goulashes and took a heavy winter coat from the foyer closet. Hurriedly, he wrapped a woolen scarf around the collar. Removing gloves from his coat pocket as he went out the front door, Ben could hardly wait to be near her again, and gave no thought to the snow falling heavy and silent.
The first blast of cold air stung his bare face and felt like flakes of ice in his lungs. In snow that was becoming increasingly deeper, each footstep was cumbersome. His breath was coming harder with each step, causing him to stop twice to catch his breath and steady himself. Surprisingly, the closer he came to the bridge the easier it became to walk. Even his breathing was more controlled. Stopping behind her at the opposite end of the bridge, his eyes fell on the numerous buttons that ran in a straight centerline from just below her neck to her waist. Her damp hair, partially bound by a red silk ribbon and tied well below her shoulders, was covered with snowflakes.
“Anna.” He was shaking again, not so much from the cold as from the fear that at any second, she would disappear and nothing he could do or say would stop that from happening. “Dear, Anna.” His voice was louder this time, surer, and he knew she heard him call her name. “It’s Ben . . . Ben Manning. I saw you from the window.”
When she turned, he felt his body shudder even worse than before. Snow was on her eyelashes and on her collar and shoulders. Her eyes had a distant look and for a moment he was unsure if she saw him standing ten feet away from her. Her lips looked as though they had been drawn with the fine tip of a pencil. Never had he seen lips so delicate. The upper lip was a perfect cupid’s bow trailing off in lines so fine that they were barely visible as they reached the corners of her mouth. Surely this woman realized her striking beauty and the effect it had on others. But there was something more to Anna Atwood than her stunning good looks. He’d seen once before in her eyes this strength of character and boldness that could intimidate.
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