7 Never Haunt a Historian (8 page)

Harvey cleared his throat and returned to his chair. “Our friend Theodore Carr was a witness to this, one of the single most catastrophic events in the bloodiest war in American history. When Armistead stepped over that wall, the 71st volunteers were there to face him. One of their own bullets could have killed him. We don’t really know.” He leaned toward her again, his voice dropping in secretive fashion. “What we do know is that one of those Union soldiers left that blood-soaked battlefield with a little… shall we say… souvenir.”

Leigh leaned forward herself. “Like what?”

Harvey smiled. “The sword of Brigadier General Lewis Addison Armistead.”

Leigh’s eyes fixed again on the figure in the portrait.

“That particular soldier,” Harvey went on, “turned the sword over to a superior. Nearly half a century later, at a reunion of the survivors of the Philadelphia brigade and Pickett’s Division, the sword was ceremoniously returned to the South. It resides to this day in the Museum of the Confederacy in Richmond.”

Leigh’s brow furrowed. “Then what—”

Harvey raised a hand. “The sword was found and returned. Armistead gave his personal effects to a messenger before he died. But one significant item was never recovered.” His eyes lifted to the portrait again.

Leigh’s gaze followed. “You don’t mean… his hat?”

Harvey nodded gravely. “The stuff of legends, my dear. This painting is hardly the only one depicting this epic scene. Whole books have been written on the Battle of Gettysburg. Poems penned. Movies shot. Every year thousands of people gather in the very spot where it occurred to reenact the entire scenario. Civil War enthusiasts scour flea markets and estate sales, looking for precious relics: A frock coat. A haversack. A rifle. A belt buckle. The artifacts market is robust and still growing. The hat of General Armistead, were it ever to be recovered and authenticated, well…”

“The Holy Grail?” Leigh suggested.

Harvey tented his fingers again. “Quite.”

Leigh sat back and took a breath. “And Theodore Carr was there. But surely that’s not enough for anyone to think—” she broke off at Harvey’s crooked grin.

“Oh, I daresay there’s more,” he continued. “Although frankly, until you mentioned someone digging, I didn’t give it much credence, myself. There’s another legend—a much less well known one—unique to the Civil War buffs in this area. When I joined the county historical association in the sixties the ranks were still abuzz about how, some years before, a newcomer had started asking questions about how much the general’s hat might be worth, where it could be sold, that sort of thing. The members became suspicious that this person might actually know something of the hat’s whereabouts, that it might even—joy of joys!—have found its way to the Pittsburgh area. But the man disappeared; and when an attempt was made to trace him, it was clear he hadn’t given his real name. It was all quite mysterious, but nothing ever came of it, and personally I dismissed the whole notion of the hat’s existence as wishful thinking. Now… I have to wonder.”

Leigh bit her lip. She didn’t care for the way this discussion was headed. She didn’t care for it at all.

“When Archie asked for my help in researching the man who had settled Frog Hill Farm, I was happy to oblige,” Harvey explained. “Archie has a deep and genuine interest in the Civil War, and he was practically giddy at having purchased the house of a legitimate war hero. I thought that’s all there was to it. But now that you mention a map…” his voice trailed off.

After a moment’s thought, he gave his head a shake, then resumed. “It was all a very long time ago. I do recall now that amongst the various rumors about the hat, there was talk of this mystery man having a paper of some sort—some documentation proving that the general’s hat was indeed salvaged from the battlefield. But nobody I knew ever actually saw such a paper. And most of us figured that even if the man did have some sort of document, it was probably a hoax.”

Harvey’s blue eyes glimmered. “I don’t recall Archie ever mentioning General Armistead’s hat to me, at least not specifically. And I have no evidence to give you that would link the man with that particular quest. It’s just… a possibility.”

Leigh’s voice quavered. “Do you know if Archie was aware that a Civil War veteran had built this farm
before
he decided to buy it?”

Harvey considered. “I never thought about it before. I always assumed that Archie’s interest came about after he moved in and heard the stories about Theodore Carr. But now that you mention it, it is possible that Archie bought the farm because of him.”

The accidental idiom hung in the air between them.

Leigh attempted to dismiss the macabre thought.

She failed.

Chapter 7

The doorbell rang. Leigh jumped a foot.

Footsteps sounded on the staircase, and in a moment Emma Brown emerged from the hall door to the kitchen, sleeping infant in tow.

“Hello, Leigh,” Emma said pleasantly as she glanced into the sitting room. “I thought I heard you up here. I would have popped up earlier, but the little peanut had other ideas!”

Leigh smiled back. Emma was short and round, with soft light brown hair, merry brown eyes, and a deep voice that was as big as her heart. “No problem,” Leigh responded. “Looks like you’ve worked your usual magic.”

Emma chuckled. The baby, who had an unruly mop of flaxen hair and was wearing a Pittsburgh Penguins onesie, was so limp Emma had to adjust her position to keep his head from lolling over her arm as she walked. “He ought to be tired,” she answered good naturedly, heading towards the front door. “As little sleep as he gets when the sun’s down!”

Leigh heard the front door open.

“Oh my, God!” a young woman’s voice rang out in a stage whisper. “What a beautiful sight! Emma, you are a miracle worker.”

The door closed and the two women walked down the hall to join Leigh and Harvey in the sitting room.

“Hi, Nora,” Leigh greeted cheerfully, attempting—perhaps unsuccessfully—to keep her expression from revealing just how ghastly the young mother looked. The ordinarily bright and perky Nora had dark circles under her eyes the size of plums. “I’m so sorry about what you’re going through with Cory,” Leigh said, rising. “I sympathize, believe me. Allison did the same thing for months.”

“Did she?” Nora asked. “You’ll have to tell me all your tricks sometime. Derrick and I have lists we go through. Walking, not walking. Ride in the car. Time on the floor. Swaddling. Baby seat on the dryer. None of it works every time. It’s always just hit or miss.” She sighed deeply, then smiled down at her sleeping baby. “Of course, when he looks as adorable as this, it makes it all worth it, doesn’t it?”

Leigh noticed that Harvey was creeping quietly around the women and back toward his room.

“Oh, Harvey,” Nora called out, just as he was disappearing behind his door. “Derrick says thank you. For that information on the zoning.”

Harvey paused and smiled back at her. “Tell him you’re very welcome,” he replied. Then he hastened into his room and closed the door.

“Zoning?” Emma asked.

Nora rolled her eyes. “Chickens,” she said with exasperation. “Derrick wants chickens. I kept telling him we couldn’t have any out here, but apparently I was wrong. Next thing, he’ll want a cow!”

Leigh’s eyebrows rose. Nora’s husband Derrick was a small, wiry man with thick glasses who worked for a bank. Even though he spent much of his time telecommuting from home, his wardrobe seemed to consist entirely of business slacks, button-down shirts, and loafers. In the year or so since the Sullivans had moved in next door, she had never once seen him working outside. Nora mowed their lawn herself, even while she was pregnant.

“You mean you
can
have chickens?” Emma inquired.

“Unfortunately, yes,” Nora responded, reaching out her arms to take the baby.

Leigh’s teeth gritted. Earth-mother Cara was always talking about wanting fresh eggs. If this tidbit got out, the Harmons would be sandwiched in between two roosters competing to crow the earliest.

“You know,” Emma said thoughtfully, pulling the baby back in closer. “He’s so snug now. Why wake him up to move him? You go on home and have a nap. I’ll bring him over in an hour or so.”

Nora’s brown eyes shone with elation. “Really? Are you sure? Oh, Emma… I am
so
tired.”

“You know, if you had chickens,” Leigh threw in quickly, “you’d be even more tired—”

“Oh, I almost forgot to ask!” Nora broke in, oblivious. “Is Archie home yet? Did he make the meeting?”

Emma’s face puckered with concern. “No, I’m afraid not. We’re really very worried about him.”

“Oh, no,” Nora said in a whisper. “Derrick was supposed to go today, but he had to work. He said Archie would
never
miss a meeting. I just don’t understand it.”

“None of us do,” Emma answered gravely.

An uncomfortable silence followed.

“By the meeting, you mean the reenactors, right?” Leigh asked tentatively.

Emma nodded. “Lester’s with them now. He’s asked for their help in finding Archie. Although what they can do, I’m not sure. I only wish there was something more
I
could do. I’ve called everyone I can think to call… Lester and I went through every page of Archie’s address book. Nobody seems to know anything.”

“Well if you think of anything Derrick or I can do to help,” Nora offered, “you will let us know, won’t you? I mean it. Colicky baby or not.”

Emma agreed, and Nora turned and headed for the door.

Leigh followed. She was anxious to talk to Lester, but her questions would have to wait. While the other women stood at the open front door discussing baby care, Leigh paused to look over her shoulder and down the hall. Was there more that Harvey would have told her, had they not been interrupted? He had given no indication of it. He had not even said goodbye.

The smallest of movements caught her eye. Harvey’s bedroom door, which had been standing open about an inch, was now closing ever so slowly the rest of the way.

“Now, Miss Leigh,” Emma said warmly as she closed her front door behind Nora and shifted the sleeping baby expertly to one shoulder. “What did you want, dear? Did you come to see Adith? I’m afraid she’ll be drowsy for a while yet. She does hate that new medication, but her doctor insists on it, you know.”

“Actually, I came to see Lester,” Leigh admitted. “Do you have any idea when he might be back?”

Emma’s worry lines deepened. “Not really. Once the regular meeting is over, they’re going to stay and come up with a plan to help find Archie. All the men adore him, you know. He’s such a sweet soul. No one can understand why—” her voice caught. Her eyes began to tear, but before any drops could fall she plastered on a smile instead. “Oopsie!” she cooed to the baby. “Somebody’s got the stinkies! Excuse me, Leigh honey, I’ll just be a minute—”

“I’ll let myself out,” Leigh offered, and with a grateful wave, Emma disappeared through the door to the stairwell.

“Pssst!”

Leigh heard the sound just as she touched the front door knob. Turning back around, she was surprised to see Harvey’s hand beckoning to her from his doorway. She stepped closer.

“Please don’t leave just yet, Mrs. Harm—I mean, Leigh,” he said pleasantly, albeit with a new urgency to his tone. “There’s something I’d like to ask you. Would you come in a minute?”

He swung his door open fully and stepped back. Leigh entered.

She had never seen Harvey’s private digs before, and she had to admit a sense of curiosity. Adith had informed her that Harvey was quite spry for his years and would be perfectly capable of living by himself if his late wife of forty-plus years hadn’t, as Adith put it, “buttered the man’s bread till he forgot how to use a knife.” Leigh looked around and smiled. It was just as she would have imagined. Wall to wall bookshelves. An immense wooden desk piled high with more books, folders, reams of loose papers covered with longhand, and a half-dozen coffee cups. The desk and a large leather wing chair with matching ottoman dominated the room; a narrow bed covered with rumpled blankets was stuffed into the far corner like an afterthought. Spreading liberally over the chair’s seat cushion was a plus-shaped mass of orange fur only vaguely recognizable as a cat. The tabby—which had to weigh well over twenty pounds—responded to Leigh’s arrival with the slightest opening of one eye, which, after a second’s reflection, it shut again.

“Now, now, Gimli,” Harvey cooed with affection, “don’t go stressing yourself. Mrs. Harmon is perfectly friendly, I assure you.”

The cat remained motionless.

“He’s very protective,” Harvey said wryly.

“Clearly,” Leigh agreed.

Harvey drew a breath, then tented his fingers again. “I feel a bit awkward asking this,” he began, seeming rather more excited than awkward, “but I would very much like to take a look at this map you speak of. I do have some experience with cartography; I might be able to help you decipher it.”

“I—” Leigh’s response stuck in her throat. She had no reason to doubt Harvey’s motives, or his offer of help. The idea that such an intelligent, mannered man could be personally involved in any foul play concerning Archie’s disappearance was unimaginable. Then again, history had taught her she didn’t always have the best imagination.

“I have to work through the detectives,” she finished, fudging the truth a bit. “But if they tell me it’s okay, I’ll bring it over. We could definitely use the help. Thank you.”

To her relief, Harvey smiled broadly, revealing no sign of angst. “I will eagerly await your return.”

***

Leigh finished her last bite of leftover meatloaf, which came immediately after her first bite. Despite her protestations to her mother, she had in fact forgotten to make a grocery run this morning, leaving both her husband and herself to forage for lunch on either two-day-old meatloaf or day-old pizza—and Warren had beaten her to the fridge. If Lydie hadn’t fed the kids at the History center, Leigh wouldn’t even have the meatloaf—she would be reduced to stale pretzels and whatever jelly she could scrape off the sides of the jar sitting on top of the recycling bin.