A door across from the pantry entry likely housed a smaller closet with fine china and silver. On the right side was a narrow door that would have to lead to the dining room.

  Halloway took notice of her scan. “You didn’t see the door in the dining room because it’s covered with the same wallpaper as the room, and that side has no handle. It only opened if a butler of old served food.”

  “Very elegant.” Among her churning thoughts was that if the house had been a stop on the Underground Railroad, it could have many hiding places.

  She backed out of the pantry and nodded toward the wide door that likely went to a cellar. “You must have a huge cellar. I’ve heard talk that this house was used for the Underground Railroad.”

  “If you listen to local wags, some people think that. I asked my parents several times, and each time they said no.”

  “That’s too bad. It means there isn’t any house left on Meadow Mountain, that I know of, that served as a station.”

  Halloway leaned against a granite counter. “Most houses of that period are long gone. I had always heard that the family closest to this property, the Hurders, helped a number of people. I don’t know that it was true.”

  "So, no one up here was a slave owner?”

  “I didn’t say that. My family was not. The Hurders had a blacksmith shop on the property and a small one in town, in the area that’s now the town square. I’m told they had a few men who worked on that, all members of one family.”

  Digger frowned. “Odd that they would help slaves escape if they had some.”

  “What I’ve heard is that the Hurders promised the men freedom but asked them to stay as sort of a cover for their work to help others escape.”

  “That sounds like a romanticized version of bondage.” She would have to check census information for the Hurder family. If the slaves were all men, that would not shed light on Holly’s great, great grandmother.

  Halloway turned toward the front of the house. “I suppose so. During the Civil War, this was hardly a well-populated mountain. It wouldn’t have been impossible to sneak down the mountain and hop on one of the boxcars with supplies for the Union Army.”

  AS SHE DROVE HOME, Digger reflected on her conversation with Hamil Halloway. He’d been polite, cordial even. But she didn’t see any signs of pain or loss when he talked about his daughter and granddaughter. It had been a long time, of course.

  She didn’t know what she had expected to learn by visiting him. Yes, she did. Something about Cherry. If she died in that log, someone must have removed her body.

  Halloway had been twelve years younger then. Had he roamed the property looking for them? But why not say if he found the little girl’s body?

  Her cell phone buzzed as she turned into the Ancestral Sanctuary’s long drive. She glanced at it. Maryann Montgomery. She stopped the car and answered. “How’s my favorite senior citizen?”

  “I bet you say that to all the girls.”

  Digger laughed. “What’s up?”

  “I’ve been listening. There was a lot of talk today about Marty’s article about the Halloway disappearances.”

  Digger put her Jeep in park. “What kind of talk?”

  One of the men at my lunch table had a daughter in the same high school class. I didn’t get her name, his is Cornell.”

  “First or last?”

  “First. I should know his last name, but I don’t. Anyway, he said that this Samantha had never gotten along with her parents, especially her father. After her mother died, Samantha thought about leaving the area. I guess she got some insurance. She wanted away from her old man, that was the phrase Cornell used.”

  “Her mother had been dead for more than a year. I wonder why she didn’t go?”

  “Cornell said it could have been gossip, but that her father wanted that little girl to stay. He said he’d get the court to assign him guardianship.”

  “Good Lord. I haven’t heard anything like that before.”

  “And it doesn’t really make any difference at this point, does it?”

  Digger thought for a moment. “It could have given Samantha a strong reason to leave and her father a stronger reason to try to force her to stay.”

  “True, but surely someone would have heard from her if she were still alive.”

  “I think so, too. She would have eventually run out of any insurance money.”

  “And as a mother, she would have wanted her daughter’s killer brought to justice,” Mary Ann said.

  Unless she did it, Digger thought.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  THE ANCESTRAL SANCTUARY WAS oddly quiet when Digger unlocked the front door. Not even Bitsy came to greet her. She flipped on the front hallway light, walked past the living room, and looked through the dining room to the door at the back of the kitchen.

  Bitsy and Ragdoll sat facing the back door, which told Digger that Uncle Benjamin and Cherry were probably outside. But Bitsy wouldn’t know that. Or had he come to sense Uncle Benjamin? No, more likely he was simply there because Ragdoll was.

  “You two don’t come to greet the person who feeds you?”

  Bitsy yipped and padded toward her and Ragdoll stood on her hind legs, paws on the door to the back porch.

  “Okay, you can go out.” She opened the door and they both raced into the yard. She followed more slowly and surveyed the area, finally locating Uncle Benjamin and Cherry in the family plot. Ghosts in a graveyard?

  She shook her head and was about to go inside when she remembered coming home a few days ago to find Bitsy in the yard. How had he gotten out? Surely Uncle Benjamin would have mentioned if he or Cherry could open a door.

  Puzzled, Digger put a pot on the stove to boil water for spaghetti and pulled a plastic bowl of frozen sauce from the freezer. Maryann’s information bothered her. She’d never thought Samantha left in anger and stayed hidden, certainly not with her daughter dead. Could she have killed her? Would that be why Cherry’s memories were so foggy?

  She glanced at the kitchen clock. Marty would probably be home by now. She called from the house phone.

  “I know this isn’t Benjamin Browning, so hello, Digger.”

  She almost dropped the phone. “I forgot the phone was still in his name. You get a lot of reaction to your article?”

  “Not really. After this amount of time, it isn’t something I’d expect people to pay much attention to.”

  “I talked to Maryann this afternoon. She said it was a topic of conversation at her dinner table at the senior apartments.”

  Marty yawned. “Anything earth shattering?”

  “A man whose daughter went to high school with Samantha said she was thinking about leaving the area, but her father threatened to try to get guardianship of Cherry.”

  “Huh. Who said that?”

  “Maryann said his first name is Cornell, but she forgets his last.”

  “Not a common name. Just a minute.”

  Digger heard his fingers clicking on a keyboard, then he opened and closed a drawer.

  When he got back on, Marty sounded more interested. “I searched an online database we subscribe to. No one with a last name of Cornell in Maple Grove, but there’s a Cornell Grafton. Ring any bells?”

  “Samantha’s friend Maybelle’s name was Grafton. Does he live at the senior apartments?”

  “Just a phone number for him, so maybe. How did you know her friend’s name?”

  “Franklin didn’t know Samantha. She was younger. He remembered just the name Maybelle as a girl Samantha might have hung around with. Only one Maybelle was in the high school yearbook the same year as Samantha.”

  Marty was silent for several seconds. “Did you talk to this Maybelle Grafton?”

  “She’s Maybelle Myers now, and she lives in Hagerstown. I called her.”

  “Why? Digger, are you getting kind of obsessed with this?”

  And there it was again. Because Marty didn’t know about Uncle Benjamin finding Cherry, she couldn’t be honest about why she wanted to find out what happened to Samantha Halloway. “Like I told you at dinner the other day, it bugs me that she was here one day and then vanished. It shouldn’t be that way.”

  “It’s unnerving, I’ll give you that. But it was a long time ago. What are you trying to find?”

  Her turn to be silent for a moment. “I’m not sure. I’m looking at marriage records in other states, things like that. It’s not likely she did a DNA analysis, and, anyway, I wouldn’t have any way to compare it to her father.”

  “I guess people find long-lost relatives that way. Good luck. Probably see you next week around town.” He hung up.

  His clipped goodbye irritated Digger, but she understood his annoyance with her. She felt no less frustrated by trying to appreciate Marty’s perspective.

  Bitsy’s barks interrupted her thoughts, and she went to the back porch. He sat by the bottom step, half covered in pine needles and dirt, tongue hanging out, seeming proud of himself about something.

  “Stay.” Digger grabbed a kitchen towel from where it hung on the oven door and returned to the dog. “Sit still while I brush you off.”

  He yipped and tried to lick her arm. When she finished, he took off toward the burn barrel.

  “Come back here! I’m not cleaning you again.” She glanced around the yard. Uncle Benjamin and Ragdoll stood next to the burn barrel, so that probably explained Bitsy’s antics.

  As she started toward them, Digger realized Uncle Benjamin was peering into the barrel. She knew she hadn’t burned anything but brush, so couldn’t imagine his interest. Then she drew closer and could hear him.

  “I know you don’t feel dirty, Cherry, but it’s not a good place for hide and seek. Look at all the ashes in the bottom.” He suddenly looked up. “Come back down now.”

  Digger stopped. She’d never seen Uncle Benjamin do more than float just off the ground. “Is she above you?”

  He glanced in her direction and then back up. “She’s learned she can go high. I’ve never tried it.”

  For a second, Digger thought she heard a child laughing, but the sound ended as quickly as it had begun. “I’m going to take Bitsy inside. I’m glad you guys can’t track in dirt.

  AFTER CHERRY WENT UPSTAIRS to read to Ragdoll in her bed, Digger found Uncle Benjamin diving into her pile of research materials on the dining room table.

  He poked his head out of a stack of manila folders. “Did you trace back Holly’s ancestors by where they lived on the mountain?”

  “Some, but I have more to do. I have a question for you.” She gestured. “Come on out of there, would you?”

  He rose from the stack and sat on a blade of the ceiling fan. “I honestly don’t know why she likes to be high up.”

  She patted the table. “The other day when I came home for a few minutes, you were outside with Cherry and Bitsy. How did my dog get out?”

  Uncle Benjamin sat cross-legged on the table. “Cherry said you left the back door open and Bitsy pushed on the screen. I meant to tell you to check the next morning, but I forgot.”

  “I didn’t leave it open. That means Cherry opened the door.”

  “That little vixen.”

  “Do ghost kids act guilty when they tell a lie?”

  “Don’t know. Can’t be something she can do regularly. Just today she kept wanting me to open the refrigerator to see if we had ice cream. She forgets she doesn’t eat. I reminded her she could go in and look around.”

  “So how did Bitsy get back in?”

  “The door was ajar. Bitsy nosed it open.”

  “You’ll have to keep an eye on her. What if she knocked over a candle?”

  Uncle Benjamin sighed, and seemed dejected. “I’ll talk to her more. This is all new to her. Not sure she’s even aware she opened the back porch door.”

  “Come on, we’ll go over some of Holly’s ancestor stuff. That’ll perk you up.”

  She opened the thickest folder and pulled out the handwritten pedigree chart she had fashioned for Holly. “Okay, we have: Holly Barton, not married. Henry Barton, her father, who married Bessie Washington.”

  “And it’s the Washington side that has the questions.”

  “Yes. I’ve looked at some of her Barton background, but she wants to know her mother Bessie’s side.”

  Digger continued. “Bessie Washington was the daughter of Benjamin Washington and your good friend Audrey, maiden name Samuels.”

  “I pity the Samuels,” Uncle Benjamin said.

  “Be polite. Benjamin’s father was Jeremiah Washington, and his wife was Ruth, maiden name Martin.”

  “Last time we talked, you sounded as if you were more certain that Jeremiah’s father was Charles Washington, but you had no idea who his wife was.”

  “Yes, and he appeared to have lived from 1838 to 1892, dying at fifty-four. Seems young to us.”

  “So now what?”

  “I pulled up the will index last time I looked on the computer and found Charles Washington. But the online probate info only names survivors, not the whole will. His wife was Elizabeth and his children, Jeremiah, Rebecca, and Abraham.”

  “All Biblical names.”

  “One census record says he was a preacher. I haven’t determined yet if he had a church. But Elizabeth is such a common name of the time.”

  “And not many marriage records for slaves, unless they were compiled later.”

  “Right. You told me a lot of freed slaves took the last names of their former owners.”

  He nodded. “The historical society has some records of owners who freed their slaves.”

  Digger nodded. “Among the families I found records of were the Hurders, who lived next door to the Halloways. But I haven’t really dug into that yet.”

  “No time like the present.”

  Digger went to Ancestry and pulled up the 1850 and 1860 Census records for Halloway and Hurder families, which were on the same page, in adjoining households. “In both years, the Hurders are blacksmiths. In 1850, they have two adult male slaves in their 30s, a female between 25-30, a girl between 5 and 10, and a boy the same age.”

  “There were two blacksmith shops on the old square, before that 1902 fire took out the north side of it. You can look to see who owned them.”

  “I’ll do that.” Digger felt her excitement rise as she kept reading. “In 1860, the girl child is fifteen, listed with the family as a free person, mixed race.”

  Uncle Benjamin nodded and peered at the computer over Digger’s shoulder. “So maybe that little girl on the 1850 Census was the child of one of the Hurder men. They freed her before 1860.”

  “And if she’s the same child,” Digger pointed at the screen, “her name is Elizabeth Hurder.”

  Uncle Benjamin whistled lightly.

  Digger turned her head. “I didn’t know you could do that.”

  “Cherry taught me.”

  “Great, now it’s a school for ghosts. What do you think?”

  “About the whistling?”

  “No! The child.”

  “I’m just messing with you. I think it’s definitely worth exploring. But…”

  Digger sighed. “How will Holly take it if it’s true and she isn’t all Black?”

  Uncle Benjamin resumed sitting on the table. “Forty or fifty years ago, less in some places, I think it would matter more. Why don’t you tell her you could be cousins?”

  “I’m not sure humor will be the best option when she first finds out.” She yawned. “I need to look for the Hurder family in later censuses. The house isn’t there anymore, you know.”

  “Don’t think there’s been a house on that land for more than a century. You can go to the old plat books and see what you can find.”

  Digger examined a page of the 1850 Census. “This is the first time the Halloway family appears in an Allegany County Census. H. and M. Halloway, no first names. Two kids, Hamil and Alexandra.”

  “So, the name Hamil has been used in prior generations. If you ever go back farther, I bet Hamil was somebody’s maiden name a generation or so back.’

  “Could be. Back then a lot of people married their next-door neighbors. I’ll look for a link, but I don’t really expect it.”

  Uncle Benjamin stretched. “Couldn’t exactly hang out at the mall to meet people.”

  “Nobody does that anymore.”

  “Just trying to help.”

  Digger raised her eyes to the second floor and back to Uncle Benjamin. “I think I’m going to check for Cherry’s raccoon tomorrow. If I find him, you want us to take her up there?”

  “Sure.” He had a hopeful expression and lowered his voice. “And let’s look for her mom, too.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHERRY HAD MENTIONED THE log several times, but since Digger and Marty had left the area soon after Uncle Benjamin found Cherry, Digger had never investigated it. If ghosts were going to be her primary companions, she wanted to understand their world better. And she was genuinely curious to see if the damn raccoon was still there.

  She’d dressed for the gloomy Saturday in brown jeans and a dark green turtleneck. She would hardly be camouflaged, but she wanted to attract the least attention possible as she prowled the area near Samantha and Cherry’s former home.

  Digger took a fanny pack from her bedroom closet. When she got to the kitchen, she added a couple granola bars and a small bottle of water.

  “Going on a trip?”

  “More like a hike.” She lowered her voice. “I want to see if Cherry’s raccoon is still up there. If it is, we can let her see it. If the grouchy thing’s gone, that’s another reason not to take her up to the cottage.”

  Uncle Benjamin looked at the floor and back to Digger. “I don’t like you going up there by yourself. Wish I could be there. And not just because I’m bored silly.”

  Digger leaned against the kitchen table. “Having Cherry here keeps you tied down.”

  He nodded. “Can’t leave her alone. Or I don’t think I should.”