“It’s definitely been here a long time.”
Nodding, Matt brushed his fingers over part of the stone, before drying that section with a rag removed from his back pocket. With sunlight illuminating its surface, they were both able to see what looked like numbers or maybe dates. “They’re almost gone. I don’t think there’s enough left to make them out.”
“Why don’t we try to get the rest of it out of the ground,” Ben suggested.
And that’s what they did for the next hour, until they had completely edged the large slab of limestone and cleaned the surface as well as possible with water from the creek. As the surface of the stone brightened, they inspected it carefully, both wondering what they had uncovered, and what was beneath it. So, Matt brought in the GPR unit and they soon had the readings both had anticipated.
“The ground has definitely been disturbed, and there’s something down there, maybe steps—and what looks like a large void,” Matt reported.
“Maybe it’s an old well capped–off.”
“Could be, but until we lift this slab, it’s impossible to determine what’s there.”
“Then it’s a project for another time,” Ben smiled.
Looking at eight red flags, each indicating a dig site, Matt nodded his agreement. “We’ve got plenty to keep us busy. This one can wait.”
Chapter 42
It was nearly six o’clock before they had a chance to consider what had been recovered. The flags had been pulled and the many pieces lay on the ground where they’d been dug out. Among them, was considerable similarity, particularly in color and surface appearance. Black shiny pieces varying in size from a foot to seven feet were scattered all around the interior of the church foundation. As they regarded them, they knew the work ahead was more than the two of them could do, at least as quickly as they would like it done. Since Adrian White was detained on the West Coast for a few days, Jenna, Lacey, and Liz Raymond were the ones who could provide the much-needed help.
When Jenna and Liz arrived later than expected, both were eager to learn what they could about the large limestone slab Matt had located. With Jenna and Ben looking on, Liz walked around the limestone slab before kneeling to get a closer look at its surface. In the degraded sunlight, she used the light on her mobile phone to take several pictures. Along with cracks and chips were indentions at various places on the surface. It was extremely difficult to decide if these were deliberate markings that had been severely compromised by time and weather. As she traced a row of indentions with smooth edges, Liz remained focused on what she said felt like numbers, “I just can’t make them out. Might not be anything at all, but it seems they’re evenly spaced on a line.”
Matt was just now coming over to join the group, “Got any ideas, Dr. Raymond?”
“Not yet, Matt.” She looked around at the many pieces they had excavated before saying, “It’s beginning to look like a debris field.”
Ben picked up at once on her comment. “Suppose something came in from the north over the trees, hit the church, and those undulations out there are places where it struck the ground before stopping on the other side of the creek,” he suggested.
“If so, what did the military recover?” Jenna wanted to know.
“We know now that they didn’t get it all,” Ben answered. “If Liz is right, this is what’s left of a debris field.”
Liz, still occupied with what she felt sure were numbers etched into the limestone slab, removed a notebook from her backpack and with the edge of a pencil rubbed the lead across a sheet of paper, then did another lower down on the stone. She slipped them inside the notebook with the intention of looking at them more closely when they returned to Atwood House.
Jenna had gone off to look at the old parsonage foundation, which hadn’t yet been entirely cleared. Considerably smaller than the church foundation, she wondered about the man who had lived there, wondered what he was like, who he was, where he had gone. Heavy patches of weeds covered much of the foundation on the north side, which was most likely the main entrance to the house. Walking along the outside of the foundation on the western side, she saw what looked to be another slab of limestone, barely visible in a clump of weeds. Even in the weakening light, it had caught her eye.
A small section of stone was exposed enough to show heavy marks across its surface. After looking closely at them, Jenna had the distinct impression that something heavy and sharp had been repeatedly dragged across this section of stone and had left deep lines, which she felt were not deliberate incisions. Was it possible that the other stone showed the same or similar marks?
Twilight was now across the entire sky, a pale blue wash beneath a deeper blue, and in this distressed light it was difficult for closer examination of the stone surfaces. Coming over to where Liz was still rubbing her hand across the surface of the first slab, Jenna inspected the other end of the stone. With the light on her cell phone brightening the area, she immediately noticed what looked to be faint drag lines and snapped a couple of close-ups.
As Matt prepared to leave for the day, promising to return around ten the next morning, shadows were deepening on the lawns around Atwood House. While Ben regarded one piece that was about five feet long and angling inward about 35 degrees at each end, he noticed the entire outward edge was sharply beveled the same as many other pieces already uncovered. Though several pieces were obviously missing, he was beginning to think they had retrieved exterior parts of a crashed aircraft.
All the pieces remained now in those heavier shadows creeping deliberately across the entire church and parsonage foundations. The three of them walked back to Atwood House in the crisp shades of evening. Ben knew that a very plausible scenario was taking shape. It looked increasingly like there had been at least one event, and possibly a second. Whether they were connected was still impossible to determine.
Behind them, in the trees and deep in the blacker shadows, a light moved up and down the rock face and then across the surface of the water. A thin man in a dark jacket and jeans, wearing brown wingtip shoes, was bending down to pick something out of the stream, a piece of metal with a black glossy skin, beveled along one edge. He wiped the piece, about four inches in length, on his jeans, then slipped it into his jacket pocket, after which he drew the fingers of one hand across the tips of his shoes.
In the beam of his flashlight, and with curiosity still pressing him, Charlie Chase caught a glimpse of something shiny embedded in the soft soil less than a foot from the water’s edge. Removing a jackknife from his pocket, he carefully removed a coin from the soft ground. Water from the creek quickly filled the hole, but not before he was able to retrieve a second coin. Washing them in the creek and rubbing his fingers across both, he was surprised by what appeared to be two gold coins, which glinted in the bold rays of the flashlight. Slipping the coins into his pocket, he immediately widened the hole, thinking there might be more coins buried there—but found none.
Smith had released Dr. Chase from all further “contractual services” or, possibly it was Chase who had asked to be released from any further obligations with Smith’s organization and from Project Firefly, a top-secret project that reached much deeper into military stealth than Chase imagined. He told Smith he’d received a research offer from Vincennes University to finish out the year for an assistant physics professor who had recently taken sabbatical leave. After signing all appropriate paperwork, they parted ways, and Walking Einstein was relieved that their separation was an amicable one, or so it seemed at the time. Smith had told Chase that if his services were needed again, he’d be notified, saying further, that he’d done “admirable” work and had provided a critical piece that had long been missing.
Although never privy to Project Firefly, as Smith had mentioned once or twice, Charlie knew with absolute certainty that Smith and his clandestine organization had the capability to create and control magnetic fields, as well as p
ossessing cutting edge research on Doppler effects and plasma vortexes. It was also conceivable that either a gateway or portal, and not a communication tower had been retrieved and reassembled, or that Smith was searching for a way to power and control outgoing and incoming laser transmissions. The portal idea didn’t have enough strength and was quickly dismissed from Chase’s hypothesis. Everything seemed to point to the recovery of a communication tower. Without a doubt, something was recovered in 1947, and Charlie Chase was sure he knew what it was not.
Now that they knew the matrix of the transmitter, others could be used to snap the on-off switch. Charlie realized early on that coordinates could be derived by using two transmitters or towers. The trinity which he had mentioned to Smith could possibly provide the triangulation needed to ascertain a wider grid, inside which were deeper mysteries, some that might never be understood or solved. But Smith had already located other large stone transmitters nearby, one in Ferdinand, Indiana at the Monastery Immaculate Conception, the second in the small town of Bristow, Indiana. While Smith and his colleagues continued to look skyward, Charlie considered possible ways to locate a gateway, a portal that had allowed accidental visitors to arrive late one night while the good people of Newburgh were sleeping.
Chapter 43
A new arrangement of flowers in the library. Anna had been there—the first time in weeks. With Liz and Jenna at the Tropicana Evansville Hotel and Casino for the night, Ben took the finished portrait of Anna Atwood off the wall and put it in front of him on a desktop easel. Staring into her eyes, he remembered the day when their eyes met in a winter snowfall.
The longer he looked, the more lifelike her face became. He realized he had caught in the painting the fascination and enigma she was. How easily she could apprehend his senses, how undeniably enduring her effect on him. This was reminiscent of another time, years ago, when he’d admired the face of Nefertiti, reproduced in a plaster bust after the original in the Egyptian Museum Berlin. He’d traced her lips with his fingers as though such an intimate gesture would cause her to speak. But as now, it didn’t happen. There were no words, and even in the dead plaster eyes, the beauty of Nefertiti lay cold and distant as the moon.
Even though he had lifted the veil, Anna’s portrait, as evocative as it was, remained oil on canvas. It would always be that—forever lifeless. Forever silent. A portrait rendered not from imagination but from passion. If she had guided his hand, it was for no other reason than to leave her true image in his life. If she couldn’t stay in his time, he would live in her time for as long as possible. Taking another look at the painting before going upstairs, a new thought struck him and this thought had claws already reaching for him.
He dressed in the clothes Anna had given him at Christmas and then went downstairs. Wearing a pair of men’s early 20th century shoes he had found in the storeroom behind the great room, Ben was surprised how comfortably they fit. If he was going back in time, he’d have to look like he belonged there. Walking into the dining room, he thought she might be there like she had been on Christmas Eve. But he found only furniture and the shadows it cast on the walls and floor. Stained glass windows at the top of the stairway were flushed in moonlight. He was disappointed when Anna was not there as he expected. Then, as he turned toward the library, he heard music coming from the great room. The dancers were back, and this time he’d join them.
Slowly opening the doors to the great room, he drew back in astonishment. There were no dancers. Except for a solitary shape standing in moonlight that poured in through the windows, the room was empty. Music continued to play softly. With her back to him and coils of dark hair loose against her skin, she was looking at a moon that filled the entire windows. Her skirt, deep purple with a gathered hemline, was high enough to reveal black-laced shoes that stopped above her ankles. The green blouse with puffed sleeves and tight cuffs, and a long closure of back buttons, made her strikingly thin.
“Anna,” he whispered.
She turned with her back to the moon, and in front of her a long slender shadow stopped near his feet. Except for her eyes, which had caught and held the moonlight, the features of her face were indistinct. Both arms extended toward him, she whispered his name. She wanted him to hold her. Exhaling slightly, he brushed his fingers across his lips, as if there were no words left to say. This time, words gave way to silences.
For a few moments, he saw near Shanklin’s woods someone building a church. As ancient sunlight poured out of the sky on a hot and humid summer day, a small man with a red beard hammered nails into clapboard. On a limestone base, a tower shaped like a pyramid pushed into a blue sky. Moving closer, as the room brightened, the windows filled with morning sunlight. Anna inclined her head to one side and seemed to regard him with both curiosity and fascination. In her quiet eyes were ghosts from another time, looking at him with deep sadness in their eyes. She’d brought them with her, let them live again in her eyes, one face emerging from another, until at last only Anna’s eyes called him. But these extraordinary images faded—much too fast. Once again, the beautiful image of Anna Atwood caught fire in the blazing moonlight.
He and Anna danced slowly across the great room. Neither said a word. The fragrant aroma of jasmine was unmistakable and seemed to come, not from Anna, but from the room itself. So close now, never this close to her before, he inhaled her until his senses were completely overwhelmed by the sweet scents of her hair, her skin, the clothes she wore, and her breath, that smelled like apple blossoms. His world spiraled away from him faster than he perceived, and even if he wanted to stop this enchanted insanity he could not.
Moonlight stretched their shadows across the floor as they danced. On the walls two dark shapes moved so slowly in those shadows that lingered that they were nearly imperceptible. His arm was around her waist, his fingers entwined with hers, the gentleness of her touch on his shoulder, and nothing anywhere in his world was as he remembered it. Anna had taken all those memories away. When she laid her head against his shoulder, his feet no longer touched the floor. The music was spiritual, that kind of music that heals the soul, and if ever there was a soul with cracks in its foundation, it belonged to Ben Manning.
Minutes passed, as music continued to play, music he’d never heard before. It was taking hold of his emotions so entirely that he felt like a man pushing desperately through a heavy mist—just to find himself. Stumbling, his efforts futile, he thought he no longer wanted to find who he was now, or who he had been, or would be—not with Anna Atwood in his arms and her head gently against his shoulder. Next to him in this endless haze was hope. Anna would guide him among the stars until the windows in the great room once more caught fire, much like the fire in those diamonds Bob Bergman had in his showcases.
High in the corner of one window was the star Sirius, which for a moment appeared to be the only visible star in the entire sky. Its sparkle was enormous tonight, as though its light was salvation for all the sinners caught in its radiance. It was a moment of realization, a time of reconciliation. In Anna’s arms the redeeming light of Sirius poured over him, and when he looked at his fingertips, there were tiny specks of fire like the shine of fireflies on a warm summer night, all this righteous light from a star he had never noticed—until now.
Still, not a word passed between them. Anything that needed to be said was in her touch and deep in her eyes. She looked at him with that soft fire in her eyes, to find his heart melting, and he wanted it to happen on this glorious night in Newburgh, Indiana. He wanted to hollow out, erase everything he was, begin again, fill himself with moonlight and let the white pulsing light of Sirius beat forever in his chest. No longer would he be consumed by sin. Absolution was in the pure honest light burning in her eyes. So quickly, so near his atonement, he saw dark clouds move across the face of the moon, and Sirius climbed higher in the night sky until heavy shadows fell on each window, until once again he felt his heart beating and redemption fading. The anticipa
tion in his eyes became suddenly cold, as if the wind outside had found an open window and extinguished the promise of hope.
Again, the distance between them had overwhelmed the moonlight. The small fires burning in her eyes were the sunsets of a hundred years ago, and yet, they were one more sunrise on a daring new day, not in his life, but in hers. On this night when lights in the houses of Newburgh burned away another day of memories, he found himself wanting this sunrise of another place and time to remain forever in the great room of Atwood House. When the music stopped, he watched her arms slowly drop to her sides. For a few more moments they remained silent. Each knew what the other was thinking.
At length, Anna reached out to take his hands in hers. “I have missed you more than I deserve.”
At first, Ben thought these words were meant for her husband. Once before when he’d worn these same clothes she had mistakenly called him by her husband’s name. This time, however, was not at all like before. This time, she held his hands tightly, as if to let him know it was not her husband in her gaze. Relieved, he managed to speak. “Dearest, Anna,” he began, “how very much my life changes when you are here.”
“And mine also,” she admitted.
“The days are long without you.”
“You are in my every thought, in every beat of my heart. You are the beautiful flowers of spring, Ben Manning. I could wait no longer to be with you. Can you ever forgive me for coming into your life?”
He held her face with both hands. It was a delicate touch, as fragile as a soft spring breeze against her skin. When he kissed her, she pulled him closer with both hands behind his head. He kissed her again, this time more passionately, and surging through his body were hot impulses dormant much too long. But once again in her eyes was that loneliness of too many years between them, and he could not kiss away those years.
When he drew back, she said sadly, “You are disappointed.”
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