Forever Hidden (Forever Bluegrass #2) (12 page)

“I’m Captain Thad Majory, Miss Wells. If you would but tell me why your father is in danger, I can take you to Morgan himself who will help us find your father,” he told me.

It was a hard decision, but the man looked to be trusted. He was respectful and patient, which wasn’t the case with the British soldiers who had stormed our home a month prior. I decided to tell Captain Majory what I overheard and saw while hunting. His smiling lips faded to a frown. He ordered me to stay where I was and disappeared into the woods, only to return minutes later riding a horse.

He reached over and I grabbed his hand. I didn’t hesitate. I saw the urgency in his eyes. I swung my leg astride, grabbed the horse’s mane, and didn’t flinch as the captain’s arm wrapped around me tight before urging his horse to race out of the woods toward the encampment of soldiers. We leaned as one, low over the beast’s neck. My bonnet flew from my head, but we didn’t slow. Captain Majory only held me tighter and urged his horse faster. He called out to the guards who didn’t stop us as we thundered past tents and small fires with men sitting around them. Finally we stopped at a large tent. A man rushed forward to help me down, but Captain Majory jumped from the horse and wrapped his hands around my waist, hauling me off the horse and dragging me into the tent.

I told the officers in the tent what I had seen and they sent Captain Majory to ride in haste to General Gates to inform him of this development. I wasn’t allowed to return home to my brothers until after the battle.

The battle raged on all afternoon and into the darkness of evening. Suddenly there was silence, followed by the cheers of thousands of colonial soldiers. They had defeated the British.

The army thanked me for my service and Captain Majory was assigned to look after me and return me to our farm in the morning. I turned around and there he was. The man I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about. He was bleeding, but alive. That night I bandaged his wounded arm and helped the doctors with the injured. I had never been so scared, but I didn’t lose my stomach when bones were sawed or men died. The whole while, Captain Majory stayed by my side, silently assisting and supporting me. With every new man who came to the field medics, I prayed he wasn’t my father.

As dawn broke the night sky, another soldier was brought in for help. It
was
Father. I clung to the captain as the doctor dug a ball from my father’s arm. He was unconscious and raging with fever. At lunch, I was graced by a visit from General Gates himself, who thanked me for my bravery and sent Captain Majory and a small contingent of soldiers to lead my unconscious father and me home. Father had received an honorable discharge and was allowed to die at home in peace. Only I had other ideas. I wouldn’t allow Father to die.

Captain Majory was unfailingly kind, and as he helped me care for my father I lost my heart to him. He asked if he could write to me, and I said yes. After helping me settle my father in, hunting some meat for us, and chopping some wood, Captain Majory said his goodbyes. But it wasn’t goodbye forever. For three years we wrote to each other. I’ve enclosed the letters here as they are my treasure. Soon after the war ended, Father passed away. Before I could fear what the future held, there was a knock at my door. My captain had returned to me. We married right away and had forty happy years together. I never had to touch Grandmama’s trunk. So tonight I add to it and pass it to my dear little Laura Elizabeth for all the future daughters of Elizabeth.

~ Sarah Elizabeth Majory

Sydney looked at the happy couple in the painting and smiled. With excitement, she turned to the third and largest bundle.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Deacon drove to the police station in downtown Atlanta and parked in the visitors spot. Detective Gentry was leaning against a cruiser, waiting for him to turn off his car. Deacon hated leaving Sydney, but Gentry promised to have her watched. It was the only reason he hadn’t brought her with him.

Deacon got out of his car, and Gentry pushed off the hood of his car and opened his passenger door. “Get in.”

Deacon raised an eyebrow in curiosity but got in anyway. He and Gentry had worked out a long time ago that he wouldn’t step on the police detective’s feet during an investigation. Having proven himself, Gentry tended to give him more leeway than other PIs. “Where are we going?”

“We got a tip from a confidential informant that there were some girls being held at a shipping yard. Put this on,” Gentry reached to the floorboard at Deacon’s feet and tossed a bulletproof vest with POLICE written across it into his lap.

“Is SWAT there?” Deacon asked as they sped through the seedier parts of town. Here people wouldn’t care if they heard screams. It was a sad reality that Gentry had been working to fix.

“They will be in ten minutes. We’ll go in, and once it’s clear I’ll signal for you to help me look for Bailey. You know the drill. Don’t touch anything. And be ready; this could be a bad one.”

Deacon nodded as they drove in silence to the abandoned shipping yard. Old shipping containers for the railroad were stacked in piles. Derelict business offices were gray and rusting. Windows were broken, and it was obvious people had been vandalizing and trespassing on the property for years. Shipping containers were great for everything from free housing and meth labs to hiding things you didn’t want found.

“We’re going in. You stay here,” Gentry ordered as he and the SWAT team moved in. Locks were cut with bolt cutters and doors were flung open. Sometimes they were clear and the team went on to the next. But sometimes a small group stayed behind as the rest moved to a new container.

Deacon watched with anticipation as ambulances and EMTs lined up behind him waiting to be called in. At the fourth container, the door opened and SWAT disappeared inside. A moment later, four more officers came out and started scanning the rest of the storage containers. Gentry walked out of the container issuing orders before grabbing the side of the container, bending at the waist, and throwing up. When he stood, he motioned for Deacon to join him.

Any hopes of finding Bailey alive fled when Gentry reacted so violently. It had to be bad for a seasoned lawman like him to be so affected and he wasn’t the only one. Other officers were similarly afflicted. Deacon passed the first container the officers cleared and found it empty except for some tables, chairs, and cabinets. It looked like an office of some kind. The second container held nothing but a stained mattress and a video camera. The third container was full of girls.

Deacon stopped and stared as they huddled in the corner, fear overtaking their dirty faces. There had to be twenty of them ranging in age from twelve to twenty. The smell of human filth had him coughing into his hand and breathing in through his mouth. The police were ushering the EMTs to that container, but no one was being ushered to the fourth container.

“What is it?” Deacon asked, but the smell in the air alerted him to what it was.

Gentry shook his head. “You don’t have to go in there.” But Deacon didn’t listen. He steadied himself and walked to the open container door. He thought he had prepared himself, but nothing could have prepared him for this.

Deacon felt his stomach revolt as all his blood drained from his face. Bodies . . . there were so many bodies. Young girls stared at him with unseeing eyes, young ladies forever frozen in fear . . . all tossed in the container as if they were garbage.

Deacon turned away. He couldn’t look anymore. “We’re calling in the state coroner’s office to help handle this. I don’t know if it means anything, but the bodies closest to the door are the newest, and I didn’t see Bailey,” Gentry said as they walked to the container with the surviving women and girls in it.

“I didn’t either. Maybe she’s in this one,” Deacon mumbled as his stomach knotted in fear and disgust. He didn’t want to know what these girls were going to say. He didn’t want to know what happened to them. But he had to ask. Someone had to bring these women justice. If it took the rest of his life, then he would find the bastards responsible.

“What do you have?” Gentry asked the SWAT leader as EMTs rushed to hook up IVs and evaluate the women and girls.

“Nineteen females in total. That one, Naomi, is the designated leader of the group. They all turn to her to answer for them. Most are still so scared they can’t or won’t tell us their names,” the SWAT officer told them as he pointed out a girl with matted black hair that appeared to once have been in braids. She stood like a dark angel of war in the middle of the women, instructing the officers and EMTs who needed help the most.

Deacon followed Gentry toward the woman now covered in a blanket. She couldn’t be more than sixteen, but her back was straight, her voice clear, and her eyes haunted.

“Miss Naomi, I’m Detective Gentry and this is Deacon McKnight. He’s a private investigator hired to find a missing girl.”

“Which one?” Naomi asked in a strong voice as if she were behind a desk, helping a customer and not a victim.

“Bailey Vander,” Deacon answered.

Naomi nodded. “She was recent. Real pretty. Eighteen. Long hair. They took her to Indiana. She was educated enough and seasoned enough to take out in public.”

Deacon’s relief was short-lived. “What do you mean by that? What happened to her and to you?”

Naomi tightened her jaw, and like a queen, walked from the container with her head held high. Deacon and Gentry followed as they walked the short distance to the second container. “They picked me up off the streets a month ago. I dropped out of school three months ago. I thought it wouldn’t help with my life. I didn’t like being told what to do. I was high on drugs, and they offered me more. Told me they’d hook me up if I did something for them. I was too high to know better. They brought me here to season me, or to break me.” She gestured to the mattress. She didn’t have to say what they wanted; Deacon already knew.

“Once a week some fancy guy with an accent would come in, pull us all out of the container, and pick a few to sample. The ones he could control through abuse and torture were whisked away. Some were sold overseas and some are probably prostitutes on the street two blocks over. And then others . . .” she looked to the last container and her eyes went dead.

“I wasn’t broken. After that first night, I fought. Some men like that and pay for that. But I hurt a good many of them. I found my strength in helping the others survive. We were planning to overpower Mr. Fancy Pants the next time he came. There are nineteen of us and only four of them. I had everyone ready to go, but then Bailey and Jules were brought here. The screams. We could hear the screams even locked in our container. No men came for us that night. We all knew what that meant and where they were. The other girls balked at an attack. Jules didn’t make it. She’s the girl with black hair in the last container. But when Bailey was thrown in with us after her ‘introduction,’ she would do anything they wanted just to escape the container. Turns out she was a claustrophobic virgin who had just been through mental and physical hell. We couldn’t trust her with our plot. She would have sold us out. Not that I blame her. She left yesterday for Indiana. Mr. Fancy Pants doted on her, and she was acting like none of this happened. It was like they were a couple. He bought her some fancy dresses and told her he loved her.” Naomi shook her head sadly.

“You’re a brave woman, Naomi. Thank you for answering my questions.” Deacon held out his hand and waited as she looked at it. Then she raised her chin, took his hand, and shook it.

“Would you mind if I stayed with the girls until their parents come for them? Many of them are too scared to speak and afraid their parents won’t take them back.”

“What about your parents?” Deacon asked.

Naomi shrugged. “I don’t think they’ve even noticed I was gone.”

“What’s your last name, Naomi?” Detective Gentry asked gently.

“Patterson.”

Gentry typed something into his phone and then quietly held it up for her to see. It was a news report showing Naomi’s family, friends, and neighbors searching for her. The hard shell Naomi used to protect herself crumbled. She fell to her knees as sobs wracked her body. Gentry and Deacon crouched next to her as she cried.

“You’re loved, Naomi. They noticed, and they have been searching for you.” Gentry handed her his phone, and with shaking fingers Naomi entered a phone number.

“Mom!” Naomi cried when the phone was answered on the first ring.

Gentry and Deacon shared a tight smile as Naomi sobbed into the phone.

“Bailey’s no longer here. Try to find her. I’ll call the Indiana State Police to alert them,” Gentry said quietly as he wrapped his arm around Naomi and pulled her to his chest. Gentry spoke into the phone with Naomi’s parents as she clung to him with tears wetting his bulletproof vest.

*     *     *

Deacon drove home without seeing the road, the cars, or the world around him. He had seen a lot of evil in his life, but nothing could compare to this. He drove up the driveway to the house and looked at the glow of warm lights coming from inside. It was like a balm to the horror of the day. Sydney was all that was good and, at least for today, he got to come home to her.

He parked the car and unlocked the front door of the house. Crying. The sound of soft tears reached him as he slammed the door and raced to the living room.

“Sydney!” Deacon yelled. She had to be all right.

He stopped as he looked down at her sitting on the floor with a letter in her hands. Two very old dresses, four large oil paintings, and a large silver tea service covered the floor.

“What happened? Are you hurt?” Deacon asked as he dropped to the floor next to Sydney.

She shook her head. “No, listen to this. It’s from Evelyn Curtis and dated 1864.”

“Wasn’t Evelyn the name of the person who gifted this property to Mrs. Wyatt?”

Sydney nodded. “This is she.” Then she read from the letter in her hand.

“
Mother didn’t make it. After father was killed by the northern regiment last year, Mother whittled away to nothing. Tonight we received word that Sherman was beginning his march to the sea and vowed to take and destroy anything and everyone in his path. It was more than Mother could handle. Tonight I buried her next to the empty grave of my father. I engraved her name, Laura Curtis, onto the wooden cross just five minutes past. I am but sixteen and saddled with the protection of my younger brother and all of Twin Oaks.

I have ordered Tom to hide the livestock deep in the woods behind us as I clear the house of our most prized possessions, including what I have just learned this morning is the family treasure. I vow to keep it safe for my daughter and all future daughters. I am placing as many of the valuables as possible into it.

I smell the fire in the air. I don’t have much time. This is for you, the daughters of Elizabeth
.”

Deacon stared wide-eyed at Sydney as she refolded the paper and looked up to him. “What happened to her?”

Sydney shook her head. “I don’t know. But the house is still standing, and Evelyn went on to marry a man named Seeley, so she didn't die that night. But look at what she placed in the trunk. The names on the paintings read Whistler and Cassett. These are priceless. And the jewelry! Oh, and look, every daughter of Elizabeth put her wedding dress and a picture of her on her wedding day in here, but Evelyn didn’t get the chance to. And look at this!”

Deacon took the leather pouches from her and looked inside. “Are these real? These must be worth millions.”

“But Evelyn didn’t add to the trunk. She filled it the night Sherman marched through. It appears that the trunk was only then buried for the first time and hasn’t been touched since. So, where is the rest?” Sydney asked with excitement.

“The rest?”

“Yes! Evelyn left the property to my great-grandmother, who left it to me. There’s no way she didn’t leave behind another letter, her wedding dress, and maybe something else.”

Deacon’s mouth grew dry. “Why would she do that?”

“The whole point of the trunk was to give each woman freedom. At the time of these letters, a woman didn’t have her own money. She was essentially property and could be sold if her father wanted. Elizabeth gave them freedom, options, and choices. But Evelyn knew what the trunk held and didn’t come back to get it. And my great-grandmother said I was to bring the treasure together. That means there’s more, and I know where it is.” Sydney grinned, and Deacon couldn’t stop returning a smile of his own. Her excitement was contagious.

“Where is it?” Deacon asked.

“In Keeneston. It’s time to leave.”