“Tell me again why we’re freezing in central Pennsylvania when we could be sitting in front of the fireplace at the hotel?” Bones rubbed his hands together to keep them warm, then put them over his mouth and breathed. He and Maddock had woken at five in the morning, hopped in the Mustang, and driven nearly three hours west to Gettysburg. With temperatures dipping below twenty overnight, Maddock had for once not needed to convince Bones to keep the top up. They were stopped at a gas station just outside of town.
“We’re trying to find the people who have been shooting at us?”
“I mean besides that.”
“You sure you can handle the truth?”
“Maddock, was that supposed to be a Jack Nicholson impression?”
Maddock ignored him. “You said it yourself a couple days ago. The truth is, we can’t let go of a mystery once we’re on the trail. Neither one of us.”
“Whatever. Just tell me what we’re going to do now that we’re here.”
“It was your idea. We’re going to head for the VFW. Find some retired Navy guys. See if there’s anyone from Hamiltonban or at least Fairfield. Ask about the Marshall family.”
Bones considered the plan. “I liked the idea when I came up with it, but I think not all guys of the generation you’re bound to find at the VFW on a weekday morning will want to talk to a redskin like me.”
Maddock shrugged. “We’ll deal with that when and if it happens.”
After leaving the pawn shop, they had reached the library before it closed. It took them less than an hour looking through books on Scottish Coats of Arms to find a match for the logo on the envelope. The logo was for the Randolph family. Given the references they found in the warehouse to “Randolph’s copy” and Ben Franklin, they tentatively associated it with Edmund Randolph, one of three delegates who refused to sign the final Constitution. This envelope might be a clue to whatever document “Randolph’s copy” referred to.
They also discovered that Hamiltonban was a town just west of Gettysburg, part of the larger town of Fairfield. That left them with a lot of clues and no way to make sense of them. So they called up Jimmy Letson and this time he answered. He was able to run a search that tied a descendant of Edmund Randolph named Hawthorne to a family named Marshall in Hamiltonban.
The connection was pretty weak – just a single letter of correspondence which had only managed to survive because it contained three one-cent Ben Franklin stamps from the post-civil war era. Letson had found it by cross-referencing Edmund Randolph with Hamiltonban and discovering an image uploaded to the internet by a collector six months earlier. According to Letson, it wasn’t the kind of connection a normal search would have turned up, but the former Navy man claimed to have access to more powerful tools.
The letter itself suggested some sort of conflict between the two men, with Hawthorne wanting to “take possession of my father’s effects.” But Letson found no evidence of follow-up or further correspondence. That didn’t mean none happened, of course. So the Marshall family in Hamiltonban was the best lead they had at this point.
They arrived at the VFW and headed inside. The air smelled of cigars as they made their way into a sitting area occupied by a number of old men, some in uniform and some not. Maddock and Bones had chosen to just wear fatigues, figuring any sort of more formal uniform might seem too direct an attempt to gain favor.
A voice emanated from within the group of men; Maddock couldn’t tell which. “Howdy boys.”
Maddock looked in the general direction of the voice. “Hello to you, too.”
A different voice said, “I’m guessing you didn’t just stop by for the company.”
Chuckles and a guffaw followed this observation. The man who had spoken sat in a wheelchair, hands resting on the arms. He had to be at least eighty years old, most of his body wasting away. His face was still lively, round beneath half-inch long white hair. He wasn’t in uniform, but Maddock got the sense that he was a marine.
Bones must have agreed because he said, “Semper Fi.”
The man smiled. “And you men must be squids. Maybe SEALs. There’s something about the cut of your jib.”
“Guilty as charged,” Maddock said, “though we’re still in training.”
“You’re always in training, boy, don’t ever forget that. Now, what can we do for you?”
Maddock met the man’s eyes. “Well first we should introduce ourselves. I’m Dane Maddock and my friend here is Uriah Bonebrake.”
Bones frowned at the mention of his given name.
“Uriah, huh? Guy with that name joining the Navy has got to think every now and then about disobeying an order.”
Bones laughed, knowing the guy was referring to the biblical Uriah whom King David ordered to the front lines of battle so he would be killed and David could possess Uriah’s wife, Bathsheba. “It’s been known to happen. Most people call me Bones.”
“A fitting name. People around here just call me Gunny.”
Maddock figured if ever anyone seemed like a Gunny, it was this old marine. “We’re looking for information related to the Marshall family who lived in Hamiltonban around the time of the Battle of Gettysburg.”
Several pairs of eyes exchanged glances. Gunny didn’t display any reaction, but he took an extra moment before answering. “Hamiltonban. The Marshalls were a prominent family in the town in the nineteenth century. I’m not sure I can tell you any more than that. What exactly are you looking for?”
Maddock looked at Bones, who gave an imperceptible shrug of the shoulders. Maddock didn’t mind sharing information, but he didn’t want to sound crazy, either. He’d leave out anything about people trying to kill them.
“We’re looking for a document associated with Edmund Randolph, and we found a couple of clues that suggest it may have last been with the Marshall family around the time of Gettysburg. Possibly tied to a family named Hawthorne as well. We’re trying to maybe track down the properties they lived on, or even some ancestors.”
Gunny looked up for a second and then returned his gaze to Maddock. “I get the feeling you boys aren’t telling this old marine the full truth.”
Maddock’s gaze didn’t waver. “We may have left one or two things out. Circumstances have forced this research on us, and we’d prefer to have it impact as few people as possible.”
“Tell you what, son. I won’t go so far as to say I trust you, but in my line of work you learn to judge a lot of things in a hurry. I don’t think you’re likely to use information to hurt people who shouldn’t be hurt. There’s a guy who often comes in here, much older than me, he knows more about Hamiltonban than any man living. I can give him a call, though you may be waiting a bit. He doesn’t move the way he used to.”
Gunny whipped out a cell phone and dialed a number, turning away from Maddock and Bones as he did. Bones leaned over to Maddock and spoke in a low voice. “If even Gunny here has a cell phone, you and I have got to get with the times.”
“We spend all our time training except for the occasional leave. It’d be a waste.”
“What about the time we spend getting shot at by the Sons of the Republic?”
Gunny’s voice broke in. “If you ladies are done gabbing, you’re in luck. His grand-daughter says he left half an hour ago, so he should be here any minute. Pull up a couple chairs and tell us all what the squids are doing these days to make themselves feel more like marines.”
Maddock found that despite giving lip service to the traditional marine superiority in all things, the old soldier listened respectfully to their stories about SEAL training. He nodded and laughed at Bones’ more colorful anecdotes.
“Men don’t change much. Maybe on the surface things are different, but change a few details and that could have been me sixty years ago. By the way, it looks like our friend is here.”
The ancient man hobbling towards them moved as if trying to lose a race with molasses. He leaned heavily on a cane in his right hand. When he reached a chair, he spent nearly a minute lowering himself into a seated position. Only then did he look up at Maddock and Bones.
“Who’re you?”
Maddock said, “Gunny here told us you were the man to talk to about the history of Hamiltonban.”
“Has that old fool been telling tales again? Ah well, I might remember a thing or three about the place. What do you say, Gunny?”
Gunny sounded respectful. “It’s up to you, Mort. These boys might not be the worst scoundrels to drag their ugly carcasses through that door.”
“High praise from the likes of you.” Mort looked at Maddock. “What do you want to know?”
Maddock repeated the information about the Marshalls and a document associated with Edmund Randolph. Mort scratched his chin. “Hmmm.”
He sat there unmoving for so long that Maddock wondered if he had fallen asleep. Or worse. Eventually, though, he responded.
“Takes a while to access the memory banks these days. I remember something I heard from my grandfather when I was younger than you are now and he was older than Gunny here. Haven’t thought about that in a long time.”
He adjusted himself in the chair. “Small towns, you see, they have secrets. Back then even more. Some of the things that happened and no one ever heard about, well they probably wouldn’t stay hidden today. My grandfather loved to tell stories and I never knew how much was real. I’ll tell you the story and you do with it what you want.
“There were several Marshalls in town in the middle of the 19th century. Well respected folk, one was even a Senator. They had the occasional illegitimate branch of the family tree, though. It wasn’t uncommon, but unlike today it was something you didn’t make public.
“What my grandfather told me was that there was a conflict between one of the Marshalls and an outside family called Hawthorne. That name is what jogged my memory. Anyway, supposedly there was a big argument in the middle of town and the next day, Marshall’s house burned to the ground. Can’t remember his first name, maybe began with a ‘T.’
“They didn’t find any bodies in the fire, but neither he nor Hawthorne was ever heard from again. One of the elder Marshalls managed to keep any mention of the fire or the disappearance out of the newspaper. As time went by, there was sort of an unwritten rule not to talk about it except in hushed tones and not at all to outsiders. My grandfather said that folks from time to time swore they heard ghosts on the old property, which was why he told me the story in the first place.”
A faraway smile crossed Mort’s face. “Grandfather did love his ghost tales.”
Maddock allowed him a moment and then said, “That’s a great story. It sounds like it must have its origin in what we’ve found so far. Any idea when this took place?”
A shake of the head from Mort. “He never said. It was always about the storytelling, not that kind of detail. After the war, of that I’m sure.”
Bones said, “Any idea where the property was that burned down?”
Mort raised his eyebrows. “That’s the million dollar question, isn’t it. All grandfather said was out by the start of the river. Probably means somewhere near the headwaters of the Chesapeake where the nature preserve is now. It can’t be in the nature preserve itself or someone would have found the ruins. There are maps from that era you could look at in the library. Not sure if that would help, as they tried to erase all record of it, like I said. It was easier to do back then.”
All at once, Mort looked tired and feeling all of however many years he had under his belt. Bones walked over to him and shook his hand. “That information is really helpful. By the way, what branch of the service were you in?”
Mort narrowed his eyes. “Navy of course, just like you. Only branch that pulls its own weight, though I admit Gunny’s people occasionally come through when the chips are down.”
Gunny let out a guffaw, which somehow seemed inconsistent with the image Maddock had formed of him. “You boys may be about to witness some real combat.”
Maddock took a step back and put up his hands in surrender. “We really appreciate your help. We’ll let you get on with your day.”
“On with our day? Are you kidding, we’ll be talking about your visit for weeks.”
“Months,” said Mort.
As Maddock turned to leave with Bones, Gunny said, “There’s one more thing you should probably know. You’re not the only stranger in town interested in the Marshalls.”
Maddock swung back. “Someone else came by here?”
“Not here and they didn’t talk to us. But word gets around. A half dozen of them flew in last night on a private plane. This morning at the crack of early they headed out in two cars and wound up at two separate places formerly associated with the Marshalls.”
“How do you know all this?”
“Son, there is no communication network in the world to compare to a bunch of old men with nothing to do. We could take the NSA to the cleaners any day of the week. Gettysburg looks big on the map because of the park, but this area and Hamiltonban are still small town in nature. Since the war, folks have been even more wary of outsiders than a normal small town.”
Bones held his hand behind his back and said, “Okay if your communication is that quick, how many fingers am I holding up.”
Without blinking, Gunny said, “Just one, but no offense taken”
Bones let out a bellowing laugh. “Gunny, you are one funny dude. Hey Maddock, maybe I should hang out with him instead of you?”
“He’s a marine, remember? They’d never let you show your face back at SEAL training.”
“Good point. So, Gunny, were either of these properties near the area Mort was talking about, the start of the river or whatever?”
Gunny looked at Mort who shook his head. “No. But I wouldn’t even bet someone else’s paycheck they don’t wind up there eventually.”
Maddock said. “We appreciate the heads-up. I have a bad feeling we know who these guys are. You probably want to steer clear of them unless you’re armed.”
Gunny nodded. “You boys take care of yourselves.”
With that dismissal, Maddock and Bones walked back out to the Mustang. Maddock said, “Gunny was talking about how they are even more wary of outsiders since the war. What war do you think he meant? Vietnam? World War II?”
Bones put a hand on his shoulder. “Maddock, think about where we are. There was only one war that impacted this area in a major way. He was telling us they’ve been wary since the Civil War.”