Last in a Long Line of Rebels (9 page)

“No, ma'am,” I said. “We were just curious. Bertie took us on a tour of the museum, and it got us thinking.”

“Thinking is always good. The reference section is against the back wall. Feel free to look through anything, and if you have any questions, I'd be happy to help.”

“Thank you.”

She winked. “Anything to help a fellow history buff.”

The reference section was about fifteen feet long. Dusty, bland-colored books with titles like
Historical Atlas of the 20th Century
and
Tennessee Fraternal Organizations and Clubs, 1920–1964
filled the shelves. Benzer grabbed a couple of books from a small section labeled
LOCAL HISTORY
.

“Here's a good one,” he said, handing me
Bridal Paths to Paved Highways: The Complete History of Grey County
.

“How can its history be complete? Is it over?”

“Just take it.”

I carried it, along with
Pioneer Life and Living
and
Zollicoffer: The Early Years
, to a wooden table in the corner.

Benzer followed, his arms full.

I was surprised to find the book I was reading interesting. “Hey, Benzini,” I whispered, “did you know a tiger once escaped in town?”

“Wow. That's cool.” He turned a page in his. “Check this out. A tornado came through and killed an entire family, all eight of them.”

A black-and-white picture showed caskets lined up in a semicircle. “Ugh. That's awful.”

We were the only three people in the library, and it was quiet except for the sound of us turning pages. Benzer closed his book with a sigh.

“Nothing?”

“Nope. There are a few pictures of town, but nothing before 1910. Couldn't you just ask your dad which rooms of the house were around during the Civil War and which ones are new?”

“That's not suspicious at all. Plus the house is just one place the gold could be. We need to see what the land around it looked like too.”

“If everybody in town knows about the gold, why should you care if your parents know we're looking for it?”

“Hello? Haven't we established they don't tell me anything? They obviously don't want to talk about it, and I'm not really in the sharing mood right now.”

“Okay. I'll ask Mrs. Hall if there's anything earlier.”

A few minutes later, he came back and sat down. “The good news is there's a book called
History of Grey County in Photographs
that sounds just like what we're looking for. The bad news is it's out on loan.”

“On loan? I didn't think anyone was allowed to take reference books out of the library.”

He shrugged. “Usually, they're not. But for famous historians, they bend the rules.”

“George Neely? That man keeps popping up everywhere.”

“There's another copy, but she said it's about ninety miles away, in the University of Tennessee's library.”

“Darn it. We'll just have to keep looking. There must be something.” I flipped through the pages in front of me.

“Hey, listen to this.
Bill of Sale for A Negro Man Slave. Hiram Eldridge to Lawson: Consideration—One Thousand Dollars. Know all men by these presents that I, Hiram Eldridge, for the consideration of $1,000, to me paid by Filmore Duncan, to have and to hold and bargained and conveyed, a Negro man to said Eldridge, by name Jeremiah, a slave for life.
”

Benzer frowned. “I don't understand how people did it. Do you?”

“No way.”

I stared at the notice again. There was something familiar about it. I dug my notebook out of my back pocket and flipped through it. “Oh, no!”

“What?”

I slid the paper over for him to see where I'd copied down my family tree. “Filmore Duncan, that's Louise's father. Louise
Duncan
Mayhew. My great-something-grandfather on the Duncan side.”

“What does this have to do with the gold?”

I threw the book on the table with a loud bang and shot Mrs. Hall an apologetic look over my shoulder.

“Nothing,” I whispered. “But do you realize what this means? Not only am I descended from a murdering, gold-stealing thief, but now I find I'm descended from slave owners to boot!”

Benzer stared at the paper, shaking his head. “I can't believe it.”

“That my family was so terrible?”

“No. That with all of that, Bertie makes fun of me for being a Yankee!”

From the diary of Louise Duncan Mayhew
September 1861

The first battle in Tennessee has been fought in
Travisville, just a day's ride from here. War and worry are our constant companions. There is little to console us, other than our faith in our
Almighty. We are thankful for the Word, and for Reverend Whittle, who faithfully conveys it to us each Sunday.

T
he following week was one of the hottest in Tennessee history. The weatherman on WBIR kept going on about it, urging people to drink lots of water and to stay inside if possible.

We don't have air conditioning, so every window was plugged with a fan. It was like living inside a beehive, and everybody had taken to yelling to be heard.

“Lou, I'm going to the grocery!” yelled Bertie.

“Have fun!”

“We need buns?”

“Get some what?”

And on and on, we'd scream.

Since Mama was pregnant, she suffered the most and spent the days with a wet bandanna around her neck. When I offered to help clean the house, she said “yes!” with such happiness I almost felt guilty that I was just doing it to look for the gold.

Because I hadn't found any photos showing what my house looked like originally, and to make absolutely sure I wasn't missing anything, I cleaned everywhere. I was still angry about my ancestors owning slaves, and I took it out on the house, thumping walls and kicking loose floorboards as I searched.

“What's all that knocking?” Bertie yelled at one point. “It sounds like a flock of woodpeckers have gotten loose in the house!”

But no matter how dusty and dirty I got, or how sore my knees and knuckles were, there was no gold to be found.

I saved the room behind the bookshelves for last. I hadn't been inside it since the day Benzer and I had overheard my parents talking. I pulled the cord that turned on the overhead lightbulb and looked around. The walls were covered in knotty pine, and starting in one corner, I began to tap lightly on each plank. Benzer had said that I'd hear a hollow sound if there were any hidden pockets behind the walls, but everything sounded the same to me. The only thing remotely interesting were some scratches in the far corner I hadn't noticed before. You had to be sitting to see it, but someone had carved a picture into the wooden shelf. I could just make out a beak, maybe a wing. It wasn't easy to see in the dim light, but it looked like a small bird.

The room was sweltering, so with another quick glance around, I turned off the light and went back into the parlor. A bead of sweat ran down my cheek, and I wiped it off with the bottom of my T-shirt. For just a second, I let the idea of moving settle over me, because the air conditioning alone might be worth it. It would be one less thing that Sally Martin could make fun of me about. I shook my head. If we moved, there'd be no Sally Martin. No Benzer or Franklin or Patty, for that matter. No way was I moving. The thought of me getting ready in some beige room with new carpeting, heading off to my new school, was enough to make me puke.

I walked to the window overlooking the front yard. I could see the library through the lace curtains. Mrs. Hall was right. Mayhews were made of steel. I gritted my teeth. By the end of summer, we'd have the gold or a shiny historic marker sign in my yard if it killed me!

That evening, Daddy announced that as a reward for all my hard work, we were going to the Dairy Barn for dinner.

Mama nudged me with her shoulder as she worked her way through an order of chili fries. “What were you doing over at the library again yesterday? That makes three times this week.”

“Franklin is trying to get one of his Boy Scout badges. We're helping him research local history.”

“Bertie mentioned your sudden interest in our family tree. Is that where this is coming from?”

“Yes,” I answered. “But one of the books we need is still checked out.”

As we were eating, Isaac and his girlfriend, Daniella, drove into the parking lot. We waved at them through the glass.

“I told you I own a whole slew of books about Zollicoffer, Louise. Why don't you just look on my nightstand?” Bertie asked.

I straightened. “I forgot. Do you happen to have one called
History of Grey County in Photographs
?”

Bertie shook her head. “No, but I'd like to. That's out of print and a collectible. One sold on eBay for over two hundred dollars.”

“The library doesn't have it?” Mama asked.

I nodded. “That George Neely fellow has it.”

“I'm sure he'll return the book in time for Franklin to get his badge,” Mama said. “He's on staff at the Nashville Museum. He can't stay here forever.”

“Well, I'll be glad when he's gone,” Daddy said. “His speech got people gossiping about this family all over again.”

“As if people in this town need a reason. You know how much I hate being talked about. How many times have I said the best way to stay out of the news is to not make any?” Mama asked, looking pointedly at Bertie.

“It wasn't Neely's fault, Lily,” Bertie said, wagging a French fry. “Not everybody's history is as interesting as the Mayhews'.”

“Unfortunately,” Mama said. “But it's not just the speech; it's the museum itself. The sad thing is that the Maynard School replica was supposed to remind us how bad things were,” Mama said. “Emphasis on
were
. Now with Coach Peeler's shenanigans, it reminds people how bad things still are.”

“If things are bad, we need reminding,” Bertie said. “You can call a pickle a pie, but sooner or later, you're going to be bitterly disappointed.”

“What was George Neely's speech about?” I asked.

“Something like ‘Civil War Heroes and Zeros,'” said Bertie. “And your daddy is just mad that Neely brought the Mayhew name into it.”

“He said something about the Mayhews? What?”

Bertie tossed her head. “Let's just say it was light on the heroes and heavy on the zeros.”

“Can we give it a rest, please?” Mama said. “I don't care to revisit it, frankly.”

This was the perfect opportunity for them to tell me about the stolen gold, but of course they didn't. I played with my straw, thinking. George Neely could be the key to this whole thing. He gave a speech, and suddenly the county wanted our land. Neely knew the history of the Mayhews, about the gold, everything. And he had the same book I needed.

Daddy stood. “Are y'all ready to go? I've got a few things to finish in the yard before it gets dark.”

“I want to say hi to Isaac. I'll just be a second.” I picked up my trash and walked to the front. Isaac and Daniella were leaning against the wall waiting on their order. Their backs were to me, and I was about to poke Isaac with my straw when I heard Daniella whisper, “If you mess with Coach Peeler, you'll be the one that gets in trouble.”

I froze, straw in midair. Isaac leaned his head closer to Daniella, but I could still hear him.

“I don't care. You get that, right? He ruined my chance to go to UT, and you want me to just take it? I've been dreaming about going there and playing football since I was five years old.” His hand curled into a fist. “I've worked my butt off getting the grades to get accepted. That scholarship should have been mine, and if I were white, I bet it would have been!”

Daniella shook her head. “What are you planning to do?”

I slowly pushed the trash lid open, hoping they wouldn't turn around and see me as I tried to hear Isaac's answer.

“Order two seventy-eight!”

“That's us,” Isaac said as he checked his ticket.

“Lou,” Bertie yelled from across the room, “are you going to stand there all day? Your mama's feet have swollen to the size of loaf bread. We've got to go!”

If Isaac answered Daniella about his plans, I wasn't going to hear it. Now I had another thing to worry about—Isaac getting into trouble.

I barely slept that night, kept up by dreams of Isaac chasing Coach Peeler around the Dairy Barn. At the first hint of daylight, I went to find Daddy. He was already in the junkyard office drinking coffee.

“Boy, you're up early this morning. You trying to finagle breakfast at the motel?”

I shook my head. “Not today.” I sat in a chair and leaned my elbows on his desk. “I wanted to tell you about something. Last night I heard Isaac talking about getting even with Coach Peeler. You don't think he'd actually do anything to him, do you?”

“I sure hope not,” Daddy answered. “But I can't say that I blame him for thinking about it.”

“How can the coach treat kids this way and get away with it?” I asked.

“Racism can be very subtle sometimes, Lou. It's not always something you can put your finger on. It might mean being harder on the black players and more aggressive in helping the white ones get a place on a college team. It doesn't help that we don't have a large black population here. It makes it a lot harder to prove a pattern.”

“But what if enough people think that Isaac should have won and complain?”

“Peeler's brother-in-law is the superintendent of schools, unfortunately,” he said. “And unless you can prove without a shadow of doubt that he based his decision on race, there's not a lot we can do.”

I groaned. “But what if Isaac does something bad? He sounded pretty mad.”

Daddy set his mug on the desk. “I'll tell you what. Isaac is coming in late today, but as soon as he gets here, I'll talk to him. Okay?”

I nodded. “Why'd he take the morning off? I thought he needed all the hours he could get.”

“He's spending the day in Cookeville. Tennessee Tech offered him a place on their team, so he's at least going to hear them out.”

“But they're not even in the SEC! What would be the point?”

Daddy smiled. “It means he'd get to go to school for free—and play football. Not at the place he'd dreamed about, but it's still a good college. And he has some other schools that offered him scholarships that his father wants him to consider.”

“Well, if so many schools want him, why didn't UT just give him a scholarship in the first place?”

Daddy took another sip of his coffee. “Isaac is very good, Lou, but you have to remember that Tennessee just won a national championship. They're recruiting the top players from all over the nation. And it depends a lot on what they need. Say they have twenty-five scholarships to offer. They might only have two for defensive ends. That's two open spots and a nation full of kids that want to go there.”

“At least someone's organizing a fund-raiser. Maybe that will help Isaac get the tuition.”

“Let's hope. That reminds me, I've got a lead on a scrap buyer in Knoxville, and Isaac is planning to try out for UT. If we can coordinate the two, I thought I'd drive him up. Do you want to tag along?”

“Heck, yeah! But I don't get it. If he doesn't have a scholarship, why is he trying out for the team?”

“I think he wants to see if he could actually make it. It might make him feel better about going somewhere else if he thought he wouldn't have made the squad anyway.”

“Well, that won't work because he totally will! Oh, man, maybe they'll see how good he is and give him a scholarship anyway. Can Benzer come? And Franklin and Patty?”

“I don't know. I'm not sure I could keep up with the four of you.”

“Then just Benzer? He'll pee his pants if he gets to see UT football players up close.”

Daddy smiled. “Fine. You can ask Benzer. Speaking of Isaac, he found something interesting while he was digging in the yard.”

Daddy reached into the desk drawer, and for a heart-stopping second, I thought he was going to hand me a piece of gold. Instead, he placed a small, pointy rock in my hand.

“What is it?”

“It's a Civil War slug. You said that Franklin was doing research about battles in the area, and I thought he'd like to see it.”