Sacred Ground

“‘Fifth, Gabriel Riley Bell may not rent, lease or sell any portion of this particular property.

“‘Sixth, Jasper Lee Moultrie, executor, will provide living expenses of two thousand dollars a month for the three months.

“‘Seventh, upon the satisfactory completion by Gabriel Riley Bell of Article Four, the executor will so declare and will then deliver to Gabriel Riley Bell the entire estate consisting of the aforesaid fifteen acres of land in Swinton, South Carolina, the house and contents that are on the property, and any other parcels of land belonging to the estate at the time of my death.

“‘Eighth, I give and bequeath to Gabriel Riley Bell the sum of one hundred thousand dollars with one half to be held in trust for his brother, Drew Booker Bell, until his twenty-fifth birthday.

“‘In witness whereof, I have hereunto set my hand and seal on this eighth day of June 2005.

“‘Signed and declared by the said Ezekiel Bell Jr., and for his last will and testament in the presence of us, who at his request, in his presence, and in the presence of each other, have hereunto subscribed our names as witnesses.

“‘Marshall G. Hamilton of Swinton, South Carolina, Jane Ann Hamilton of Swinton, South Carolina, Jasper Lee Moultrie of Charlotte, North Carolina.’”

Moultrie silently handed Gabe a copy of what he’d read. As he reached for it and settled back on the couch, Gabe felt his breath return. He’d been oxygen starved. Drew scooted next to him so he could read the will that talked about fifty thousand dollars for him. He had to see the words to believe it.

“So I’m to go to Swinton and live in this house on the fifteen-acre property for three months during which time you’ll give me living expenses of two thousand a month?” Gabe asked, his eyes still on the document.

“That is correct.”

“That’s clear. What I don’t get is the fourth article. As a result, I assume, of examining the contents of the house, I’m supposed to discover and carry out a treasured destiny that’s been waiting or hidden for six generations?”

His voice rose in disbelief as he repeated the words Ezekiel had written. “What does that mean?” His gaze fixed itself on Moultrie but his expression said that whatever Moultrie answered it would be subject to disbelief.

“Sounds like it means buried treasure.” Drew, excited at the prospect of finding a cache of jewels, clutched Gabe’s arm.

“I can’t tell you, Mr. Bell,” Moultrie said sympathetically. “I do know that most of what you’ll need is in the house so as soon as you get there…it’d be wise to thoroughly search each room. Drew can help you.”

“But what are we to look for? A map, a key, a box, or what?”

“Mr. Bell said you’ll know it when you see it.”

There was another provision stipulated in the will that was perplexing to Gabe. “Why the sixth generation? That’s a long time to wait. Supposing there hadn’t been a grandson with the name Bell in the sixth generation?”

“When I asked the same question, Mr. Bell said the oldest African had foretold it.”

Other questions that Gabe or Drew brought up usually came back in one way or another to the same vague statement. Gabe began to think Moultrie knew as little about this “treasured destiny” as he did. Great-Grandfather had trusted even his attorney just so far with ancient secrets.

There were only three issues to be decided about the will as far as Gabe was concerned. If he took the whole matter seriously, as he decided to do after Moultrie left.

The first involved his job with the state in the accounting department. He’d gone there right out of college and was content to do a competent job that would advance him up the ladder in a reasonable number of years before retirement. Consultation with human resources and his department head resulted in an agreement that he could take two of the weeks as vacation and the rest as a leave of absence without pay but without a loss of benefits. Since benefits was his main concern because of Drew, Gabe was satisfied.

The second issue was that Drew had been slacking off in school and worrying Gabe seriously for the first time because of the group of kids he’d begun hanging with.

Intervention of some sort was called for and Gabe had been racking his brains as to what it should be. There was no way he was going to allow Drew to slide further down the slippery slope of disengagement from school.

Three months away from his school would at least change his environment. Gabe went to the school counselor, who helped him make arrangements for lessons and exams.

The third issue was the least important to Gabe. He asked himself again if he would be searching for gold. But it would be an adventure unlike any that had come his way in his uneventful life, and it would help Drew.

The day he’d notified Moultrie that he’d arranged matters with his job, the attorney urged him to get to Swinton as quickly as possible. “Remember the house is fully furnished. All you and Drew need are clothes and personal items like your computer, books and music.”

A week later they were on their way with a check for two thousand dollars in Gabe’s wallet.

Chapter 2

“This is a whole lot better’n yesterday.” Drew drummed the side window in rhythm with the beat from the radio.

“You can say that again,” Gabe agreed.

His spirits had been rising ever since they’d awakened to see clear skies from the windows of the Richmond motel where they’d decided to stay when, instead of the rain stopping as Gabe had prophesied, it had increased right up through the early dark. After breakfast they’d gone through Virginia and were now in South Carolina.

The total mileage from New York to Swinton was around seven hundred miles and Gabe could have made it in one long drive. Friends of his had boasted of driving more than that, stopping only for brief naps by the roadside. That wasn’t his style. He wanted to see where he was going and what the land was like. South Carolina was certainly different from any place he’d seen before.

The sun shone through huge trees whose branches arched over long approaches to houses set back on lots, and it shone as well through tall, straight trees that marked the boundaries of fields.

Some of the fields were already green. Some were still brown.

“What’s that white stuff over there?” Drew pointed to a large field where dry brown plants had balls of white sticking to them.

Gabe slowed the car. “That’s cotton.”

“It grows like that?” Drew looked at him disbelievingly.

“You’ve seen pictures of it in books and on TV, haven’t you?”

“Yeah, but—” He turned to look again at the fluffy balls.

“But it’s different when you see it in real life, isn’t it? I wish Pop had told us about his South Carolina people. Those unknown relatives of ours had seen cotton fields. Maybe they’d even gone along those rows picking and filling sacks to be taken to the cotton mills. Or maybe they worked in the tobacco fields. Remember those funny-shaped tobacco barns we saw?”

Gabe hoped Drew was picking up information that he’d remember. For himself, he was ashamed of his own ignorance. If nothing else good came out of this adventure, his New York insularity had been revealed to him. There was much more to be seen and to be appreciated beyond the five boroughs of Manhattan, Brooklyn, the Bronx, Queens and Staten Island.

They passed small towns where there’d be rural sections where empty houses and other structures had fallen in upon themselves and were covered with vines. He’d read somewhere that the green plant that clambered up trees and smothered them was a parasite called kudzu. It was extremely difficult to get rid of. He noticed there were a number of houses with trees, shrubs and flowers around them, but the houses were standing alone except for a garage and perhaps a shed. He wondered who lived in those dwellings and what their lives were like without other people close by.

The contrast between the South Carolina countryside and what he saw daily in Manhattan was fascinating to him.

Signs told him he was coming up on Florence where he knew he’d have to feed the hungry gas tank. Might as well feed his always-hungry brother, too, before he began complaining. He could leave I-95 here and pick up 20 West, get a glimpse of what Columbia, the capital, was like, then go southwest and make his way to Swinton.

“Are we gonna eat anytime soon?” Drew asked right on schedule.

“We’re stopping in Florence for gas and we’ll eat there.” He filled the tank at the first Shell station he saw then drove away.

“Hey! There’s a McDonald’s right next door,” Drew pointed out.

“I see it. Let’s go someplace a little nicer. Aren’t you tired of fast food?”

Drew shrugged and began looking earnestly on both sides of the street. “I just wanna eat sometime soon,” he grumbled.

They came to a small shopping area that had a homey look with its trees, benches, and turn-of-the-