Catherine's Cross, page 12
Rory was sitting with his back to her, and as she stepped in his direction, he wheeled himself around. He had stopped crying, but his eyes were red and swollen. He looked up at her and said, “Jenks, I want to apologize for my behavior. I hope that you will forgive me.”
“It’s all right. We all have bad moments. If you need some help—I’d like to assist you, and I mean that.”
A slight smile warmed his tear-streaked face, and he replied, “Thank you, Jenks.”
She squeezed his hand, and Seth squatted down on his knees in front of Rory. “Please don’t have any more to drink. I’m going to check on someone for you to talk with. It can’t hurt to just talk, can it?”
“I guess not,” Rory slowly said.
When the two left his home, Seth was shaken and very quiet. Jenks touched him on the arm. “Sarah is the soldier in the photograph, isn’t she?”
“Yes, she was a friend of Rory’s who served with him in Afghanistan. She died over there.”
“I didn’t realize that.”
“I’m afraid so.”
Seth rubbed his temples with his hand as they drove to Beaufort on Highway 21. As they passed a vegetable stand, Jenks saw that he looked hard at a man who was in front of the tomato baskets. Seth’s face darkened. He turned his truck around at the entrance to a sandy lane and quickly returned to the stand.
He jotted down an address on a piece of paper, handed Jenks his cell phone, and said, “Please call 911 and report that an officer needs assistance at this address, and give them my name.”
“What are you doing?”
“You see that man over there by the tomato baskets?”
“Yes.”
“That’s Gary Donald. He was the registered operator of the motorboat that killed the couple on the Beaufort River.” He removed a handgun that was strapped to his lower right calf, inside his blue jeans. “I want you to stay in the truck and lock the doors after I go.”
He opened the truck door and placed his left foot on the ground.
“Seth—please wait until other officers arrive.”
“No—he could attempt to leave.”
Without saying another word, Seth got out of the truck and closed the door. Terrified, Jenks watched him cautiously proceed in the man’s direction, removing his badge from his back pocket as he went forward. With trembling hands, she dialed 911 and spoke with a police dispatcher.
As he drew closer to the man, Seth pointed his gun and held up his badge. “Gary Donald—Beaufort County Sheriff’s Department—you’re under arrest for two counts of reckless homicide. Get on the ground and spread your legs!”
As soon as he realized he was about to be apprehended, Donald picked up a basket of tomatoes and hurled them at Seth. The man attempted to run, but Seth tackled him. Donald struggled to get to his feet again, taking a swing at Seth, but with one quick movement, Seth ducked the punch and plowed into the man’s torso, knocking him to the ground.
Jenks observed that Gary Donald was a larger man than Seth, but a great deal of excess weight was in an oversized stomach. Seth pounded him with several punches and then forced him facedown into the oyster-shell-and-sand parking lot. He rubbed his face hard into the surface, and the man cried out in pain.
Jenks got out of the truck and ran to where Seth had the man pinned to the ground.
“Let me go, you son of a bitch!” Donald choked.
“There’s not a chance of that,” Seth told him as he pushed down hard on Donald’s elbow, which was bent behind his back.
“You’re hurting my arm!”
“Hold still—or I’ll break it,” Seth growled.
Within moments, a patrol car pulled up at the vegetable stand and an officer helped Seth restrain Donald. Handcuffs were placed on his wrists. As the two officers pulled him up from the ground, Seth began to quote him his Miranda rights. “You have the right to remain silent . . .”
After the man was seated in the patrol car, Seth turned to Jenks. He was sweating from the fight, and he wiped his brow with the back of his arm. “Will you follow us to the police station? I’m going to ride with Officer Fisher to take him in.”
She nodded, and then got back in his truck.
He quickly touched her on the cheek and said, “Are you all right?”
“Yes—but remind me to never pick a fight with you.”
Jenks waited for Seth at the sheriff’s department until he finished booking Gary Donald. When he climbed into the truck with her he said, “Someone picked up Donald and the other man who was on the boat at Nairne Point after the accident. Donald wouldn’t divulge who that was.”
“I was impressed by your bravery.”
“It’s what I learned in the Marines.” He smiled at her and squeezed her hand.
“I want to ask you to do something with me.”
“What’s that?”
“Can we go see the boat that Gigi was using?”
“Yes, if you want to.”
She drove the truck to the Morgan River Marina, and he opened the driver’s side door for her. Together they walked to the pier system, and Seth pointed out a red-and-white motorboat. “That’s it,” he said as he led her to the craft.
“Leave it to Gigi to pick out a red boat.”
“Was that her favorite color?”
“Yes. It’s often the favorite color of aggressive, daring people with a zest for living.”
“I see—those who want to live life to the fullest. Is that your favorite color as well?”
“No—mine is green. People who have green for their favorite color seek harmony and balance in their lives. They tend to be gentle and sincere. What about you, Seth?”
“I like red and so did Steel. I guess you’re the only peaceful one in the crowd.”
Jenks walked down the ramp to the docking system and stood close to the boat. “I wanted to see the boat she was using.”
“Why?”
“I’m trying to understand what she was doing . . . Why the secrecy?”
Seth shook his head, “I don’t know.”
“She was certainly daring.”
She took a deep breath and changed the subject. “Would you like to come over for a sandwich?”
“Yes, ma’am—sounds good to me.” He took her hand and led her up the ramp away from the boat.
Over roast-beef sandwiches on the screened porch they discussed Rory.
“Tomorrow, I’m going to make inquiries about a support group for Rory,” Seth said. “There are some organizations like Hidden Wounds and Wounded Warriors that I’d like to see him get involved with.”
“I’d like to help if he needs assistance in getting to meetings.”
“That’s very kind of you.”
She rose from her seat and went to the kitchen to retrieve her laptop. She checked her e-mail while they ate. A response from the Naval History and Command Archives Department was in her mailbox.
“I’ve got an e-mail from the researcher in Washington.”
“What does he say?”
Jenks read the e-mail aloud:
Dear Miss Ellington:
I have searched the archives from the Civil War period, and I have not been able to come up with a record of a USS Defiance that would have been attached to the Federal Invasion Force that captured the Hilton Head, Beaufort, and Port Royal areas of South Carolina in 1861. Perhaps during the offensive, this vessel was seized by Federal forces along the eastern coast and not officially recorded as a United States ship. That would explain the lack of documentation.
I am sorry that I was not of more help to you, but I wish you the best in resolving the mystery.
Sincerely,
Robert Vance
“Dead end,” Jenks said.
CHAPTER 7
Amanda
When Jenks entered the downtown library, students in the summer-reading program were already situated at several tables. Jenks joined the group of pupils she had assisted during the last session, and the children all smiled at her, except for one little girl. She wore her hair parted in the middle with pigtails that were braided and tied with pink hair bows on the ends.
Her name was Amanda Stevens, and when Jenks listened to her read, she found Amanda’s shyness seemed to interfere with her ability to communicate. Amanda had difficulty making eye contact. When she finished her passage her tiny face showed a hint of relief.
After the session was over, Jenks took her aside and told her how nicely she had done and that she looked forward to reading with her the next time. She looked shyly at Jenks, but did not respond.
As the children were leaving the library, Jenks approached the librarian, “Mrs. Allen, you helped me recently with a log kept during the Civil War that recorded tides, weather, and sunrise and sunset information.”
“Yes, of course, I remember you. How can I help you?”
“I’m looking for documentation on the time that the Federal Army spent in the Beaufort area during the war.”
“Well, let’s see—there are several histories written about that time period. The authors often used letters and diaries of individuals who were stationed here during the occupation. I think the foremost local authority on that time period would be Dr. Maxim Ware. I try to always attend his symposiums, and I’ve gotten to know him a bit. Would you like for me to phone him and see if he is available to speak with you?”
“Yes, ma’am, I would appreciate that.”
“I’ll be just a few moments.” The librarian excused herself and went to her office, but returned within a few minutes with a piece of paper. “This is Maxim’s—I mean Dr. Ware’s—address and phone number. He said that he would be going out of town tomorrow for two weeks, but he has time to see you this afternoon, if that’s suitable. He said at two.”
“Yes, ma’am, that would be fine. Should I phone him?”
“No, I’ll let him know that you’re coming by.”
Jenks thanked Mrs. Allen and departed the library.
Just before two in the afternoon, Jenks arrived at Dr. Ware’s residence. His property was located off the Savannah Highway, and when she arrived, the gate at the entranceway was open. She proceeded down a sandy lane lined with live oak trees, and at the end of the drive was a magnificent two-story brick home. Jenks parked her car and went to the front door. A bell chimed inside when she rang the doorbell. Within a few moments, a lady who identified herself as Mabel, Dr. Ware’s housekeeper, answered the door.
“Are you Miss Ellington?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Come this way. Dr. Ware is expecting you.”
She led Jenks through a richly decorated foyer to a front room with mahogany double doors. “This is Dr. Ware’s library. He does most of his research in here.”
As Mabel opened the doors, Jenks could just see the top of Dr. Ware’s head, as he was sitting in a chair facing away from his desk.
“Dr. Ware, Miss Ellington is here.”
He spun the chair around to face them and removed a pair of reading glasses as he stood up. He was perhaps in his mid-sixties, with graying hair, and was impeccably dressed in a dark suit with a red bow tie. He smiled at her warmly, and extended his right hand to shake hers.
“Miss Ellington, how can I be of assistance to you?”
“Dr. Ware—I’m investigating a mystery. My sister passed away recently while diving for artifacts in the Beaufort River.”
“Yes—I’m sorry about that,” he said as a frown crossed his brow.
“Thank you. My sister had been researching a cache of gold and jewelry that she thought had been stolen from the Elliott family during the Civil War. I’ve been to the Gibbes Museum in Charleston to see the portrait of Miss Iris Elliott.”
“Yes—the Elliott family owned the Petersburg Cross, which was created by one of Empress Catherine the Great’s favorite artists, Aleksi Gregori Kartashkin. Some years after her death, the cross and other possessions were sold to European dealers. As you said, one of our local plantation owners, Luke Elliott, purchased the cross in Europe on a grand tour of the continent during the late 1850s.”
Dr. Ware took a book from one of his library shelves and opened it to a page about midway through. “This is a painting of Catherine the Great that hangs in the State Hermitage Museum in Saint Petersburg, Russia.” He pointed to a necklace the empress was wearing. “Does that look familiar?”
“Yes, sir, it appears to be the cross that Iris Elliott is wearing in her portrait in the Gibbes Museum.”
“Yes, it does.” He placed the book on his desk and then removed another book, one about jewelry from ancient Greek times to the present. He opened the book and turned to a page that showed the works of Aleksi Gregori Kartashkin.
“Look at the way Kartashkin initialed the back of his works. He inscribes a double curl at the base of the beginning of each letter. His unique way of forming his letters has generally kept forgers from attempting to copy his works.”
He closed the book and said, “The Petersburg Cross was stolen from the Elliott home during the Civil War, and is thought to have been taken by Federal occupiers after they invaded our area in 1861. It is well documented that possessions of local residents were confiscated, with many items falling into private hands.” He paused for a moment and then continued. “The Elliott treasures are rumored to have been on a ship that sailed from Beaufort in August 1862 and caught fire, sinking somewhere around St. Helena Sound. The best account of this lies in journals written by a former slave named Andrews.”
“Yes—I found Miss Meta Jane’s name in my sister’s possessions, and I went to see her. She said my sister had mentioned the cross, and I read Andrews’s account of the sinking of a ship named Defiance.”
“Miss Ellington, if I were more of an adventurer I might be pursuing the Petersburg Cross myself. I did some research on the Elliott family. After her marriage to David Cotesworth, Iris died in childbirth with her first child—her two brothers were killed in battle in Virginia during the Civil War. Sadly, the Elliott family died out several generations ago.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Yes—terrible shame.” He looked intently into her eyes. “I’d like to show you something.”
Intrigued by his comment, she stepped closer to his desk.
Dr. Ware again reached to a bookshelf and removed an aged journal, then placed it on his desk. He carefully opened the cracked leather binder, which had cursive writing on the pages.
“I purchased this diary from the great-great-granddaughter of a soldier who served in the Federal invasion force that captured Beaufort. I intend to publish a book from the new information recorded in this journal. She didn’t realize it was in their possession until they were discarding some old materials from their home.” He paused as he carefully thumbed through the pages.
“Yes, sir, please go on.”
“I’ve been researching the recordings inside this diary, and unfortunately, time has rendered some of Sergeant William Lasko’s writings illegible. I was able to determine one entry where he mentions a boat that was seized from a local planter. This ship was used at one time to ferry cargo between Charleston and Savannah, but the planter who owned it was using the vessel to transfer his own cotton from Beaufort to Charleston. The plantation owner named the ship the Fort Sumter and it would make sense that it could have been renamed the Defiance. May I read this passage to you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“‘5 December, 1861.
“‘Colonel Hubbard ordered us to the Fielding Plantation on the Broad River. There is a sizable ship moored to the wharf at the property. Upon inspection, the ship is fitted with a single screw propeller, but still maintains her sails for long range operations. Colonel Hubbard has ordered the ship confiscated and we are about to get her underway.’”
He stopped speaking and turned the pages. “There is another entry that appears in Lasko’s journal:
“‘7 February 1862.
“‘I have been at the wharf at Port Royal this morning to help load a cargo ship bound for New York. I have determined this to be the same ship that was seized at the Fielding Plantation. The Fort Sumter has been refitted with guns and renamed USS Defiance.’”
Dr. Ware closed the journal and said, “Just think—this information has been hidden in an attic for almost one hundred and fifty years. I suppose it’s possible the Elliott possessions may have been on board the Defiance when she burned and sank. With the passage of time, finding those treasures could be impossible—even with this documentation. There are just too many variables to affect where the remnants of the ship might rest—tides, ship speed, winds, just to mention a few.”
“You were kind to share this with me.”
“Miss Ellington, there is a matter of importance that I would like to discuss with you. When Alexis Allen phoned me this afternoon from the Beaufort County Library, I was a bit startled.” He closed the journal of William Lasko and continued, “You see, several months ago, your sister, Gigi, came to see me about this very subject. I read her obituary in the Beaufort Gazette, and I recall the announcement mentioning she had a sister. I was saddened to learn of her passing. I’m very sorry.”
“Thank you.”
“If you choose to pursue this Elliott treasure, please engage an experienced diver to perform the salvage work. I know your sister drowned in the Beaufort River.”
That evening Seth joined Jenks on her back porch for refreshments. He took off his coat and tie, then rolled up his sleeves and sat down beside her.
Jenks started the conversation. “I went to see Dr. Maxim Ware this afternoon. The librarian told me he is an expert on local history during the Civil War period. He recently purchased a diary from the great-great-granddaughter of a Federal soldier who was stationed here. This is previously undocumented information, and he said that Gigi had come to see him about this subject a few months ago.”
Jenks noticed that Seth was watching her intently.
“What is it?”
He slid closer to her and moved a strand of hair behind her ear. “Your eyes are cat-like; the hazel has turned almost pure green. Jenks, what are you up to?”
