Pictures at the Protest (The Virginia Mysteries Book 9) by Steven K. Smith

Author:Steven K. Smith [Smith, Steven K.]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: MyBoys3 Press
Published: 2020-12-02T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fourteen

As they stepped off the gravel path behind Maggie Walker’s grave, it felt like the forest had swallowed them. A few trees and branches had been cut down across the first few yards into the woods, but after that, it seemed like no one had touched the place for decades. He had that sense again, like he’d had when they drove in, that they’d entered the land that time forgot.

They walked along not so much of a path, but a trail that might have been little more than what animals used to get through the woods. The ground sloped down gently, and everything around them was green. Lush ivy spread across the ground like a blanket, but it also clung to the tree trunks and branches like it was determined to take over, choking anything in its path. It didn’t take much imagination to think the entire landscape was alive and moving. Seemingly random headstones and hints of graves jutted from the ground. It was eerily quiet and still.

Sam thought about what Mr. Gibson had said, that some people buried back here were from the first generation free from slavery. Some might even have been born enslaved. Although the more they learned about Jim Crow, the more Sam realized living in those times was hardly like being completely free.

“Oh, no. Is that what I think it is?” Caitlin pointed to a single stone cross on a square marble block halfway down the slope. Three fallen headstones were laying at odd angles around it, half-buried in the ivy. Someone had sprayed red paint along the side of two of the stones.

“Looks like graffiti,” said Derek.

“That’s even worse than what was done to the bridge.” Caitlin folded her arms angrily, but then glanced over at Jason. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”

Jason shrugged. “I know. I don’t like it when they do that either. But there’s no reasoning with DeShawn or his friends sometimes.”

Sam leaned down and tried to read the inscription on the stones. “‘Stella Elizabeth Wells. March 2, 1863 - October 20, 1929. Loving Wife and Mother.’ That’s nearly a hundred years ago.”

“She was born right in the middle of the Civil War.” Caitlin pointed to the bottom part of the stone. “‘Whatsoever her hand found to do, she did it with all her might.’ That’s so beautiful, but also so tragic that it’s lost out here in the woods like this.”

A loud motor rang out through the trees. Sam couldn’t tell if it was a dirt bike racing through the woods or some kind of worker’s equipment. “Where’s that coming from?”

“I think it’s over here,” said Derek. “Let’s check it out.”

“But what about Mr. Gibson’s parents?” asked Caitlin.

Jason peered all around them and shook his head. “I think he was right. This might be a hopeless cause. We’d need a map or something.”

“Or a GPS,” said Derek as he jogged off to the right and toward the noise.

A flash of movement caught Sam’s eye in the other direction, and he heard a rustling sound.

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