Page 11 of Going, Going, Gone
Chapter Seven
When a tan Toyota Camry and a black pickup truck pulled into the driveway, Dylan turned off the ignition of his SUV and climbed out to meet Nessa. He was still calling her that even though she’d told him over their lunch date that only her family and best friend used the shortened moniker. It was informal and cute, and he liked it.
In addition to bringing a few metal detectors, she’d recruited two of her undergraduate students to help search for evidence that slaves had hidden beneath the Coldrick farmhouse. He couldn’t imagine what it’d been like for people of color back then, running for freedom, knowing if they were caught it would mean death or worse—a punishment so severe they’d wish for death. The fate of those helping them could also end with the same results. It took a lot of courage for Elise Coldrick’s great-great-grandfather to do what he knew was right, even if it jeopardized his own family.
“Hi, Dylan,” Nessa said as she approached him with her two students. In her hands was a large, black flashlight.
Dylan’s eyes drank her in. She was the type of woman who could wear a potato sack and still have him lusting after her. Today, she was wearing faded jeans, that molded to her curves, a blue and white, Tidewater Community College, short-sleeved T-shirt, and sneakers. The perfect outfit to go exploring and possibly digging in the dirty basement this afternoon. But it was her glowing smile and twinkling eyes that had his heart rate speeding up and his cock threatening to cause his own jeans to noticeably bulge.Down boy.“Hi, Nessa.”
She stopped a few feet away from him—too far away for his liking—and introduced him to her students, who appeared to be in their early twenties, instead of their teens. Both were wearing jeans and T-shirts as well. “Andy Markowitz and Erik Garvey, this is Mr. McBride.”
Extending his hand to one then the other, Dylan said, “Hi, Andy. Erik. Feel free to call me Dylan. Mr. McBride makes me look around for my father or grandfather.”
The two young men grinned as they shook his hand, with Erik saying, “Dylan it is. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” He pulled a set of keys from the front pocket of his jeans, then raised an eyebrow at Nessa. She was still too far away for him to figure out if she’d used whatever had made her hair smell like strawberries the other day. It’d driven him wild each time the scent had tickled his nose. He gestured toward the front porch of the old farmhouse. “After you.”
Her smile warmed him from the inside out. “Thank you. Andy and Erik, can you grab the metal detectors, shovels, and lights? When you walk in the door, there’s a hallway to the kitchen straight ahead. In the pantry to your left, there’s a trap door in the floor with a ladder under it. We’ll meet you down below. Just watch your step.”
“Sure thing, Professor,” Andy responded, his gaze lingering and dropping to Nessa’s ass for several seconds after she turned and started for the porch. It appeared the younger man had a bit of a crush on his teacher, and Dylan didn’t blame him one bit. With her luscious curves, Nessa had probably starred in many of her male students’ fantasies over the years.
Finding the correct key, Dylan unlocked the door and pushed it open. There was plenty of sunshine streaming into the house, so he didn’t need to turn on the lights. The public library had taken over the meager electric bill until the sale went through, so the property could be maintained. Since everything was pretty much turned off, unless needed, it wasn’t more than $30 per month.
Dylan followed Nessa into the kitchen where she opened the pantry door and pulled the cord for the overhead light. She bent over, curling her fingers into an indent in the trapdoor, then lifted it up. The single lightbulb hanging from the ceiling gave them enough illumination to see into the hole. With the agility and confidence of someone who’d done this before, Nessa climbed down the ladder then turned on her flashlight. Within seconds, Dylan was beside her doing the same. The air was cool and relatively dry, despite the basement being underground. On the other side of the stone wall to Dylan’s left, was where a concrete one that’d been added decades ago, adding to the structural support of the building. The stone wall would have given the illusion to anyone in the main room of the basement that the foundation ended there instead of five feet further. Unless someone took measurements or had an engineer’s eye, nothing would have seemed out of place. The extra square footage, running the width of the house, is where Nessa believed slaves had huddled in fear and exhaustion, waiting for night to fall again, so they could start the next leg of their grueling journey toward freedom.
The main room of the basement had been emptied of everything Elise had stored down there—boxes of holiday decorations, unused furniture, family memorabilia, et cetera. The washer and dryer had been sold along with many other items. Dylan kind of felt bad for Elise—decades and generations of items that’d been collected and kept in the family now belonged to strangers. At least the library board had noticed some things had been valuable enough to be auctioned off or donated to the local historical society.
Dylan aimed his flashlight at the dirt floor. Unlike the main basement, the floor in the smaller space hadn’t been covered in concrete at any point. He ran the beam of light up the walls to the ceiling. There were no signs that any rodents or reptiles had ever occupied the space, but spiders had definitely found a home down there. Nessa knocked down a few old cobwebs and stepped further into the space. Above them, the young men were making noise, bringing in the equipment. Looking up through the hole in the ceiling, Dylan said, “If you want to start handing that stuff down, I’ll grab it from you.”
“Sounds good,” one of them responded, but Dylan wasn’t sure which it’d been.
The first thing lowered into the hole was one of the metal detectors. After giving his flashlight to Nessa, Dylan made quick work of lining everything up against the wall as it was handed down to him. Andy and Erik then joined them in the narrow space. Within a few minutes, they had commercial lights set up, illuminating the entire area, so the flashlights were no longer needed. Dylan realized that the two students must have done something like this before. They’d picked up the metal detectors, turned them on, and started working in a grid pattern at the far end of the space, all without any instructions from Nessa. While Erik and Andy swept the hand-held machines back and forth, Nessa and Dylan stood back, waiting to see if there was a “hit.” Any metal under the dirt surface would cause the detectors to respond by beeping loudly.
Dylan glanced at Nessa and smiled. Her hands were clasped together, like she was praying, and she appeared to be holding her breath. Her gaze was pinned on her students. When they’d reached the halfway point, Dylan was almost certain he’d been right. They weren’t going to find anything down here. Even if it had been a refuge for slaves, it was highly doubtful any remnants remained.
Just as Dylan was trying to think of something to say in response to Nessa’s inevitable disappointment, Andy’s metal detector started beeping like mad. He ran the base of the machine over the area, trying to determine where whatever was under the soil started and ended. Nessa hurried over with a shovel as Erik moved to give her room. Glancing down, Dylan grabbed a second shovel and joined the threesome.
“Dig carefully,” Nessa instructed.
Doing as he’d been told, Dylan dipped the shovel into the dirt at a shallow angle, just as Nessa was doing. Slowly, they made a hole, tossing the excess dirt to the side. Erik had temporarily abandoned his detector and moved one of the standing lights closer to the dig site. Suddenly, Dylan’s shovel hit something solid ... something that sounded like a cross between adingand aclang.
He froze, then lifted his gaze to Nessa to find she was also standing still. They both dropped to their knees and began to move the dirt with their hands.
“Here.” Erik handed Dylan a tiny, whisk broom and Nessa a shovel no bigger than her palm. Together, they worked to uncover the hard, black object, while trying not to damage it.
As the hole became bigger, Dylan couldn’t believe what he was looking at. Was it what he thought it was? Had Nessa been right? Her sudden gasp gave him his answers.
“Oh, my God! It—It’s a shackle and part of a chain made of wrought iron! Look, here’s a keyhole.” Her gaze went to her students. “Some shackles had a hinge to open and close them, and they were bolted shut. Others were predecessors of today’s handcuffs and required keys. It depended on the blacksmith who was making them.” She took the brush from Dylan and cleaned off more dirt. He liked how she took the time to further educate her students, even though she was obviously ecstatic over the find. “I don’t see any markings. Some would actually say ‘Property of,’ with the owner’s name on it, but many of them didn’t. That would be an extra, unnecessary expense for some owners.”
“These really belonged to a slave?” Dylan asked, still stunned by the find.
Nessa nodded, her eyes shimmering. “I think so. We’ll have to bring in an archaeologist and also let the historical society know. Testing will have to be done. But ...” She grinned at him. “I really do think we found the proof we need.”
