Prologue
August 8, 1975
New River Railroad Line – Just Southwest of Draper, Virginia
For those too adventurous to earn merit badges for helping old ladies with their groceries, or learning to properly wash their own hands– there was the YMCA sponsored Indian Guides. This group was made up of rugged young wilderness survivors and their “weekendaway from the wife” seeking fathers. It was truly a bonding time for young men and their dads…and it was spectacular. Their arts and crafts activities revolved aroundusable items like creating tools from what nature had to offer– they didn’t make pinewood derby racers, they made snares and traps to capture small game for survival. They didn’t earn badges or wear uniforms – they wore camouflage and Levis and earned feathers for their headdress. They didn’t shine their shoes, they wore boots or went barefoot.They didn’t practice archery…they
practiced bow hunting.
This morning, the fathers of the nine young braves were warding off the evil spirits from a late night pow-wow with bad firewater that carried names such as PBR and Schlitz and came out of steel cans. They were all lying along the banks of the New River with their feet in the water. A couple held fishing poles but didn’t really hope for a bite. They would get it in gear for a cookout and campfire later that afternoon.
1
The braves ran about in different directions with most staying along the riverbank near their fathers. Jimmy, Chris, and Ricky climbed up the small cliff and through some bushes until they reached the abandoned Norfolk Southern Rail Line. They followed it east toward Draper and Claytor Lake, watching the tracks for railroad spikes or other collectibles from yesteryear. The goldmines of discovery along these tracks were the bullets from the Civil War – Minie balls and ringed .36 caliber Colt pistol rounds. The boys ventured around a bend in the track just underneath a large rock outcropping that rose seventy-five feet in the air. It was ringed by large Sycamore trees near the base and scrub brush grew like patches of hair at the summit. They had seen this rock formation many times - but today Ricky saw something unusual.
“Look at the hole up yonder,” he pointed just up the slope at the base of the rock formation. “Behind the brush there,” he pointed again with more emphasis this time.
“Ain’t never seen that before,” Jimmy started off the tracks and through the brush. “Let’s check it out.”
The other boys followed Jimmy through the scraggly bushes, scraping their legs without care as they went. They emerged at a pile of rocks that sloped up to a hole about three feet wide in the face of the formation. Jimmy scrambled to the top of the heap and peered into the hole, then he turned to the others with wide eyes.
“It opens up and goes deep – can’t see the end of it.” “C’mon down,” Chris said with a worriedlook on his
face. He was scared of dark places and didn’t want anything to do with this one for sure.
“Go get my flashlight from the tent,” said Jimmy.
“I ain’t goin’ in that hole,” Chris backed up as rocks slid under his feet.
“Me and Ricky will check it out,” Jimmy grinned. “You can stand watch.”
“There might be snakes,” Chris warned again. “Just go get the light, chicken.”
It took less than five minutes for Chris to bring the flash- light. Jimmy had to knock it against his hand a couple of times to get it to come on, then he slid down two feet of rocks and into the cave opening…Ricky followed behind. He shone the light as deep into the cave as it would go but it didn’t illuminate much more than they could already see.
“Let’s go in a few feet,” Jimmy encouraged Ricky. “This looks dangerous.”
“We won’t go farin…”
Ricky got as close to Jimmy as he could and followed him, using shuffle steps until they were ten feet inside. The darkness had grown now, and the flashlight showed more as the sunlight gave way. They heard water dripping somewhere deep inside – it made a clicking sound – almost like a clock.
“That’s enough, man,” Ricky said.
“It curves to the right there – just ten more feet – we look around the corner and then get out.”
They took two steps forward and the flashlight went out. Jimmy pounded it three times in his palm, and it came back on. Ricky grabbed his shoulder from behind and they shuffled forward until they reached the curve. Chris called their names but neither answered. Jimmy slowly turned the beam of light around the corner and then jumped back knocking Ricky to the ground.
“What the hell, man?”
“Did you not see that!”
“I was too busy falling, dumbass!” “I – It was white.”
“White?”
“Yeah.”
“Moving?”
“No – I don’t think so.” “Let’s look again.”
The boys hunched together and shimmied forward as Jimmy slowly raised the light from the floor. Ten feet away was the white object he had seen.
Ricky screamed and instinctively ran back toward the cave entrance as Jimmy’s flashlight went out again. He beat it on his palm and the fourth time it came back to life. Jimmy felt his heart trying to pound its’ way out of his chest. Five feet away was the skeletal remains of a man in uniform with a sword laying by his side. His skull looked crushed, and his mouth was opened in a horrible grin. The sockets where his eyes used to be were sunken and black. Jimmy dropped the flashlight as he joined Ricky’s flight and scrambled out of the cave. The boys ran past Chris so fast he couldn’t get a word out.
In the cave behind them the flashlight hit the floor and rolled slowly toward the far wall of the cave – like a macabre, silent, black and white movie it quietly revealed three more skeletons until it struck the rock wall and went out again.
I, too, sing America.
I am the darker brother,
They send me to eat in the kitchen When company comes,
But I laugh, And eat well’
And grow strong. Tomorrow,
I’ll be at the table When company comes. Nobody’ll dare
Say to me,
“Eat in the kitchen,” Then.
Besides,
They’ll see how beautiful I am And be ashamed –
I too, am America.
Langston Hughes 1924
1
“Thomas Warren?”
“Can you hear me?”
Was that his mother? There was a dense bright fog in front of his eyes – or was it smoke…it was acrid. He thought he heard something but wasn’t sure anyone was there. Then it was quiet again, and he fell back to Antietam and General Hood’s regiment. He was walking along an old cattle road that had grown thick with weeds during the summer. His brothers were with him Stephen the youngest, John was next, and Dewey was his older brother. They weren’t speaking to each other much but simply walking just as they had been for twelve long days. The later summer nights were getting cooler but the days were still scorching hot. Hundreds, if not thousands, of men and young boys spread out in front, be- hind, and all around them. A few were clothed in grey uni- forms but many just wore their farm clothes – probably the same ones they had on when they left their mothers crying on porches all over the South. Stephen finally broke the silence. “They say we might get to see Lee – that he might speak
to us.”
Thomas looked at him but for some reason was unable to answer.
John answered sullenly.“ Would that make it a good day to die?”
Dewey turned to him with a scowl growing through his lightening beard. “I’m bringing you all back to mother alive! I promised,” his voice trailed off.
They kept walking not knowing exactly where they were going or what would happen once they got wherever “there” was. Thomas knew Sharpsburg was somewhere nearby. He had ridden this far on a buckboard with his father once. His father, Dewey Summerlin Sr., was a hard- working Southern Virginia farmer who had done quite well for himself, having amassed a plantation covering some two thousand acres in the Western part of the state. But he was a nasty son-of-a- bitch. When his boys left to face the Yankees he didn’t even say goodbye. In fact, that morning he got up early and left to go hunting before the boys were even in the kitchen. Thomas had wanted to see if his father would shed a tear for his boys that morning, but he didn’t think he had. He would never find out.
The fog was lifted in front of his eyes ever so slightly and he thought he was glancing towards a window - it looked like snow was coming down hard outside. His eyes closed again without his permission. He was surrounded again by mostly young Virginians, North and South Carolinians and Georgians. Some boys walked next to their fathers; a few other older men stumbled along in solitude. Most of them have brought their own weapons. Thomas had one of his father’s shotguns slung over his shoulder, but he also carried a Remington 1858 pistol given to him by his grandfather. Dewey carried a sword on his side – it had been in the family for a long time. It would be lost forever in the next ten minutes.
There was an angel in the room – or a demon. A dark- skinned woman with long straight black hair. Who was she? Candles flickered on the mantle above a dying fire. Was the paint peeling off the wall. Silence….again.
Thomas and his brothers were ordered to stay with the 500-man regiment from Georgia who were to hold off the Union army as long as possible to allow Hood to move west and join Lee and Jackson. They marched onward. A small bridge loomed in front of them – they were to protect the crossing. There was a steepled church across the river which looked big enough for a congregation of maybe twenty folks. Thomas smiled at the peaceful country scene as leaves scattered from the Sycamores and twirled about making him long for home – until blood from his brother Dewey’s head splattered all across the front of his woven shirt. They had found what they left home in search of – was it glory? The blue coats were now swarming from behind the church and onto the bridge. The little country scene became complete chaos. Smoke filled the air and blood soaked the dirt. Thomas and his younger brothers were running toward the river even be- fore Dewey’s body hit the ground.
The angel was there again. Was she the angel of death? He heard dripping water as she squeezed a cloth and put it on his face. A bad smell hit his nostrils. It was putrid. He was back on the riverbank.
The shallow river was now filled with corpses. Men and boys screamed out for their mothers. Bullets whistled past both of Thomas’ ears at once like a swarm of summer bees. He didn’t know whether to shoot, cry, or run. A young boy of about sixteen was on top of him now preparing to stab a bayonet deep into his heart. Thomas instinctively whipped the shotgun from his back and fired it into the boy’s chest. His blue eyes looked at first shocked and then saddened as his lifeless body fell halfway into the blood red river.
It was raining outside the window now. But flowers were blooming, and he thought he heard a bird singing. Then the sound of a scream shattered it all…
“Let’s Go! Now!” Stephen screamed as he pulled Thomas from the ground.
They ran to the formerly picturesque country bridge. Bodies were hanging from the sides and men lay all over the decking, screaming and crying for help…and home. It was hard to run in all that blood. It was everywhere. Sticky. Slippery. The smell. John was in front, and Stephen was in back when he saw the flash. It was a huge puff of smoke just on the other side of the church. He never heard the explosion of the cannon, but he felt the heat and pain as the shell hurtled its’ way through the crowded bridge tearing limbs and heads away. Then it was dark…so very dark. Was he dead? His Civil War action – and glory - had lasted all of eight minutes.
The angel was back. She had a slight smile on her lips and was singing as she swept the floor with a cornstalk broom. Then her back was to him. She was not a demon. Was she? Her hair was so beautiful and glimmering in the sunlight coming through the window. Where was Elizabeth?
The sounds of the battle rang in Thomas’ ears for hours as he lay there dying. He wept for Elizabeth and his mother. They could never be together now. They could never have the acreage her father had set aside for them to raise tobacco, corn, cattle, and horses – and children. He had ruined it all. He clamped his eyes tighter shut and said goodbye to her. “I love you, my dear” he whispered to no one.
There was mushy food in his mouth now and he tried to swallow. He got some of it down. Then a little water. His eyes felt fastened shut.
Who feeds the dying on a battlefield he wondered? The taste of the mush awakened him a little and he opened his eyes. There, not three feet away was his brother Stephen staring wide eyed at him. He must have fed him and was now waiting for him to get the strength to move. The sounds of the battle seemed to be further away now. He laid still and closed his eyes again.
The angel was there again, but now she was surrounded by men in blue coats. They were yelling something at her, and she appeared to spit at one of them. He felt like someone picked him up and then dropped him on the floor. His body shuddered.
The smell…was horrifying. The dead around him on the battlefield were rotting in the late summer sun. Thomas rolled his head to one side and when he opened his eyes all he saw was bloated bodies, flies, vultures, and crows. There was a dead horse shot almost completely in half not ten feet away. He closed his eyes and rolled back to look at Stephen again. What he saw was his brother – he would recognize that eye anywhere. But where was his other eye? Stephen’s belly was so swollen it looked like it was about to rupture. Thomas thought he was screaming but no real sound escaped his throat. Where was John? He was dying.
The angel was wiping his face once more with a cold cloth – it was sweltering in here. He looked past her to see the portrait of his mother on the far wall. Was he home? Was… this… heaven?
“This one’s alive!” he heard in a woman’s voice. He squinted slowly opening his eyes to see an older woman with a scarf tied tightly around her face offering him water. She was covered in sweat and blood.
“Let’s see if we can get you home son.” She whispered.
He opened his eyes again to see the angel sitting beside him on the bed. She was crying into a dirty apron that was tied at her waist. She must have realized that he had opened his eyes because she turned to look at him and smiled. One eye was the most beautiful deep reflection of gold and hazel he had ever gazed upon. The other was swollen closed.
“Mr. Thomas” she said softly. He closed his eyes again.
Thomas and his three brothers were walking slowly down an old overgrown cattle trail. They had been walking for twelve days and had been silent for much of this one.
“They say we might get to see Lee….” Not again….
Not again….
Thomas forced open his eyes once more to see the angel sitting next to him again. Her eye was miraculously healed.
“Who…are…you?” he whispered.
2
Charlottesville and the University of Virginia were cooling off quickly in the early Fall of 1962. Leaves flew from the sycamores and hickories, gathered in piles on the ground, and swirled off into small twisters to other parts of the campus. Crunching sounds were echoing through the quad as students walked through the leaves heading to their early morning classes in the Academical Hall. Ladies in long skirts and frilly blouses with their hair mostly up and held firmly in place by hairspray and bobby pins, laughed and gossiped as they went. The boys, joking their way down the hill from their dormitories and fraternity row, mostly wore slacks with white or blue collared shirts – some wore bowties. The girls, all juniors and seniors who had come over from Mary Washington College in Fredericksburg, found the younger
boys to be extremely immature.
Luke Montgomery came bounding out of the locker room door of Memorial Gym and rushed toward his dormitory. Class was in fifteen minutes and his books were 10 minutes away. He was still dripping from the early morning basketball practice, but the coach kept them late and there was no time to get cleaned up before class. He would have to go as-is. He started down the only paved path between the gym and the dorms. The path crossed into a “T” at the bottom of the first hill before it went back up the second hill into the trees beyond. The intersection became quickly too difficult for Luke to coordinate with his speed, and he barely avoided crashing into a group of girls who stepped to the
side. The three white girls jumped into the path of a young colored girl who had to stop short, but still she bumped into the back of one of the other girls who quickly turned around. “Watch it imbecile!” she spouted as she pushed the young girl’s books from her hands onto the ground. The young girl
slipped and found herself sitting in mud next to her books.
Luke heard the commotion and brought himself to a stop – quickly turning around.
“Seriously?” he said as he walked back to help the girl get back up. The other girls turned and continued up the walk toward the classrooms.
“I’m so terribly sorry. That was all my doing,” he panted. “Yes, it was,” she said without looking up.
“Let me help you.” “I can manage.”
Luke picked up her books by the strap bound tightly around them. “I’m really sorry, honestly.”
“And I said I could manage.” She stoodup and reached for her books – pulling them from his outstretched hand as her eyes turned downward to check the damage on her clothing. She used the other hand to wipe dirt and leaves from her white sweater and black checkered skirt.
“You’ve got mud all over your skirt. Can I give you my shirt so you can clean it off?” he started to pull up on his white cotton jersey.
“A rich white boy taking off his shirt to hand to a poor colored girl in the middle of the Quad? No thanks.” She finished brushing herself off and looked up into Luke’s face.
Their eyes locked only briefly. She found herself looking up at the 6’2” point guard. Luke smiled at her before glancing uncomfortably back up the hill. He felt horrible about what he had caused.
“Do you have time to go back to Munford to get changed?” he said.
“I don’t know what is more amusing to me, the fact that you think I have an abundance of nice clothing, or the fact that you think I am allowed to live in the dormitory.” she had just about gotten herself together and was turning to head up the walk.
“I didn’t mean anything by it,” he said. “I’m just igno- rant, I guess.”
“I guess so,” she smiled at him ever so slightly.
“I know we will be great friends,” Luke said slyly.
“Since there isn’t much chance of us running in the same circles, I don’t need to worry about that too much,” she start- ed to walk away.
“Are you a student here?” he asked. “Of course, I am.”
“I’m a student too…that’s at least one circle,”
“Our circles would have to be concentric,” she said. “Don’t try to trick me with your Geometry talk,” Luke
laughed.
The dark-haired beauty left Luke standing where he was and started to shuffle through the leaves and up the side- walk toward the UVA Hospital. Another brisk breeze came through and leaves flew up between them.
“My name is Luke. What’s yours?” he called after her. “Doesn’t matter,” she said.
“Come on – I told you mine.”
She turned to look at him and to enforce her point she clearly pronounced each word, “It…doesn’t… matter.”
Luke looked up the walkway and into her soft brown eyes, “I hope you have a fantastic day, Emmaline Foster.”
She glared back at him.
“You wrote it on your notebook,” he said.
Emmaline cringed as soon as she said, “My mother wrote
it!”
Luke almost fell over laughing as Emmaline spun around
and scurried up the sidewalk.
Luke turned, and smiling, ran up the hill toward his dorm.
