Golden Legacy Web Excerpt

The Shenandoah Valley, Virginia March 20, 1778

Prologue Just past midnight a blustery wind swirled icy snow crystals toward two sentries wrapped in tattered blankets. Muskets by their side, shivering in the bitter cold night, they hovered over the small fire by the church's graveyard gate. Inside the church, General George Washington, and several of his officers were secretly planning the war’s next campaign. “What was that?” Startled, one of the sentries grabbed his musket and pointed it in to the darkness where he thought he heard footsteps crunching down the fresh snow. A white-tailed deer foraging nearby seeing movement in the shadows at the end of the fire's light, bolted, and quickly disappeared into a thicket. “Sounded like a deer, not a Tory,” the other sentry, not wanting to leave the fire's warmth, scoffed. “But I thought I heard something, coming from over there,” the first sentry whispered as he continued to point his musket in the direction of the sound. After a moment, listening, and hearing nothing but wind rustling the branches on a nearby stand of trees, the guard lowered his musket and moved back to warm himself at the fire. “Yeah, you were right it must have been a deer.” Several feet away, hidden against the back of a large oak tree, a deformed figure slowly let out her held breath, her heart thumping. She awaited the soldiers’ departure to complete the final act of her life. Her husband, a doctor, and son, a lieutenant in the Continental army, were killed in the war's first battle. Beneath her cape she could hardly feel her mangled arthritic hands clutching the cold metal strong-box held tightly to her bosom. She must bury the box at the exact place she divulged in a letter that she had posted yesterday to her last blood relative.

She peered out toward the church, careful not to move. Please God, let my tribulations end, she thought knowing if the meeting did not conclude soon, the Reaper would overtake her. And she would join her loved ones before completing her mission. A gust of wind whooshed through the tree limbs blowing loose snow to the ground around her. She set the box on the ground, and choked back a cough with one hand over her mouth. Her shallow breaths burned her lungs, like glowing remnants of charred wood. She took a small bottle from a pocket in her cape and drank the remaining liquid. If it were not for the alcohol that kept her life light fighting to survive, and bolstering her resolve to insure her legacy, she would gladly welcome the end of her mortal existence. She prayed for God to give the soldiers inside the church inspiration to complete their plan. Mostly, she prayed for her life not to end before she could carry out her purpose Sudden loud voices, a door slammed, and a gate creaked. She looked up to the sky through the maze of tree branches, and gave thanks to the Heavens. A moment later, elated, running, alive with acute senses, the pain miraculously departing her body, she felt her prayers had been answered, and God wanted her to succeed.. Not stopping, she turned to watch the eerie green glow of the lanterns fading into the mist. She passed by the sentry fire and through the cemetery gate, and fell to her knees at the headstone of her dear father. Three hours later, with the pain wracking her body, and her energy sapped, she crawled home, painfully climbed the stairs to her bedroom, and collapsed on her soft feather bed. She laid her head back and felt the crisp coolness of the pillow on her cheek. She closed her eyes, and strained to suck as hard as she could to fill her lungs meager capacity with a deep breath. Outside, she heard birds singing. Feeling the warmth of a ray of streaming sunlight that peeked through the window, and

touched her face, she let out the breath, her last, and mumbled… “winter’s end”

Malibu, California March 12, 2011

Chapter One Discovering the remnants of a fish carcass, several seagulls angrily squawked their claims for the tailless morsel. A low tide had provided a wide expanse of hard-packed sand on the usually narrow Malibu, California beach. Several on-lookers fascinated by Jacsen Kidd and Pericles Schmoond laying out long nylon lines, one behind the other and connecting them to two airfoil chutes, waited for the forthcoming flight. Observing the two men, from the deck of Peri's beach-front home while enjoying the rare warmth of a Southern California March day, Nikki Thomas leaned her svelte body over the railing. Her burnt golden hair and amber-flecked green eyes glistened in the late afternoon sun, “Guys, are you sure you really want to do this today?” “Nikki, please give me a reason not to!” Peri pleaded. His first solo flight resulted in a crash into a large hay bale in a South Carolina field. Jac continued to pull Peri's lines into a horseshoe shape. Satisfied, everything was okay, he snapped the locking hook, and fastened it to a motorized harness that would safely carry his

partner’s weight. “Come on, Peri. You know…you really enjoyed your first flight,” Jac teased. “Jac,” Peri whispered, “You promised me on your honor that you wouldn't tell that story to anyone.” “And I won't, but you know…you have to get used to flying,” Jac said as he patted the big man on the back. Jac looked up, and noticed the sun emerge from behind a wispy cloud. “Look Peri, we don't have much daylight left. So let’s have some fun, and get this done. We have a big night ahead of us.” Several close friends, and some new friends who had participated in some way in Jac and Peri's last adventure would arrive later this evening. Peri would change hats. He would keep a tradition that began after their first adventure three years ago, and revert back to what had made him famous. He was renowned as one of the great chefs in the world, and tonight, he would present an end of hunt feast prepared from recipes acquired in the countries and islands he and Jac visited while hunting for clues. Jac snapped on his harness belt, and checked the straps. “I'll go first. You get ready to follow me. You know the drill…Oh, and be sure to check everything twice. Jac was smiling as he turned to watch Peri mulling over his checklist. He knew Peri would go through it at least three times, if not more. “Okay Jac. If I have to fly, I will. Don’t worry. I’ll be right behind you.” Jac bent forward into a takeoff position, and glanced upward toward the deck. Nikki was waving, and threw him a kiss. He blushed, smiled, and waived back. After their recent adventure in Brazil, Jac and Nikki sailed the Golden Adventurer-Jac and Peri's sixty-foot sloop, through the Caribbean to Montego Bay, Jamaica. On their flight home to California, Jac found an article in the airlines in-flight magazine about power-chuting. He was

certain of the benefits and excited about the possibilities when he read the motors and chutes were portable, and could be packed and carried anywhere as luggage. Over clear water the power-chutes would enable them to fly high enough to pick up most anomalies detected by the sub-scanners and bottom profilers on the boat. Jac checked the nylon airfoil canopy and the Kevlar lines leading to his backpack motor and seat harness. “I'm not feeling good about this. Take a good look at this body of mine, Jac. Do you really think God intended for me to fly,” Peri asserted? “You’re not really going to try and land on a moving boat?” Peri said shaking his head. “Once we get the hang of flying on a chute, maybe we both will. Right now Dad is building a platform from the specs I sent him. He's fitting the Golden Adventurer with a net at the end to catch us if we go too far,” Jac smiled, “Don't worry compadre; it'll be a piece of cake.” “Yeah right Jac,” Peri muttered, “Devil's food.” Jac had pictured the maneuver in his mind – Near the front of their sixty foot sail boat a collapsible aluminum platform was fitted to extend out from the starboard side eight feet, affording a platform twelve foot in length with taut netting at the end to prevent spilling over into the ocean. And flat aluminum rods could be placed behind the platform to catch the chute after a landing. Jac thought the principle was sound, but the proof would be in the first landing. Peri snapped the harness buckle lock, and pointed his power pack up so as not to fill the canopy draped behind him with air. “Okay here goes,” Peri said as he pressed the starter button. The engine kicked over, coughed once, and sputtered. Peri pushed the throttle forward to full, and the tenor of the engine changed to a loud hum. When he pulled the throttle back to kill the engine, Jac saw a look of

determination on his partner’s face. So far, Peri had executed the pre-flight checklist to perfection. He turned towards Jac, and signaled a thumb up sign. The late afternoon sun dipped behind a lone cloud drifting lazily across the indigo sky. “Think positive, we can do it,” Jac said. “The only thing I am positive about is that I’m built like a cannon ball and could sink our ship,” Peri muttered. “Don’t worry compadre,” Jac said, “We will become skilled to landings on land,before we even attempt a boat landing. Okay, we're ready.” Jac snapped the buckle on his harness, tightened the strap on his helmet, checked the radio built into the headgear that would allow them to communicate, and started the engine. Careful it would not blow the outstretched canopy; he bent forward while revving the engine to warm it. After bringing the engine back to idle, Jac gripped the brake-toggle with his right hand, and 'A' lines in his other hand. Holding the 'A' lines down would allow the airfoil holes to trap and fill the canopy with air. Jac began his take off run. He made sure, he stayed centered as he watched the airfoil fill and rise, like a kite. Once it was over his head, he let go of the 'A' lines and gunned the engine. Soaring out over the water, he quickly gained altitude. Right behind Jac, looking like a large bomber aircraft lumbering down a sand runway, Peri’s airfoil lifted off the ground, and popped up. When it was centered above him, Jac watched Peri start the engine, gun the throttle, and go airborne. Jac let out his held breath when he heard his partner’s loud whoop over the radio. Flying side by side both men were exhilarated from the bird-like feeling of conquest over the sky, and felt giddy. They looked over at each other, let out a roar, and grinned.

The Hathaway Mansion Near Winchester, Virginia March 21, 2011

Chapter Two It began after the reading of Victoria Hathaway’s will yesterday morning. Doctor Abigail Hathaway-Chance was about to leave the parlor of her family’s Shenandoah Valley manor house with the several people who had been given devises and bequests from her mother’s will, and partake of the many casseroles and cakes brought by her family’s many friends. The ordeal of the funeral, and exhaustion from several hours of surgery preceding the call informing Abigail of her mother’s passing, had taken its toll. Dark circles appeared under Abigail’s usually radiant light blue eyes. She was thirty years old, and her alabaster complexion showed stress lines from the intensity of the last week. Her mother’s death was unexpected. Only last week her mother called to tell her she had a complete physical exam, and had passed, “with flying colors.” A myocardial infarction, the doctor told her. He couldn’t believe it, and said when a neighbor found her mother sitting in the parlor her face showed terror, like something or someone severely frightened her. And it blew her heart out like a flat tire. Out of the corner of her eye, Abigail saw the Reverend Kincaid approaching her with a look of grave concern on his face. She stepped back as he moved closer. He usually appeared from nowhere, when you least expected it, like an apparition.

She always thought of him as resembling

Washington Irving’s bumbling character, Ichobod Crane. And, as a child, he scared her with his

sermons of fire and damnation. Gave her the creeps! She had nightmares of him as a monster from hell, bald, with coal black eyes looking down from his six foot five scrawny frame eager to snatch sinners for the devil’s fire. She felt a sudden chill. “Doctor Chance, I must have a word with you, privately. It’s of the utmost importance,” Kincaid whispered. He was so close she could feel his breath as she looked up into his lifeless eyes, “It will have to wait until later Reverend,” Abigail said politely, “Right now I have guests to attend to.” Without saying a word, Kincaid abruptly turned and left the room. “He is a strange one.” Shaking his head, Jackson L. Purdy, her mother’s lawyer, and family friend alleged. Purdy had remained seated at the large oak table as the last of the beneficiaries finished their chit chat, and left to partake in the many cakes and casseroles laid out buffet style in the next room. “He gives me the chills.” “Me too,” Purdy said as he picked up his tattered old brown briefcase.. “Please. Won’t you stay and have something to eat? Purdy courteously declined. He looked around the room, turned toward Abigail, and whispered for her not to be alarmed. “We still have some business to discuss that can’t wait. Can we go somewhere where we won’t be interrupted?”

“Yes, of course Mr. Purdy.” Abigail thought it curious that he was being so covert. He had been her mother’s lawyer ever since her father died twenty years ago. Her mother trusted him, so of course, she would. “Excuse me for a moment,” As Abigail stepped into the parlor to ask her sister-in-law Roni to host the guests until her return, she felt the Reverend Kincaid’s eyes following her every move. She led Purdy upstairs to the sewing room where she and her mother had spent a lot of their time together. Abigail thought she could still hear the bobbin as she approached the door remembering the many days spent after school lying on the plush carpet in front of the fireplace, either doing her homework while her mother sewed, or listening to the stories of her family’s history. The old bible sat on the table next to where her mother always sat. It contained the family tree drawn into its front cover that had provided many a day of juicy drama with her mother’s stories of their ancestors.

Strewn with pieces of garments, patchwork quilting squares, a dress mannequin, threading, and an old black and gold colored a sewing machine with foot treadles, the area was in disarray. It was just as Abigail remembered. The lawyer walked immediately to the room’s closet door and abruptly opened it. After carefully checking behind the hanging clothes, and finding no one lurking in the shadows at the back of the closet, he was satisfied they were alone. He excused his caution with a smile. He reached into his briefcase, pulled out a clear flat plastic case and held it out, almost reverently, for Abigail to take. He said the case held a very old letter, her mother had found many years ago, written by her ancestor in

the late eighteenth century. He explained he had been instructed to give it to her after the reading of her mother’s will was concluded, and advise her, it was for her eyes only. Then he reached down into the briefcase again, fumbled around for a moment before finding what he was searching for, and pulled out a plain white envelope that had Abigail’s name on it. Abigail immediately recognized her mother’s beautiful cursive handwriting. “Abi, I’ve been instructed to have you read this note from your mother, before opening the plastic case with your ancestor’s letter,” he said handing the note to Abigail, “She directed me to have you open it in my presence. Your mother’s note will explain, not only the contents of the old letter in the plastic case, but will also reveal facts you should become aware of, before you delve into your ancestor’s revelations, which your mother said you certainly would.” Abigail smiled. Under the watchful eyes of Mr. Purdy, Abigail ripped open the envelope, and began reading. The first paragraph said how much her mother loved her, and how proud she was of Abigail for following her dream to become a doctor. The next paragraph was about how her mother found the old letter hidden under a floor board in her bedroom years before Abigail was born. And how she wanted to share its contents with Abi over the years, but had hesitated knowing it could change Abi’s life with its revelations, and chose not to reveal its existence until after she passed away. “I don’t know if the old letter states the truth or if it is merely the delusions of a silly woman.” Whether the revelation was real or not Abigail’s mother was adamant that she never divulge the contents of the letter to anyone, except those Abigail could really trust. Her mother’s note ended with a post-script., “And, Abigail, never, never tell the Reverend Kincaid the letter exists, or inadvertently give away to him anything that is revealed in the letter.”

Abigale was thinking, why, and her thoughts reflected back on Kincaid’s history with her family. When she was ten, her father Lucas Hathaway drowned while sailing from Nantucket to Charleston in a yacht race. He was a doctor, just as his father, and father’s father were. Besides being a renowned surgeon, Lucas was an adventurer. He and Abigail’s mother were very much in love, and had the classic boy and girl next door relationship. Both went to the University of Virginia, and both could trace their roots back to colonial times. After Lucas died, the Reverend Kincaid came around so often, her mother purposely would not answer the door if she knew it was him coming to call. Abigail began to think of the Reverend, with his condescending attitude, as a leach. Over the years, he would try to pry more money from her mother, not for the church, but for his own profit. Her mother would say he was harmless, and pass off his continual presence. He even asked her to marry him, to which her reply was a laugh in his face. Yet, why did he show up at the reading of the will. He personally received nothing, but the church received a generous amount, set up in a trust administered by Mr. Purdy, to be used for the poor. Abigail was thinking that the old letter might lend some truth to the rumor that the Hathaway’s were related to a notorious pirate, and maybe that was why the Reverend Kincaid was always snooping around?. “Do you hear voices?” Purdy whispered. “Yes,” Abigail reached for the door, and abruptly opened it. Her sister in law, Roni, stood in front of Kincaid like a NFL linebacker, blocking him from the stairway.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Uh..I just wanted to say… I was leaving, and… ask if I could have a moment of your time.”Kincaid stuttered. “I told you I was busy,” Abigail glared at Kincaid, “I’ll try and see you at the church tomorrow.” Abigail and Purdy watched Roni reluctantly step aside to let Kincaid to the stairs, and when they heard the front door close, Roni said, “I caught him listening at the sewing room door and asked him what he wanted. What’s going on Abi?” “I’ll tell you later Sis….and thanks.”