Ghost Soldier (14 page)

I let the shower wash that thought out of me. When I came back into the bedroom to get dressed, Carleton was gone, but Rich was sitting on my unmade bed.

“Hi,” I said, pulling on my jeans and sitting on Carleton's neatly made bed to lace up my running shoes. “Look, about last night—”

“It's all right,” he said.

“Thanks,” I told him, and meant it. “Listen—it's too early to call the museums, but I had another idea. One of your brothers might have survived the War and had children later. And maybe one of them would know what happened to Louise.”

Rich jumped up from my bed. “That's an excellent idea!” Then his face fell. “But how could we find their children—or great-great-grandchildren by now?”

I smiled at him. “Remember those computers I was telling you about yesterday? Well, they can do more than figure. They can send information back and forth to one another—instantly.”

I didn't see Dad downstairs when we went into the room where he was staying. He was probably with Mrs. Hambrick somewhere, talking about how great the interview had gone. His laptop lay on the desk, and I turned it on. The window looking out on the oak trees was closed, but I could hear the wind chimes tinkling faintly beyond it. One was a collection of math symbols; the other was a group of different musical instruments. I remembered her saying that her husband had liked music—opera, wasn't it? I wondered if it was something they had enjoyed doing together. It was funny. I could think of all kinds of things Mom and I did together, but I couldn't think of much she did with Dad.

Rich watched the screen intently as it lit up, the light from the sleek PowerBook heightening the bones of his thin face. I could see the start-up icons reflected in his hopeful eyes.

“You know how the counties did a census?” I asked him, and he nodded. “Well, that created a list of information about people. There's all kinds of information stored in computers, and I can access the lists we want through this one.”

I launched Dad's Internet browser. I went to the online white pages search engine and typed in “Chamblee,” not specifying a state. In a few seconds, the screen told me I had 1,155 matches. “That's a lot of Chamblees.”

“That's a wonder!” Rich said, smiling at the address listings on the screen.

I started printing out the list for Rich. Then I went back to the Search page and added “George” as a first name. “If your dad named George after himself, maybe your brother named his son George and they kept handing the name down.”

Rich nodded intently. “I'm sure he would have.”

But the screen showed me only five George Chamblees in the whole United States. Two were in Texas, and one was as far away as Alaska! The closest ones were in Alabama and Virginia.

“What about Jefferson?” Rich asked, as I clicked on Print.

The search engine couldn't find any Jeffersons at all, but I got ten Jeffs—a cluster of them in Mississippi, three in Alabama, one in Maryland, one all the way out in California—and one just over in Raleigh!

“That's it!” Rich cried.

“Maybe,” I said, printing this list, too. “Let's call him.”

I hoped Mrs. Hambrick wouldn't make a fuss over one long-distance call on her bill. And it was a little after nine, so I didn't think it was too early. I just hoped he wasn't at work.

It turned out I didn't have to worry. That Jeff Chamblee was a student at North Carolina State University, and his first class wasn't until eleven.

“Wow,” he said, not too mad I woke him up. “Searching for some soldier's family from the Civil War? Hey—I'd like to help, but I can't. I'm from Kansas. I just came to school here because my girlfriend did. But good luck!”

At least he hadn't yelled at me.

I sighed, crossed his name off the list, and did a search for Chamblees with any first name who lived in North Carolina. There turned out to be 171 of them—plenty to keep Rich busy checking out for years to come. There were 27 in Raleigh, though I was afraid some of them were just going to be students, too.

“People move around a lot,” I tried to explain to Rich. I thought of my dad interviewing at Research Triangle Park yesterday. “They don't just settle down in a house or on a farm or something and stay there forever. They live somewhere a few years, then change jobs and move. I've got kids in my class who've been to half a dozen schools!”

He shook his head. “It doesn't sound like a good way to live. How can you put down roots anywhere?”

I shrugged. I picked up Dad's Space Warrior and turned him over in my hand, rubbing the cool metal with one finger. “People don't think that's so important these days, I guess.”

Rich sighed. “What about that one?” he asked, pointing to the screen.

One Chamblee actually lived in Durham. Nowhere near the original farm, of course, but it was possible a descendant had come home. I put down the Space Warrior and punched in the number.

This time a woman answered the phone, and I could hear kids shouting and crying in the background.

“Of course he's not here,” she said sharply. “He's gone to work.”

“I'm sorry, ma'am,” I said. “It's for a research project for school. I'm supposed to find out about this family that lived here during the War Between the States named Chamblee? And I was hoping your husband might be descended from them.”

“Around here?” She laughed, and it didn't sound like a nice laugh. “No, kid—we moved here from New Jersey because he got this great job in the Research Triangle. And days like today, I wish we'd never left.”

I hung up and crossed that name off the list. Two names down and 1,153 to go.

“I can't call every person on this list,” I told Rich. “I'm really sorry. I never thought we'd find so many Chamblees.” I swallowed, wondering how many Thomsons there must be in Indiana, let alone the whole United States.

“I know—it was a good idea,” Rich said, looking forlornly at the stack of paper from the printer. “I can travel to find them, starting with the others who live in North Carolina. When I see them, I'll know if they have the family features.” He sighed. “But it won't help if Louise married and had children whose names we don't know.”

I knew he was right.

Rich set aside his musket and reached into his knapsack. He took out something folded in a piece of oiled cloth. “What's that?”

“Just my journal,” he said. “It's the only paper I have to write these down.”

“You can take the list,” I said, pushing it over to him, but he shook his head.

“Remember? I can't hold anything in your time. I'll have to copy them.”

I watched him open his journal. It wasn't the sort of journal we keep at school, in bound books with mottled black-and-white covers, or even some kind of spiral notebook. It was really just a stack of paper with a couple of holes punched through one side and bolts driven down through the holes. Some sheets weren't even regular paper, but trimmed-down squares of wallpaper, or pages with printing on one side that might have been cut out of a book.

Rich saw me looking and smiled sadly. “I had plenty of paper for writing before the War. But paper got scarcer and scarcer. I used the better stuff to write home to Louise, but I kept this for the things I didn't write her. And since then—well, I've used it when I just needed to get something out.”

He blushed a little and turned to a blank page near the end.

“It'll take you all day to write those names.” And all the rest of your paper, I thought, but I didn't want to say that. I was sure he knew. And maybe he figured he wouldn't need any more paper if he found a family descendant.

He pulled out a worn stub of a pencil. “About as long as it takes you to call those museums,” he answered, pointedly. “What I don't finish this morning I can finish tonight if you'll leave the pages spread out for me.”

I nodded and set out several pages for him to work on. It was ten o'clock and the museums were opening, so I started on the local phone calls, moving the pages of the printout as Rich copied them.

He had almost finished the list for New York by the time I called all the Durham numbers Jesse had given me. Two of the museums had gone out of business, and most of the others had never gotten anything from anyone involved in Research Triangle Park. Some of them didn't have any War Between the States artifacts at all; they specialized in colonial things or vintage clothing. But most of them had stuff from the War, especially from Sherman's March, and they sounded proud of it. Two of the women I spoke with actually sounded insulted that their museum had been left out if there was anything worth getting from Research Triangle Park.

By the time I got to the end of the list, I'd only found seven museums that had received anything from the Park. Three of them had nothing but minié balls, broken bayonets, dented belt buckles, and uniform buttons, like the museums I'd talked to in Raleigh. Things like that were easy to find with metal detectors. But you'd think a metal detector would find the box Louise had left, too. The people I'd talked to at the other four museums told me they had gotten some very nice surprises from the construction people at the Park. They were probably exaggerating, but it gave us hope.

“Let's grab some lunch and hit the road,” I told Rich, slipping the list and my pencil into a pocket, and running upstairs to stuff the printout in my duffel bag. Since Dad had given me money to pay for everything yesterday, I had enough of my own money to cover bus fare today. I hoped it wouldn't cost much to get into the museums.

It turned out everybody was grabbing lunch at the same time I got to the kitchen. Carleton was microwaving a hot dog, Nicole was eating some peaches and cottage cheese, and Dad and Mrs. Hambrick were making a chef's salad.

“Want some?” Dad offered.

Mrs. Hambrick added, “There's plenty—Nicole and Carleton decided they didn't want any.”

Carleton beamed at me. “Want a hot dog?”

I shook my head. “Thanks, but I'll pass. Peanut butter and marmalade will do.”

Nicole groaned and made a face around a mouthful of cottage cheese. And she thought peanut butter and marmalade looked disgusting!

Dad waited until I finished making my sandwich to say, “I'm afraid Paige and I have to go back to Triangle Park today. Mr. Carey asked for a follow-up meeting.”

He was spending way too much time alone with Mrs. Hambrick, I thought. And I didn't like the fact that Mr. Carey wanted Dad to come back. But at least Rich and I could get out to the museums with no trouble.

Then Dad dropped the bombshell. “So Nicole's going to show you around instead.”

Chapter Thirteen

U
NEXPECTED
C
OMPANY

I nearly dropped my sandwich. Nicole speared a chunk of peach and looked virtuous.

“Uh, that's okay,” I stammered. “She doesn't have to. I mean—I did fine by myself yesterday.”

“That's what we're worried about,” Dad said, picking the ham out of his salad and eating it separately. “It kind of spooked me when you didn't turn up yesterday afternoon.”

“I got back all right, didn't I?” I had to come up with a reason to be on my own today, or I'd never solve Rich's problem. And once I took care of Rich, I had my own problems to solve. I felt like I was juggling all these different hopes in the air and they were all going to come crashing down any minute.

“I know,” Dad said, looking at me earnestly, “but I'd feel better if you had some company.”

Well, I did have company, I thought. But I couldn't see Dad feeling any better if he knew I was wandering around with a ghost.

“I don't need any company,” I said, but nobody paid attention.

“I'm coming, too!” Carleton piped, squirting mustard on his hot dog.

“It's going to be a family outing,” Nicole said, smiling sweetly at her mother. I figured she was racking up points for something later on.

“Yes, it will,” Mrs. Hambrick said. “And perhaps tomorrow the whole family can be together.”

“Um.” Nicole paused and studied her cottage cheese. “I thought we talked about my spending
some
time with the family and
some
time with my friends.”

“They'd certainly be welcome to join us,” Mrs. Hambrick said. As she turned away, Nicole made a face to her back, then shoved another peach in her mouth.

Rich stood as if leaning against the dining room wall, his musket propped against his chest, looking from one speaker to another.

“Why not just let them come with us, Alexander?” he suggested.

I couldn't answer in front of them. That was the big problem with having company while we hit the museums—I really needed to talk to Rich, and I couldn't do that unless I wanted Nicole to think I was crazy.

“Look, Dad,” I started, but he didn't let me finish.

“Please, Alexander. I'll feel a lot better knowing you're not alone, okay? This way I'll be able to concentrate on the meeting.” He looked at me, and I could see honest concern in his eyes. I sighed and picked up the last piece of my sandwich.

After Dad and Mrs. Hambrick left, I turned to Nicole. “I know this isn't your idea, and it isn't my idea, so let's just go our own ways. When they get back, we can tell them we hung out together—they won't know the difference.”

She smirked. “Nice try, but you obviously have never had a kid brother.” She nodded to Carleton, who was watching us. “He'll tell.”

Carleton grinned up at me.

“Come on, Carleton,” I said, “you wouldn't tell, would you?”

He nodded. “Unless you take me running with you tomorrow morning.”

I sighed. But Carleton didn't give me a chance to make that choice. “I really want to go with you this afternoon,” he said wistfully. Tomorrow probably sounded like a long time away to him.