Unsettled Graves: A Crossroads of Kings Mill Novel (The Crossroads of Kings Mill Book 3) (5 page)

“So where’s your friend?”

Camden looked around, noting they hadn’t driven far. The kid couldn’t have gotten away. There was nothing but empty field around them. No ditches, hills, trees or bushes he could be hiding behind on either side of the road.

“You didn’t see him a few minutes ago? I mean, how could you miss that shock of red hair and the dirty clothes?”

“Look, kid, the meter is ticking. Do you want me to drive you home or not?” the driver asked, looking in his rearview mirror. “I’ve got to take someone down to BWI in less than half an hour. I can’t be here all day with you.”

“Fine. Take me home.” Camden surrendered. He could’ve sworn the kid was right here.

              Keeping a careful watch on the roadside as the cabbie drove onward, he didn’t see any sight of the red-haired boy past the next bend and through the intersection loomed the development he resided in.

              Not having come the back way to Milltown Bluff, he hadn’t realized where they were. On his bike, the whole trip could’ve taken him twenty minutes at the most from the penthouse complex where Miss Vickie lived to here. After paying the cab driver for the five mile drive, he made his way into the community center before heading to his apartment.

              “Hello. Can I help you?” A woman, about mid-thirties greeted him. She wore a skirt and suit coat with Addison Colonial Homes stitched onto the pocket.

              “Ah, no thank you. I’m a resident over at the apartments.”

              “Oh. Not looking to move into one of the Addison Homes being built?”

              “No. Not staying long enough to do so.” Camden didn’t want to get into a long talk with her but thought maybe she might know about the kid. “Have you seen a young, red-haired boy, about yea high, wearing dirty clothes?”

              She thought momentarily. “No. Is he missing? He’s not your son, is he?”

              Did he look old enough to be a father? Technically, he could be, but the idea made him shudder. He wasn’t Daddy material. Not yet, at least. “No. I keep seeing him around here but then he just disappears. I thought he might be a trouble-maker or his parents weren’t keeping a good watch on him.”

              “Anything is possible. I’ll let you know if I see him.”

              She hadn’t seen him around. Odd. He was always in this area. Maybe she was too busy to notice. Hard not to notice the kid with such wild hair.

              “Thanks.”

              Camden was too riled up to just go back to his apartment and veg. Pulling a free bottle of water out of the community club’s small refrigerator in the hostess area, he guzzled half of it down as he contemplated what to do. He didn’t want to swim. It was too hot to walk back into town to get his bike at the historical society and he sure as hell didn’t want to call Tonya to have her do anything. He didn’t know anyone else in town, though.

              A dark-haired man in a white hard hat and suit came walking in the side door, greeting him with a friendly smile and a rich English accent. “How are you doing, Mr. Phillips?”

              Camden looked around, expecting to see his father standing behind him. Who was this man addressing?

              The man laughed, showing a perfect smile and held out his hand. “Sorry, lad, I guess I should introduce myself. Kenneth Miles.”

              Camden’s nerves jumped into his throat. This was
thee
Kenneth Miles. A man worth more than Camden could ever dream of making in a lifetime. A Bill Gates in international building and development, the man who controlled the stock market single handedly many weeks during the recession back in 2008.

              Wiping his now sweaty palm on his khaki pants, he shook hands with the mega-mogul, wondering if touching the man was like touching Midas. He wouldn’t mind a bit of golden luck.

              “Sir? I’m…I’m…”

              “Camden Phillips, I know. My wife told me all about you coming here. One of old Doc’s students from William and Mary.” Still holding onto Camden’s hand, he slapped him on the back. “You settling in all right? Anything I can get for you while you’re here?”

              Really? Anything
he
could get for Camden? Stunned, he couldn’t think of a damn thing he needed from the man.

              “I’m heading over to have a pint or two at the Old Town Tavern & Inn. Care to join me for a wee drab?”

              Camden was speechless.

              “That means a mug of ale, son.”

              “I know…I mean, yes…yes, sir.” Camden finally bumbled out of his mouth. “I mean, I would be honored.”

              Kenneth laughed again. “Her Majesty isn’t going to be in attendance…just you and me having a brew down at the old pub. Come on. I’ll drive.”

              A black beast of a Dodge Ram Truck double cab with a HEMI wasn’t what Camden expected from the world’s wealthiest man. The look of pure enjoyment on Kenneth’s face as he drove showed a side to the man few ever saw. He couldn’t believe it. There was even a baby safety seat strapped into the back.

              Unsure what to talk about with the man, Camden sat quietly, only replying with one word answers to questions being thrown at him. With his heart racing and palms sweating, he was still a bit in awe of being asked to have a beer with Kenneth Miles.

              “Look, I have been known to talk to myself at times, but I prefer someone to counter with decent conversation.”

              “I’m a little intimidated…”

              “Why?” Kenneth looked away from the road with a worried frown. “I’ve been hoping to become less formidable. My years of living in the shadows of publicity and paparazzi, being the ‘all mysterious-millionaire’ have ruined me for acquainting myself with my fellow man.” Sighing, he nodded. “I keep trying to be just one of the guys and people are uncertain of how to react.”

              “You are and always will be Kenneth Miles, World Famous Entrepreneur and Multi-Millionaire. No one will get over the fact,” Camden countered.

              “My wife seems to be the only one who isn’t afraid to step on my toes. She has been known to put me in my place at times. Reminds me, how does she put it…that I am just a man who puts on his pants one leg at a time.”

              They pulled into the tavern parking lot on the backside of the building, a replica of an old springhouse sat off to the side of the property. Camden had heard about the historic discovery of the old barrels of colonial rum. Kenneth sat silently in the cab.

              “Would you care for a look-see at the springhouse? April and the restoration crew have done their damnedest to recreate the original structure.”

              He shrugged. “Sure.”

              The small, white placard building wasn’t anything spectacular, but inside, artifacts of the colonial time period hung on the walls. Rusty ice tongs used to take chunks of ice from the nearby creek, various axes, hammers, and awls decorated the shanty. A replica rough-hewn ladder descended down into a ten by ten foot pit covered with Plexiglas. The pit displayed fake root vegetables, braids of herbs, wicker baskets of grain, and other food items that would have been stored in the cool conditions.

              Off to the side was a stone and old brick doorway leading into another room. Kenneth explained that the addition had been built and hidden behind stacks of supplies to hold illegal rum from being confiscated by the British government at the time. Walking into an added section of the exhibit, Camden noticed the original casks of rum still lay at the bottom of the attached secret room encased in the Plexiglas they had discovered during renovations just last summer.

              “So those are the original barrels smuggled by the patriot cause during the Revolutionary War?” Camden breathed in awe. He’d read the historical articles. Actually, Dr. Moreland spoke excitedly about the findings in his classes. Knowing one of his brightest pupils, Dr. Branford-Miles had been in charge of the rare findings.

              “Yes they are the exact ones. I am not as familiar with the actual history of the barrels as my wife, but I do believe the son of the tavern keeper at the time was one of the rascals calling themselves the Sons of Liberty. He was part of an illegal smuggling of rum from the West Indies during the triangle trade between England, the islands and the colonies, which avoided the English tax levied on the supplies. Put a burr up ol’ King George’s bottom…”

              “Not to mention Parliament’s.” Camden answered.

              “Yes, my father was none too happy about that! The old geezer,” Kenneth fussed, lost in thought.

              “Your father?” Camden asked in confusion.

              “Huh? What?” Kenneth shook himself out of his spell. “My father…well, he holds a grudge. As it was, being the descendent of one of the men who sat on the House of Lords at the time of the colonial fiasco, he…um, still feels that the colonies betrayed England…and…well…”

              “I understand. It’s a family honor thing.”

              “Yes…Exactly! That is it, my good man.” Kenneth laughed slightly, slapping him on the arm in a manly embrace. “Shall we make way to the pub for a pint?”

              “Of course.”

              Camden stopped short, remembering another article he’d read about the renovations of the springhouse. “Wasn’t there a report of finding skeletal remains when they unearthed the rum barrels?”

              “Yes. They went to the Maryland Forensic Lab for examination.”

              “There were rumors that they might’ve been the body of Millie Taylor the tavern wench who’d worked here during the late 1700s. Whatever became of the findings?”

              Kenneth looked away momentarily as if contemplating the thought. “I think, if I remember correctly, the results of the findings were inconclusive. There was no true link.”

              “Wow. Still, wouldn’t it be interesting if the walls or the original springhouse and cellar could talk? I wonder what secrets they might reveal.”

“How are you and Mr. Phillips getting along?”

“Not,” Tonya replied, disgustedly blowing a curl of hair off of her brow as April reviewed her weekly report.

Each Friday morning, April wanted full reports on the updates of data and historical findings they’d discovered each week. Most of the time it was basic research into some local family history or archiving a piece of paperwork or journal from one of the big names in the Kings Mill social circles, someone of importance now or in the past.

The determined look over April’s reading spectacles hit her full force.

“He’s a pain.” Tonya sighed. “He’s a non-believer, not even wanting to give Miss Vickie a chance. We are talking about your great-aunt…the salt of the earth, the hostess with the mostess. He degraded her, her belief’s…”

“Tonya, I think you are exaggerating a bit. Not everybody is a believer. We have to accept that and be professional and polite. You were born with your gift and have accepted it whole-heartedly despite what your mother put you through when you were younger. You never wavered in your true beliefs. Not everyone is able to be so accepting.”

She sat forward in her chair. “But he saw the soldiers with his own eyes…and denies it.”

“Some people want to try and keep a scientific reasoning to what they saw. They are not ready to understand the truth. You need to be more accepting of his beliefs.”

“He doesn’t have any.”

“Then accept that he doesn’t. He’s here to study history, not ghosts.” April handed her back her report. “Speaking of which, according to his application Dr. Moreland sent me, Camden needs more Civil War research. I thought you could take him to Gettysburg.”

“Do you know what his paper is about? The Economics of the Civil War and Reconstruction. How blasé can you get?”

“Really, Tonya… Don’t be a downer.” April leaned across her desk in conspiracy. “Not everyone can have the connection to history that we possess. Can you imagine how boring it would be if everyone believed in the paranormal?”

“I guess we wouldn’t be so unique then, right?”

“Exactly.” April shut down her laptop and prepared for the end of the work week. “Now I am going to recommend that perhaps a trip up to Gettysburg this weekend be in order since Mr. Phillips isn’t familiar with the area, I thought it might be a nice gesture on your part to show him around.”

Tonya let out a breath. “I suppose you are not making a ‘suggestion’ as much as a ‘demand’?”

“Take it however you want. I’m not asking you to go out on a date with him. This is purely research. And since I hold the strings to your acceptance into William & Mary this fall…well, let’s just say, helping him out might be a good idea.”

“That’s blackmail, and you know it, April.”

She smiled, slinging her laptop bag and purse over her shoulder. “True. So true.” Her sing-song reply echoed merrily through the office as Tonya followed her out of the office and into the lobby. “See you Monday morning.”

Tonya grumbled, knowing she didn’t really have a choice if she wanted April’s recommendation letter to get her into the prestigious school. She dreaded facing Mr. Doubt-a-Lot but found a smidgen of courage to play nice and see if he wanted to go to Gettysburg with her this weekend.

#

“Will you look at this crap?” Camden pointed to yet another ghost tour shop as they traversed Steinwehr Ave. in Gettysburg. “Ghost tours. Anything to get people’s money and make them
believe
in ghosts. Ooooh.”

“Listen, I told you I was taking you here for research. If you don’t shut your yap, I will leave you to fend for yourself. Stop being an ass,” Tonya hissed under her breath as they passed a couple of visitors making arrangements for a ghost tour later that night.

She wished she’d had more time to prepare for her trip, but Camden had been offered an opportunity to work at the Mill over the weekend, so he’d suggested coming to Gettysburg after work. Tonya had planned on doing some meditation the next time she was in Gettysburg but hadn’t planned on taking anyone along with her. Maybe she could sneak off while he was busy.

Hunger had stopped them before they could start. It was relatively early in the afternoon since they only worked a half day on Fridays. Gettysburg was less than twenty minutes away from Kings Mill so it wasn’t far.

“Why don’t we grab a bite at the Springhouse Tavern before heading on over to catch a battlefield tour?”

Camden shrugged but followed her a half a block to the Dobbin House. One of the oldest buildings in Gettysburg was known for great food and the historic Underground Railroad hiding place in the upper part of the historical home. What Tonya preferred was the underground tavern with its natural rock walls, tallow candles, and great French Onion Soup.

They were between the lunch and dinner rush so it wasn’t a long wait. Seated in the wooden pew-like booths with rough-hewn tables, the only light came from flickering candles in colonial, spiral release, cast-iron holders. Their candle had burned down to a stub, dripping icicled wax formations that Tonya peeled off and fed to the fading flame, watching it drip hot wax into the liquid pool surrounding the pewter base.

“I’ll get you a new candle along with some drinks. What would you like?” the waitress in period colonial attire asked.

“Iced tea, sweet,” Camden said.

“We don’t do sweet tea, but you can add your own sugar.”

“That’s fine. I forgot I’m in the North,” he teased.

“Lemonade for me, thank you,” Tonya ordered.

They ordered the French Onion Soup and the Adam’s Delight, a salad plate of fresh summer fruit, cheeses, and a sweet yogurt dip, with thick slabs of sweet date nut bread and cream cheese.

Talk was random and didn’t pertain to anything in general just going over what they’d been doing the past few days at work. Tonya didn’t want to bring up ghosts and Camden didn’t either. In general, not a bad afternoon meal. And Camden paid for their meals. She was hoping he wasn’t considering this a date, but she accepted his gesture.

They moved on to the Gettysburg Battlefield Visitor’s Center to catch a possible tour. Instead of the group tour, they decided on buying a CD and taking the auto tour themselves. Camden wasn’t able to do any research but was given references to contact for possible information.

It wasn’t a loss. They enjoyed the late afternoon and early evening, stopping along all the starred sites, listening to the narrator before getting out and exploring a bit on their own.

“So what exactly are you looking for in your research? We might be able to tell by the unit they were in as to where they might’ve been during the battle,” Tonya recommended.

“I don’t know. Never really thought about it.” He shrugged. “Maybe where the troops from South Carolina were fighting?”

“That’s always a good idea. Let me look it up.” Tonya searched the Internet on her phone while Camden walked around the rocky overlook of Devil’s Den. She managed to find some great leads.

“Any ideas?” Camden asked upon his return, wiping sweat away from his brow.

“According to two sites I checked out, General J.B. Kershaw was in charge of the South Carolina Brigade under Longstreet’s First Corps.  Kershaw led the eighth, third, and second South Carolina charge against the Federal troops at the Peach Orchard.”

“Where is that?”

“It’s one of the next stops on our tour.” And one of the places Tonya had felt a unique connection to the last few times she’d been to Gettysburg. She wanted to have time to test a theory but wasn’t sure if she’d be able to with Camden around.

A few moments later, they arrived to the stop with a sign reading: The Peach Orchard.

“This is it?” Camden asked, looking around after reading the plaque describing the battle that had taken place upon the hallowed ground.

It wasn’t much, just an open field east of Emmitsburg Road, bearing a few barren peach trees that were basically decorative. But to Tonya, it wasn’t the trees she cared about.

“I’m heading back to the car. It’s too hot out and this isn’t what I hoped for,” he growled in frustration.

“Give me a minute. I want to check something out.” Tonya drifted off in the opposite direction, barely listening to Camden’s grumblings.
Let him go
. From where she’d parked her car, there was just enough of a rise in the field that hid her from view. He could go sit in the air conditioned car and play games on his phone. This was an opportunity she’d been waiting for.

Sitting cross-legged between a couple of gnarled old peach trees, she closed her eyes, focusing on one of the lessons Vickie had instructed her on when making connections with hallowed ground.

Breathing deeply, she let the late afternoon sun warm her body as she let her mind open to another dimension. Placing her hands on the prickly grass, she could hear the beating of her heart thumping loudly in her chest, echoing in her ears. She didn’t want to be in the middle of the battle that might be raging on but just to connect with one of the mortally wounded.

Her fingers dug into the hard earth, ripping up the dried grasses and turning the layers of dirt. Each motion brought forth another layer and another. Cool, moist dirt surrounded her digits. Her heart beat slowed, replaced by a faint echo of what sounded like a shot from a cannon, then another repeating seconds behind the first, but the shots seemed distant.

A part of her wanted to open her eyes and look around her, another part feared she’d be lost in another time. She couldn’t look. She knew she wasn’t allowed. This wasn’t her time.

A single male voice called out.

“Dear God in Heaven…”

“I’m here. I know you’re in pain. The pain will pass…let it be. Be at peace. Be at peace,” Tonya whispered fervently like a prayer to the agonized voice. She figured it to be a soldier from the battlefield. The consecrated earth beneath her was soaked with the blood of the wounded and dying… The blood over a hundred and fifty years still carrying the memories and energies of the men lost on this battlefield. “Take my hand. Let me help you to pass,” she urged.

Sure as the sun rises in the east, she felt a connection. The feathery touch of fingers clung to hers like a lifeline. She curled her fingers, still grounded in dirt to wrap around those seeking her.

“Tonya, where the hell did you go?”

Opening her eyes abruptly, Camden stood before her, incensed and confused.

“What are you doing? Oh puhleese don’t tell me you’re meditating out in a battlefield? Are you expecting to go back in time or something?” He snorted. “And here I was thinking we would be able to finally get along okay, and then this?” He gestured wildly to her position.

She didn’t say anything as she stood, slapped the dirt from her hands, and brushing off her shorts she walked passed Camden Phillips to her car. He followed and got into the passenger side.

Without speaking, they discontinued the auto tour. She pushed the eject button on the stereo and tossed the silver disc over her shoulder into the back seat and took off down Emmitsburg Road.

What an ass hat! The guy couldn’t even give her time to meditate and do her own thing. She’d made a connection, she knew she had and then
he
had to show up and ruin it. Tonya’s jaw tightened and she wanted so badly to just slam a solid fist into the side of Camden Phillips perfectly angular jaw.

Merging onto 15 South she checked her side and rearview mirror for traffic when sudden movement from the back seat had her slamming on the brakes and skidding to the shoulder before she could even merge.

“What? Are you going to make me get out and walk again?” Camden barked.

Tonya sat quietly, studying the rearview mirror momentarily before turning around and actually looking…

“What is this…thing?”

There, in the backseat was a strange, filth-covered man with a scraggly, matted red beard and dirty smeared clothing, examining the CD she’d tossed behind her only moments ago.

Camden turned around in shock. “Where the hell did the re-enactor come from?”

Tonya couldn’t speak. She was afraid to.

This couldn’t be happening…

“Who the fuck are you?” Camden asked. “And how did you sneak into our car?”

“Corporal Jared Evansworth of General Kershaw’s Third South Carolina Infantry and are you always so callous around gentle women?”