Adrienne Reeves - Sacred Ground

“Whose will?” Was this a new kind of scam? Gabe wondered. At work, in the papers and on television, there were always warnings about the ingenious ways con artists were thinking up to get your money. He didn’t know anything about a great-grandfather.

“Ezekiel Bell was his name. He had a son named Edward who had a son named Booker. Your father, Mr. Bell.”

Moultrie’s voice, quiet yet authoritative, made Gabe sit down at the table with the phone, prepared to give serious attention to what the attorney was saying.

“How do you know all this?” he demanded.

“That’s what I’d like to explain to you, Mr. Bell. I could come to your office on Chambers but I think you’d prefer hearing the details and asking questions in the privacy of your home. When may I come over?”

He even knows where I work, Gabe thought. Maybe he’d better see this guy right away in case there really is something to this will he should know about. “How about tonight? Is that too soon?” he asked.

“That’s fine. Shall we say eight-thirty?”

“Fine. I live at—”

“I know the address, Mr. Bell. See you soon.”

“You’re in someone’s will? Does that mean you’ll get some money?” Drew asked when Gabe told him of the call.

“I don’t know what it means, Drew. I just hope it’s all aboveboard.”

At eight-thirty, as Gabe let Mr. Moultrie in, shook hands, introduced him to Drew and offered him a seat, he felt his skepticism fade away. Tall, his white hair setting off his dark brown skin, his features regular, and his dark eyes shadowed with glasses showing a world of experience, his presence nevertheless displayed a liking for people and a willingness to smile.

“I haven’t been in an apartment like this for years.” He glanced appreciatively at the high ceiling, the built-in bookcases, the tall window overlooking the boulevard, the long hall through which he’d entered. The dark blue sofa and the upholstered chairs were well-worn and comfortable. “They don’t build them like this anymore,” he said.

“I was raised here, so was Drew, and when our parents died, I moved back in.”

“Wise move. I only get to New York occasionally when I have business here. I live in Charlotte, North Carolina. You ever been there?” His glance took in both Gabe and Drew, who were sitting on the sofa.

“Never been south, except once I went to D.C.,” Gabe said. Drew shook his head negatively.

A little smile touched Moultrie’s mouth as he placed his black briefcase on the floor. He settled himself in his chair and straightened his pant legs. His hands steepled, his eyes smiling, he began his story.

“If it’s all right with you, Mr. Bell and Drew, I’ll give you some background on this will. Your great-great-grandfather was Ezekiel Bell Sr. His mother and father had been slaves but he was born free in South Carolina in 1870. All his life he heard stories from his father, Elijah, his grandfather Moses, and other elders who talked about a place that was special to the Africans in that part of South Carolina who’d come from the same area in West Africa. They called it ‘De Land.’ It held a treasure that was linked to where they’d come from.”

He paused but there were no questions. Gabe and Drew made an attentive audience.

“‘De Land,’ they said, was watched over by ‘sperrits’ and the men in the Bell family beginning with Elijah.”

“Did they know exactly where that place was?” Drew asked.

“Yes, but it didn’t belong to them. Getting hold of it and then keeping it was the responsibility of Elijah and his descendants.”

This sounded too much like a script for a Harrison Ford movie to Gabe for him to take it seriously. At least Drew was entertained.

“The stories caught the imagination of your great-grandfather, Ezekiel Bell Jr., and he asked questions about it. He was a smart boy and in his belief, he made ‘De Land’ his life work. He learned to read and write, earned money any way he could and saved every cent. His intuition had led him to ‘De Land.’He’d dreamed about it and recognized it when he saw the remnants of this old plantation in Orangeburg County. He married Sarah who was a hard worker like him and understood his dream.

“Every few years they’d purchase more of the land. As the years went by he found several ways to increase his income. He bought a few acres to raise cows, hogs and even chickens for the market. He learned all about building houses when he built his own, and hired himself out to build for others.

“Meanwhile he and Sarah had a family—Elizabeth, Robert and Edward. Finally he’d purchased fifteen acres, and the special woodland the Africans had spoken about belonged to him.”

“I don’t get it,” Drew said. “What made it special? Did it have oil or something?” He sat forward, his hands on his knees.

“What made it special for him,” Mr. Moultrie explained, “was how the older Africans had felt something mystical about it. They used words he didn’t understand. His father said they meant sacred ground and they said it with reverence.”

Sacred ground? Superstition or a legendary folktale, Gabe had to admit the attorney was spinning an interesting story at this point.

Mr. Moultrie continued. “There was another fact about this sacred ground that was unique. Ezekiel had felt a calling to purchase the property. He knew he couldn’t sell it but had to hold it in trust for a particular person.” He paused.

Gabe felt the hair rise on his arms as Moultrie’s calm gaze rested on him.

“You, Mr. Bell.”

Gabe tried to speak but his mouth was dry. “Me?” he croaked. Drew was looking at him with the same astonishment he was feeling. “How could it be me?”

“Because it had to be passed to the eldest grandson in the sixth generation who carried the Bell name.”

“How am I the sixth?” Gabe was trying to make sense of what he was hearing.

“Elijah Bell began the saga. His son, Ezekiel Sr., was the second generation and Ezekiel Jr. was third. Edward was fourth. Booker, your father, was fifth, and that makes you the sixth.”

“What happened to all the other children who must have been born in six generations?”

“Some died single, some had only daughters, not sons. Do you know of any relatives you have on your father’s side?” Moultrie asked.

Gabe shook his head. “Ma had four sisters and five brothers and most of them had children. Pop always said that was enough family for anyone. When I asked Pop about his family he said there was only his brother, Jacob, but I didn’t even meet him until after Drew was born. He was single and teased Pop about having two sons, one for Pop and one for him,” Gabe reminisced affectionately. Uncle Jake had been a favorite in the family.

He couldn’t sit still any longer. “Excuse me, Mr. Moultrie. Would you care for something to drink? Coffee, tea, juice, water?”

“Water’s fine.”

Gabe took bottled water from the refrigerator, poured some over a glass of ice for Moultrie and grabbed two bottles for him and Drew. He felt like he was in Oz and had to anchor himself with something familiar before he heard the rest of this bizarre story.

“Let me tell you how I came to be involved with this matter,” Moultrie said after he’d sipped some water. “Then we’ll get to the details of the will. I was born and raised in Swinton, South Carolina. Went to university in Columbia and to law school in Philadelphia. Eventually I established my law practice in Charlotte, North Carolina. Once when I happened to be home, I had a surprise call from Ezekiel Bell asking me to do some business for him, which I did. Six months later he told me that had been a test to see if I’d kept his confidence.”