“Mmm. In 1870, for some of them. Before that, it would only have the owners’ names, and then ages and sex of the slaves.”

  “Right, but if you look at the 1850 and 1860 Censuses, write down the names of the owners. Sometimes freed slaves adopted those names. Allegany County, of course. Garrett wasn’t formed until 1872.”

  Digger sighed. “I guess I find it all so deplorable I haven’t worked on it as much as I should.”

  “But Holly’s your friend, so you’ll do it. Even if it does lead you to her ornery grandmother.”

  Digger smiled. “You just crossed swords with Audrey Washington because she argued with you sometimes at the historical society.”

  “That woman wanted to conduct historical society meetings even if I was in charge.” His eyebrows went up and he grinned. “And that brings me back to the Underground Railroad.”

  “How so? Oh, conduct, conductors, railroad.”

  “Right. It wasn’t just white people who helped slaves escape to Pennsylvania. You should look for names of Black folks.”

  “Because maybe her ancestors helped other slaves escape?”

  “Or provided help to travelers. At least worth looking at. Maybe some of the Western Maryland historical libraries have letters or diaries -- enough that you could piece things together.”

  “Sounds like a job for a man with a lot of time on his hands.”

  “Could be, but somebody’d have to take him to those libraries, or bring home some material.”

  “I see your ulterior motive now.”

  “I could stay here some days and work on it. If I had the right books to dive into.”

  Digger smiled. He couldn’t turn pages, but somehow he could plunge into books and look around. “A lot of the material is online, or at least indexed online. I can’t check out old reference items, but I’ll look for some and make copies for you.”

  “An efficient young woman could get on that by Monday, when she goes into town to work.”

  “Okay. The efficient woman hears you. I want to get back to the census data.”

  Though all of the census data was on Ancestry, Digger had paper copies of the 1850-1870 Allegany County and the 1880 Garrett County Censuses. In 1850, Maple Grove had a smattering of families in the area.

  Digger knew from local history accounts that the town had grown around a grain mill and a blacksmith shop, two essential businesses on the frontier. In rapid succession a dry good store, two churches, and a lumber mill followed.

  Small farms surrounded the growing town. The rocky terrain and short growing season meant agriculture had never produced much more than food needed for people in the area. Until the twentieth century, anyway.

  Digger looked for White families named Washington in 1850 and 1860 and found two, each of which had very few slaves. By current roads, the two families were roughly three miles apart, and there was no indication that they were blood relations.

  By 1870, there were also three Black families with the Washington name in the same area. Digger didn’t like to jump to conclusions, but the ages of the children and adults in the three new families correlated to those of the slaves in the 1860 Census – plus some new children under ten years of age.

  She’d never heard Holly say where she thought the Washington name came from. She likely didn’t know, but Digger would ask her on Monday.

  MARTY CALLED SUNDAY MORNING to say he would head back to The Knob about eleven. “The sun should give at least a little more warmth mid-day. You coming?”

  Digger had made the trek many times, but she was less interested in the hike and cottage than who she’d be walking with. “Sure. Meet in that small parking lot at the trailhead?”

  “I could swing by and get you.”

  Digger thought for a few seconds. “No, I need to stop in town to get groceries afterwards. I’ll meet you in the lot.”

  “I thought this guy you know might take you to the Coffee Engine after the hike.”

  She laughed. “Work’s been so busy I have three loads of laundry and a bunch of branches to stack near the burn barrel.”

  The first spring rainstorm had littered the Ancestral Sanctuary’s lawn and vegetable garden with all the dead limbs the trees had held onto over the winter.

  “I should be insulted.”

  “How about grabbing a bite after work Monday?”

  “Sounds like a plan. I’ll see you in the lot at eleven.”

  Digger glanced at the clock on the counter microwave. Nine AM. Plenty of time to throw in some laundry and grab at least one batch of sticks and branches before she left.

  She turned to find Uncle Benjamin sitting cross-legged on the red, Formica-topped kitchen table, his favorite spot. “I’d say I didn’t hear you come in, but I never do.”

  “If you’re taking your own car, it’ll be easier for me to come on the hike.”

  “Will you walk ahead or behind us, and not offer commentary?”

  He adopted an expression of feigned affront. “Anyone else would value my skills as a tour guide.”

  “Anyone else would know not to interrupt other people’s conversations.”

  Ragdoll hopped onto the table and settled in next to him. Digger felt certain the cat strongly sensed his presence. Bitsy was sometimes confused if Uncle Benjamin passed near him, but Ragdoll followed him around just as she did when he was alive.

  He petted her, which the cat never acknowledged. Digger wasn’t sure if it was typical feline aloofness or if she couldn’t tell he touched her.

  Uncle Benjamin looked to Digger. “I heard you and Holly talking about remodeling Aunt Clara’s kitchen.”

  She took in the cabinets and worn countertops, installed when the kitchen was ‘modernized’ in the 1940s. “It’s dated, and I’d like a dishwasher…”

  He waved a hand. “I meant to do it the last few years. Lots of unused space, and the floor’s worn.”

  Digger waited. She knew he had a point. Old farm-style kitchens generally served as a family’s main eating space, and had a lot of open area, meant to hold a large table and chairs. She wanted to put counters on an additional wall and install an island.

  “Any chance you’ll leave my table?”

  She smiled. “You don’t want me to donate it to the historical society?”

  He grunted. “Audrey wouldn’t let you bring it through the door.”

  “I’m kidding. I’ll take out the leaf and probably have the metal trim refinished.” She pointed toward the wall that abutted the dining room. “It’ll go right there. New chairs, though.”

  Uncle Benjamin stroked Ragdoll again. “Hear that? We aren’t being evicted.”

  DIGGER WAVED AS SHE got out of her Jeep in the parking lot below The Knob.

  Uncle Benjamin – sporting hiking boots, shorts, and a battered hat and fishing vest – floated ahead as she moved toward Marty. “I’ll give him a smooch as I go by.”

  Without moving her lips, she said, “Don’t you dare.” She wouldn’t be able to keep a straight face. It was hard enough not to laugh at Uncle Benjamin’s skinny legs in high-end hiking boots.

  Marty leaned into his car and took his camera off the front seat. As he locked the door, he called, “Where’s Bitsy?”

  “I took her out right before I left. She’s good for a few hours.” She fell into step beside him as they started toward the wide trail. “She’d be a distraction if you wanted to take some serious pictures.”

  “Good point.” Marty took her hand. “How come you didn’t bring your camera?”

  “Probably not something Holly and I would use in any promotional ads we design. Not a good example of the housing stock if the Chamber of Commerce is trying to attract new businesses.”

  “I see your point. The historical society wasn’t open, so I went into the newspaper’s archives last night.”

  “You went to your office?”

  He shook his head. “We reporters have secret codes to get into the computer system remotely.”

  “Funny. You read about the cottage?”

  “More specifically, the disappearance of the woman and her child twelve years ago.”

  “I remembered the family name. Halloway, I think.”

  From ahead, Uncle Benjamin’s voice floated to them. “You should give me credit.”

  “Yep. Hamil Halloway. Odd name.”

  “What was the daughter’s name?”

  “She was, or I suppose still could be, Samantha, and the child was Cherry.”

  “Was her name still Halloway?”

  “It seems so. She and the little girl lived alone in the cottage. None of the articles mentioned a husband or boyfriend.”

  Digger let go of his hand to snap a branch that hung over the edge of the path. “If you really get into it, I could check some of the genealogy websites for marriages or anything else that relates to her.”

  “I thought they only had information on dead people.”

  “You could tell him about dead people you know.”

  “Some public records are there, like marriages.”

  “That’d be good. What relatively little I found made it sound like they didn’t do a real thorough search for her.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Her father made appeals, the sheriff had signs and they posted them throughout the county. Local TV picked up on it. But there was no big canvass of the woods or any large, general search.”

  “They thought she ran away?” Digger asked.

  “I picked up that idea. People who talked about seeing her the last day she was around said she seemed cheerful, happier than usual. None of the traditional signs of foul play, as the cops say.”

  “So they think she left on her own.”

  “Yep. She didn’t take a lot with her, but enough that it seemed she packed an overnight bag, or something similar. For herself and her daughter.”

  “That poor family.”

  “Yeah, her father offered a reward and put ads in our paper and some others.”

  Digger thought for a moment. “So, your interest in the cottage isn’t solely architectural?”

  He grinned. “You never know, she could turn up. I’ll have good photos of the cottage before they take the boards off the windows.”

  They concentrated on the uphill climb for a minute.

  Uncle Benjamin came back toward them. “Slowpokes. I’ll beat you up there by a longshot.”

  Digger ignored him and jutted her chin forward. “The cottage is just ahead, in the trees on the left.”

  “Huh. Now I get why I didn’t see it on the way up last time. When you’re walking up, those fallen logs kind of draw your attention.” Marty took his camera strap off his shoulder.

  Digger glanced at the two logs, which sat across one another, like a giant X. “Tic tac toe.”

  “Yep.” Marty stopped and looked down through his camera’s screen. “Better lighting out here, but I guess the cottage won’t move onto the path.”

  A laugh came from behind them, and a man’s voice said, “I’ve been trying to get my wife to let me peer into that cottage. She says there’s probably poison ivy.”

  They turned. A couple of perhaps thirty approached, with a baby forward facing in a harness on the man’s chest. The woman’s bright red, floppy hat, would be a beacon for bird droppings.

  Marty grinned. “My wife has given me permission to take pictures.”

  Uncle Benjamin peered from behind Marty’s shoulder. “That’s a good one.”

  Digger forced a smile. “Actually, he tends to ask forgiveness rather than permission.”

  The two people stopped a few feet from them. Digger thought she recognized the curly-haired man, and he cocked his head at her. “Do you work with Holly Barton?”

  She smiled. “I do. Digger Browning.” In the post-COVID tradition, she did a four-fingered wave.

  “And I’m Marty Hofstedder.” He bent down and scrunched his nose at the baby.

  “Oh, sure,” the woman said. “We haven’t met, but I know your faces from around town. I’m Regina and this is Tyler. We just bought the laundromat downtown.”

  Marty stood. “Duds ‘n Suds. I saw you bought an ad about taking over the place. I plan to come by next week to talk to you guys.”

  Tyler grinned and nodded to Digger. “Great. We changed the name to that because of the ad campaign Holly designed for the last owners, just before they sold to us.”

  She’d have to remember to tell Holly. They’d both worked on the ads, but the fun tagline had come from her partner. “How’s business?”

  “Good. We’re closed Monday and Tuesday,” Regina said. “Then we can have a grand reopening on Wednesday.”

  Tyler grinned. “We’re having the place painted Monday and bringing in a bunch of rolling laundry carts customers can use. Then we can raise the prices a little.”

  Regina slapped him playfully on the arm. “You aren’t supposed to say stuff like that.”

  “I promise not to mention your Machiavellian tendencies in an article,” Marty said.

  The baby fidgeted and whimpered. Regina ruffled his hair. “We have to keep our little guy moving.”

  Digger and Marty stood to one side of the path so they could pass.

  “What’s the baby’s name?” she asked.

  “Doogie,” Regina said.

  “Douglas,” Tyler added. “Doogie could get you a punch on the playground.”

  They laughed and walked past, heading for The Knob.

  “It’ll be all over town that you two eloped.” Uncle Benjamin turned to follow the couple.

  They let Regina and Tyler get out of earshot.

  Digger pretended to scowl deeply. “Your wife?”

  Marty grinned. “It isn’t a formal proposal.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Come on. Let’s get your pictures.”

  For the next ten minutes, Marty took photos of the cottage from several angles and distances. Getting an image of the entire cottage was tough because of trees and the variegated lighting that poked through them.

  Digger kept moving around and finally found a good spot. “Come over here. If I hold back this branch you can get a better shot.”

  Marty tromped over. “My feet are turning into ice clods.”

  From the path, Uncle Benjamin called, “Wimp.”

  Digger grinned. “You’re almost done, aren’t you?” She put her foot on a log to steady herself while she reached above her head.

  Marty’s back was to her. “Yeah, I want to get a couple more of…”

  A hissing noise told them they had passed too close to the raccoon. Digger looked behind her as she pulled back the branch. “Hello, Mr. Bandit. We’ll be gone soon.”

  Marty kept peering through his lens.

  The raccoon stood on his hind legs and hissed again, more gutturally this time.

  “Oh my God!” Uncle Benjamin rushed toward them.

  “What?” She almost let go of the branch and Marty ducked.

  “Is it rabid? Are you hurt?”

  She tried not to show she was breathing harder. “Sorry. It moved and startled me, that’s all.”

  “Okay. I like my eyesight.” He brought the camera into position again.

  Digger’s eyes traveled down the path, following Uncle Benjamin as he ran toward her car. He appeared to be cradling something in his arms, and it looked a lot bigger than a solid raccoon.

  CHAPTER THREE

  DIGGER HELD ONTO THE branch but turned her head to follow Uncle Benjamin’s progress. His transparent image faded among the trees and then vanished from her sight. Marty, eyes on the cottage and his camera, didn’t pay attention to her.

  The raccoon had dropped to all fours and waddled onto the path. He seemed to stare in the direction Uncle Benjamin had run.

  Her thoughts raced. While her uncle had to stay at the Ancestral Sanctuary or with her, nothing in the theoretical ghost handbook said he had to be within a certain distance.

  Digger turned toward Marty again, to find him staring at her.

  “What is it? You look like you’re going to throw up or something.”

  She forced a smile. “I’ll try to miss your shoes. I thought I heard someone on the path behind us. Guess it was my imagination.”

  He removed the camera strap from around his neck. “Hold onto my camera for a minute.”

  She took it. “How much can I get for this at a pawn shop?”

  “Funny.” He pointed to his right. “I think I can climb a few feet up that tree. I’d like to get a couple shots from a higher angle.” He started toward the tree.

  How long did she have to stay by the cottage? Surely Marty had enough pictures. She told herself to relax. It wasn’t as if Uncle Benjamin could trip and kill himself.

  Marty stood beneath the white pine and reached up to pull on a low-hanging branch. “Feels sturdy enough.” He grabbed for that branch with his left hand and grasped another two feet from it with his right.

  Digger stood still as he hefted himself up to the lower of the two branches and lifted one leg over it. He leaned against the tree trunk and reached down to her.

  “I think I can stay balanced enough to get good shots.”

  She moved the few feet to him and handed him the camera. “Steady up there.”

  Marty didn’t look down. “Thanks.” He brought the camera to his face and pressed a button so the view screen popped out. For several seconds he looked at it, then at the cottage, then back to the view finder. He began snapping pictures moving the camera and his head slightly after every couple of snaps.

  After less than half-a-minute, voices came toward them from the direction of The Knob. Since it was April, there were fewer people hiking than later in the spring. It had to be Regina and Tyler. Absurdly, Digger wondered if the young couple and their baby would get to Uncle Benjamin before she did.

  Above her, Marty called, “Take the camera, will you?”

  Digger reached up, took it, and quickly stepped back. Marty half jumped and half fell out of the tree, but landed on his feet. “Got a few good shots, I think.”

  “And you didn’t break a leg.” Digger feigned a chill and rubbed her upper arms. “Kind of cool down here on the ground. Did you get enough pictures?”