for Gabe since the death of their parents two years earlier. Pop had caught the flu, which had turned into pneumonia, and in a few short weeks it had taken him away. While the family was still dazed by the suddenness of his death, Ma had gone the same way before the winter was out, after being caught in the freezing rain while waiting for the bus.
When Gabe had come out of the cloud of grief that had overwhelmed him, his first thought of the future had been gratitude that he hadn’t married Olivia Eagles after all. It had been a close call but he knew she wasn’t the kind of woman who would have welcomed a teenage boy into their home. Single and unencumbered, Gabe had vowed to make Drew the center of his care.
Although he was twice Drew’s age, Gabe had loved his little brother from the moment his mother had laid him in Gabe’s arms at the hospital.
“You’ve always wanted a brother.” She was smiling and teary-eyed at the same time. “I expect you to take care of him.”
Gabe thought of their mother as he and Drew were ushered to a table in the restaurant and served the soup of the day that their waitress had recommended.
“I like soup when the weather’s like this, but this sure isn’t like the chicken-noodle soup Ma used to make.”
“That’s why I never get soup in a restaurant,” Drew said. “This chili isn’t so bad.”
“Ma would’ve loved this trip. She always wanted to go places,” Gabe said.
“Yeah, you’re right. It’s funny that Pop never did, but it’s because of him that we’re going to South Carolina.”
It had been on another afternoon three weeks ago that Gabe had received a call while he was deciding between using the ground round steak for hamburgers or for meatballs to go with spaghetti. Drew was supposed to check in any moment; Gabe would let him call it.
The phone rang. “You want hamburgers or spaghetti and meatballs for dinner?” Gabe asked.
“I prefer spaghetti and meatballs as long as there’s herbs and garlic in the sauce,” a man said. “Is this Mr. Gabriel Bell?”
“Sorry. I was expecting my brother to call. I’m Gabe Bell. What can I do for you?”
“My name is Jasper Moultrie, Mr. Bell. I’m an attorney and I have information to give you regarding your great-grandfather’s will. When would it be convenient for me to see you?”
“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