The Caged Graves by Dianne K. Salerni Page B

and knifing people—”
    Annie exclaimed, “Hattie!”
    Verity laughed. “I don’t know the story, but that does sound like what they were playing.”
    â€œIt was part of the Battle of Wyoming, in the War for Independence,” Carrie said.
    â€œI learned about it at school.” Verity cast her mind back. “As I recall, we lost.”
    â€œThe Americans were ambushed and routed,” Hattie confirmed. “Afterward the British ordered the Indians to burn all the homesteads in the area.”
    â€œThe Indians were working with the British?”
    â€œIndeed. Mohawks, mostly,” said Carrie. “With French blood. They had a score to settle with the Americans.”
    â€œDutch blood, too,” put in Hattie.
    â€œNot Dutch,” Annie corrected.
    Hattie pursed her lips. “Yes, Dutch. I know there’s Vanderpooles in that line.”
    â€œVery true! The name was shortened to Poole somewhere along the way.” Carrie raised her eyebrows at Verity. “Your Beulah Poole’s ancestors were on the wrong side of that war, and most people around here never forgot it.”
    â€œThe British captured or killed most of the patriot soldiers,” Hattie continued, “but according to legend, some of the men got away with a whole packet of gold coins, a payroll for the Continental army. They disappeared into a swamp—”
    â€œAlong with all the settlers who were trying to escape the Indian raiders,” added Annie.
    â€œAnd none of them ever came out again.” Hattie lowered her voice to a sepulchral tone. “We call that place the Shades of Death now.” Verity shuddered obligingly, and Hattie appeared gratified.
    â€œWell,” Carrie said, “one man came out—with the gold. Silas Clayton.”
    â€œI don’t believe it,” Annie replied. “His descendants live here still, and they’re as poor as dirt.”
    â€œBecause the army caught up with him a few years later and shot him for desertion,” Harriet retorted. “And no one ever found where he hid the gold.”
    Carrie turned to Verity again. “Over the years there’ve been stories of gold coins turning up. Boys—and grown men, too—have been searching the swamp for almost a century, looking for the lost payroll.”
    â€œNo one ever found it, though,” said Annie.
    â€œAs far as we know,” murmured Hattie slyly.
    Hattie and Carrie burst into giggles, and Annie swatted them both with her fan. Verity looked back and forth among the three of them, smiling. “I would like very much to share the joke.”
    â€œIt’s not a joke,” Annie said, “only a silly rumor.”
    â€œI’m sorry, Verity,” Carrie said. “It’s just that your father and your uncle were known to be ardent treasure hunters when they were younger.”
    â€œMy father?”
    Annie nodded regretfully. “He spent half his youth trudging through the swamp looking for that payroll.”
    â€œWell, boys will be boys,” Verity murmured. It did sound like the kind of thing her uncle would do. But her father . . . ?
    â€œVery true. Every inch of that swamp has probably been searched by now.” Carrie looked at Verity from beneath coyly lowered lashes. “Some people say the lost treasure isn’t really all that lost.”
    Â 
    When the sisters were ready to depart, they hugged Verity affectionately, as if she were already a member of their family. Annie, in particular, held her close and kissed her cheek. “I remember your mother as if it were yesterday,” she said unexpectedly, glancing at the portrait of Sarah Ann Boone. “I was only fourteen when she died, and I was brokenhearted.”
    With effort, Verity managed to bite back her questions.
What was she like? Why was she buried that way? What had she done?
She couldn’t ask Nate’s sisters questions like that on