Sacred Ground. Adrienne Ellis Reeves
Drew said, cleaning off the table as Gabe cleaned up the pans. “I like him.”
“So do I, and I respect him. He’s no dummy.”
“He sure told us a lot about Pop’s family. Seems like every day we find out a little more. Don’t you think that’s crazy?”
“In a way, but on the other hand, we’re living where Pop’s family began, so even though it was a long time ago, people here know bits and pieces that we couldn’t hear about living in NewYork.”
“He forgot to show me the garden,” Drew remembered.
“I think he stayed longer than he’d planned but he won’t forget. Watch for him tomorrow morning. What had you planned to do in the time before Jeff gets here?”
“Hadn’t planned anything special. Why?”
“Do a little treasure hunt and see if anything at all looks unusual or that might be a clue for us.”
“Okay.”
“One other thing, Drew. Did you get the idea that Sam Williams wanted to know everything that was in the will?”
“Yeah. He was, like, champing at the bit but you didn’t tell him.”
“You and I both have to repeat to others what I told him because a lot of people are as curious as Sam is. Just say we can’t talk about the details of the will and we’ll be here for a while. The topic might come up when Jeff gets here because it’s a natural question. Okay?”
“Sure, I can handle that.”
Gabe was anxious to explore his great-grandfather’s office. If there was something significant about the treasured destiny to be discovered, shouldn’t it be in the place where he did most of his work and study?
He stood in the doorway, noting how it had been set up. A dark brown desk with three drawers on each side was on the wall to his right, flanked by a floor lamp and a two-drawer beige file. The rest of the wall was a closet.
Opposite the doorway where he stood was an eight-shelf bookcase. On one wall beside it was a large map of Africa while the map on the other side showed details of West Africa. A comfortable chair with a table lamp stood beside it. A curio cabinet, other maps of the world and several chairs completed the furnishings.
He created his own little library, Gabe observed, and probably spent most of his time here as he grew older. It was well lit, comfortable and warm. He could see himself spending evenings here dipping into the books.
He began his search at the desk. The drawers were filled with bills going back twenty years. Apparently, Great-Grandfather didn’t believe in credit cards. All the receipts showed payment in cash. This even went for large items like the pickup truck Gabe had seen in the garage.
The house was paid for. The property tax statements represented the largest outgo of money. Gabe read the figure for the assessment of the property and whistled softly. He laid the paper down, stunned.
He couldn’t fathom being the potential owner of such valuable property. It was like winning the lottery. He’d never thought of having a lot of money. The most he’d desired was enough for him and Drew to get by on comfortably.
Still a little dazed, he looked through the other drawers but discovered nothing out of the ordinary. The stacks of bank statements would have to wait for another time, when his head was clearer.
He stood before the map of Africa and studied it. The attorney, Mr. Moultrie, had told him that this destiny business had its origins with some African slaves, so Gabe could understand why Great-Grandfather had an interest in the continent. But it was so huge. Had one country been singled out?
He moved to the other map, which showed only the west coast of Africa and its countries. Most of the slave trade had embarked from the west coast, if he remembered his history. Maybe the map had been marked for easy identification as to the area the slaves came from.
Gabe picked up the magnifying glass from the desk and looked closely but could see no mark of any kind.
He went around the walls, looking at the other maps and prints. He also looked behind them to satisfy himself that they contained no clues.
The bell rang downstairs and a minute later Drew yelled up, “Gabe, Jeff’s here.”
“I’m in the office. C’mon up.”
Jeff didn’t look anything like his sister, which was just as well, Gabe thought as he said hello. Jeff was broad across the shoulders and about five feet four inches. He had freckles and a broad nose.
“My mom reminded me to bring this book back since I was coming over here.” He handed Gabe a hardcover volume.
“Whose is it?” Gabe wanted to know.
“Mr. Zeke’s. He talked in our history class about Africa and said he had some books if anyone wanted to borrow one, so when I had to do a report I came and got that one.”
“Folktales of West Africa,” Gabe read aloud. “Is it a good book?”
“I liked what I read of it.”
“What kind of grade did you get?” Drew asked.
“Ninety-one.”
“Cool,” Drew said. “Shows it was a good book for you. I didn’t know our great-grandfather spoke in schools. Did he do it often?”
“Most every year for some grade. He was sort of an expert on Africa around here and he loved to talk about it.”
Drew and Gabe exchanged a glance. One more piece of new information to add.
Later in the evening, Gabe went to sit on the bench in the field. I learned some things about you today, Great-Grandfather, he mused, but there’s more I need to know if I’m going to carry out your plans.
What am I supposed to find and where are the clues you left in your house?
Chapter 7
Makima picked up the telephone on its first ring. “Makima Gray speaking.”
“Good morning, Miss Gray.”
She recognized the voice of the woman on the other end of the line. It was friendly but undergirded with the authority of a decision maker.
“This is Harriet Wetherell of Wetherell Associates. I hope you are well.”
“I’m fine, Ms. Wetherell, and you?”
“Couldn’t be better.” With the social amenities out of the way, Harriet got down to business. “Did you receive the packet of material we sent you last week?”
“Yes, thank you. It was very informative.”
“As I mentioned before when we talked, our company has a good reputation for living up to our motto, We Build For You. Whatever you have in mind we will provide in the highest quality and for a competitive price. I hope you read the comments from some of our clients. We urge you to talk to them and hear for yourself what they say about the structures we built for them.”
“I know the little art gallery in Columbia you built. I’ve been there and admired the way the space was handled to give the maximum advantage for the artwork,” Makima said. “Of course a medical clinic is totally different from an art gallery.”
“Not really,” Ms. Wetherell said thoughtfully. “Their functions aren’t the same but each one has to be built to last, to be environmentally friendly, comfortable to inhabit, pleasing to the eye and highly specific for its activity.”
“Those are all good points,” Makima agreed. “I hadn’t thought of it in that way.”
“The last time you were here, you still hadn’t made a decision about the exact location of your clinic, Miss Gray. May I ask how that’s coming along?”
“Slowly,