The fall of the dagger, p.31
The Sword and the Medallion, page 31
The Sword and the Medallion
By CW Lamb
I would like to thank Pat, my editor. If not for his vision, this book might never have been written.
Edited by: Patrick LoBrutto
Copyright © 2018 by CW LambWWW.CW-LAMB.COM
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the Author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and specific other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
First Edition
14 13 12 11 10 / 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Authors Notes:
Chapter 1
Unknown Place, Unknown Time
Her heart pounding out of her chest, Charlotte found herself standing beyond the edge of a clearing in the forest. She was hiding next to a tree, the heavy undergrowth concealing her as she watched the men searching for her pass her by. She knew she was in danger if they found her, but wasn’t exactly sure why. Her mind was a jumbled mess as she tried to straighten out her thoughts.
In her head, she had images and memories she had no connection to. There were words and conversations that were both foreign and familiar as if she knew the meanings with no explanation as to how. She recalled a man, in a strange uniform, who was important to her. She closed her eyes tightly as she tried to gain control of herself.
Opening her eyes once more, she looked down where she could see the medallion she had been holding in one hand as it now rested between her bare breasts. The long silver chain that suspended the metal disk was plain to see as it contrasted with her sweaty skin. She was not only startled to see she was naked from the waist up, but she was also now outside and without any clothing beyond a wrap about her waist.
The lean, toned form she saw was not the body she was familiar with. She was also confused to see she now had much darker skin and had small tattoos. For some reason, she knew they weren’t permanent and would wash away if she were not careful.
“Donde esta Ella?” she heard one of the men shout from beyond the tree line.
“No se, sigue buscando!” came the response.
Charlotte didn’t understand a word they were saying but felt sure they were speaking Spanish. Trying to determine where they had moved to, so she could keep her distance, she slipped deeper into the woods. It was then that noise to her right caused her to panic and run. She saw the glint of steel as one of the men came into the open once more, his sword drawn.
“Ahí está Ella,” he shouted.
Although she didn’t understand the words, she understood the meaning as she saw him point his sword in her direction. She bolted from between the trees and ran in the opposite direction, her hand snatching the medallion once more to keep it from pounding against her chest. Running hard into the darkness, she struggled to control her panic, trying to flee the men shouting behind her as they took up the chase.
On a dirt road just north of San Agustin, La Florida, 1741
Sergeant Juan Carlos Garcia sat astride his horse as he led the detachment north from Castillo de San Marcos in San Agustin. Their destination was Fort San Nicholas, a day’s march north of their current location. The detachment, eight men strong including himself, would garrison the fort guarding the upper Rio de San Juan, relieving the men currently occupying the position there. They would remain for one month before a relief force would come to replace them.
Riding quietly at the head of the column, he ignored the grumbling of the men behind him as they worked their way along a dirt road that was barely wide enough for their wagon to pass. The dense plant life on both sides was backed by tall trees shading the trail from the morning sun. The wagon held all the supplies they would require for the month they were scheduled to be away. It creaked and rattled behind him as he led the procession north. The heavy woods, thick with undergrowth, ensured they would not wander off the beaten track.
At 26 years of age, Juan had worked very hard to reach the position of authority he now occupied. Responsible for each of the men behind him, he took his job quite seriously. Unlike most of his men, he had never married and had little cause to complain about the extended absence from town. He could hear several of them mumbling about leaving their wives and families behind as they traveled north.
“Sergeant, why have you never married? You have no children?” his Corporal asked as if reading his mind. Like Juan, the man was astride a horse, slightly behind him and to one side.
Behind Corporal Armando Mendez was the supply wagon, pulled by a third single horse and led by a soldier on foot. Bringing up the rear were the final five men, all shouldering muskets as they trod along in the early morning heat. Juan knew well that he would need to provide more frequent breaks as the heat of the day came upon them, and the sun high in the sky would beat down from directly above. It was for that reason he began their journey just before sunup.
“Oh, the good Lord has granted me many children, I see seven of them right here,” he replied in good humor.
“You know what I mean. A wife to care for you and a home of your own,” the Corporal responded.
“God has not seen fit for me to have such a life,” he replied simply.
As he was speaking, he shifted the sword at his belt, looking for a more comfortable position where its hilt wouldn’t dig into his side.
“Senor, that is a magnificent blade,” the Corporal commented as he noted the motion.
This was the first time the two men had been assigned together; they were not familiar with each other. In the past, Juan had mostly been assigned to officers as the senior Non-Commissioned Officer or NCO. For this duty, he had been placed in charge of the small detachment, to few to require an officer in attendance. The Corporal was his second-in-command.
“Is it really Toledo steel? May I see it?”
“Yes, a gift from my father before I sailed west from Spain. It was his hope that such a fine sword would keep me safe,” he added absently as he removed the blade from its scabbard for the man to inspect.
Juan was accustomed to the request as Toledo Steel was both highly prized and rare among the lower ranks. Corporal Mendez had a sword at his side as well, but it was a common issue blade drawn from the armory. He passed the weapon carefully over to the man and watched as he examined the blade more closely. While considered an act of respect and an honor to allow such an action, he always chafed until the sword was returned to its scabbard.
“It is magnificent,” the man said as he cautiously passed it back, careful not to let it fall as they exchanged the weapon on horseback.
“Thank you.”
Sheathing the blade, he recalled the day his father had presented the weapon to him. Juan had been both surprised and angry at the gesture. Not a wealthy man, the blade had likely cost his father a year’s wages, but Juan could not refuse the gift without deeply injuring his father’s pride. As his only son, Juan understood the meaning and accepted the sword with gratitude. From that day, he had trained hard with the blade to ensure the gift was not squandered.
“Let us hope its blessings extend to us all,” the man added, referring to the dangers that lay north of their location.
Phillips Highway, north of St. Augustine, FL, Present day
Charlotte Foxworth Garrison sat quietly, looking out the passenger window of her husband Robert’s truck as they traveled south toward St. Augustine. They had left home early that morning to make a 9am meeting in town, a meeting she had great hopes for.
“Who are we meeting with again?” Robert asked his wife, who had taken over managing many aspects of their business.
“The St. Augustine Historical Society has agreed to meet with us for the purposes of certifying you as an inspector. With their blessing, you are not only approved for any historical work there but can also consult on other people’s projects on their behalf.”
Charlotte considered the interview a coup, as very few architects or contractors in the area had that seal of approval. She hadn’t revealed to Robert that she had invited the principles of the Society to Foxworth House while he had been away on business. His frequent absences for work touched something deep inside that scared her.
She regaled the invited group with stories of the home’s history and demonstrations of the work that had been done there. Extremely proud of her new husband, she had included photographs of his other completed projects from around the country as well as the awards he had received for his work over the years. His status as a war veteran and the humanitarian work he had done in the war zone had also impressed them greatly. The gathering had been such a success that they had been invited to apply that very day.
&nb sp; Truth be told, this trip to town was Charlotte’s first major venture away from their house on the river since that night at the end of their pier. They had taken a few small excursions to town for fun, but those had been shorter and more of a distraction. She had not traveled much beyond the confines of their house and property since before their wedding.
They had wed at the house, a small gathering that had included her Aunt Victoria, and spent their honeymoon enjoying its peaceful tranquility. Robert had arranged for everything they required to treat the time as a vacation. Catered food all day and the occasional live music at night was better than any resort she had experienced. She had not needed to lift a finger the entire time.
Their whirlwind engagement and marriage had swept her up into a sea of emotions, her love for the man sitting next to her burning bright. She could tell he felt the same, his constant doting leaving her with feelings of security and love. Although they had tried to share their innermost feelings in the weeks they had spent together since that awful day on the pier, she struggled with what she nevertheless withheld from him.
Still psychologically recovering from her near-death experience, she declined the offers to travel with Robert. She was content to enjoy the safety and security of their home alone and await his return. There, she would try and sort out the thoughts and emotions so turbulently mixed in her head. It wasn’t just memories she was struggling with. There were images and emotions mixed in that made no sense to her at all.
She was now tracking her days with reference to the dominant personality of the moment. Sometimes, like when the Society came to visit, she was Charlotte, a more reserved and serious version of herself. Other days, particularly around Robert, she was Charlie, playful, flamboyant, and lighthearted, totally devoted to the man she married. Then there were the mixed days, where the two tried to come together as one. More often than not, it was a battle and not a union.
Finally, there were times, less frequent than the others, that she could not explain. She would enter a room and get flashes of pictures in her head. Some images would spark anger or excitement, while others would evoke a warm, serene feeling. At those times, she felt neither Charlie nor Charlotte, but almost disembodied, like she was apart from human form.
It was those days, mixed with that inner turmoil that she was struggling to control. Since the night on the pier, when Robert had revived her limp, lifeless form after dragging her from the stormy river, she had been, well, more. As a whole, more confident in herself, more decisive in her thinking, and more in love with Robert than any man she had ever known, but also more confused. It was strange to her to think that she didn’t need him, or anyone for that matter, but more than anything, she just wanted him in her life.
This was held up in stark contrast to the woman who had arrived here just a short time ago. Charlie had always been a loner and constantly on the move, so she had never developed emotional attachments to anyone. Never overly confident, she floated from place to place, just getting by. She had always seemed to find someone to pay the bills, using them as a safety net of sorts but nothing more.
Now, for the first time in her life, she felt the confidence to be on her own, without the need of anyone. She just knew that she was more than capable of handling anything that came her way. But that was paired with the feelings of desire she had for her new husband, someone she wanted to share her life with, not surrender herself to.
Well, that wasn’t entirely true either. Charlie was all in when it came to her devotion to Robert. Her feelings were untainted by her past, never before experiencing the emotions that Robert inspired in her. Charlotte, on the other hand, was in love with the man of the present, but still pined for true love, one lost to the past. She had never quite recovered from Jefferson’s death, even now.
Also, her Charlotte identity was still struggling with returning from the dead. While the house and grounds were familiar to the Charlotte of old, the people and things were both an oddity and marvel. Planes in the sky and cars on the road out in front of the house would occasionally catch her off guard until her thoughts were made whole with Charlie. She eventually realized that her time as Charlotte, bound to the house, came to her more as disembodied rushes of images rather than memories.
She knew part of her had been a ghost, bound to her house, the one constant in her life, and defending it as a mother would her only child. Living in that house once more, lovingly restored by a man who appreciated it as no one but Jefferson ever had, she found comfort and stability. In Robert, she looked to a new future that she had thought impossible. It was that more than anything else that had swayed Charlotte of old to accept Robert as a potential substitute life partner.
And he had taken her in as a partner in life, not only addressing her as his equal but freely surrendering parts of his life to her. She was well aware that the business they now shared together had been his everything. Like a child that he had nurtured alone, she was now, like him, its guardian and mentor.
And then there was the house. While in her head, she knew it was something he had brought back from near ruin, a home for them to share, her heart told a different story. Deep inside, she felt a profound sense of pride and ownership she could not explain. There was a sense of satisfaction at its endurance through the decades, buried deep down, that she could only attribute to her family legacy.
“Turn here?” Robert asked as they neared the historic district where Castillo de San Marcos stood guarding the entrance to the Matanzas River and the Saint Augustine inlet.
“Yes, that’s it,” she replied, the question bringing her focus back to the present.
Today, she was Charlotte again, serious and focused, and she intended to do everything in her power to see her husband was accepted into the Society. Charlie was in complete support of the plan to keep Robert close to home. He was one of the few things the two personalities could agree on.
It was only a few more turns before they found themselves parked in the lot for the Oldest House Museum Complex, the Society's offices. Climbing out of the truck, they met at its rear.
“Now don’t be nervous, they will love you,” she said as she adjusted his tie.
“Charlotte, I’m fine. You need to relax,” he said with a smile before kissing her lovingly.
“I just want them to see what I see. The best Restoration Architect in the country, maybe the world!” she replied after they turned toward the Society’s offices.
“You are very biased,” he answered as he led her away from the truck, hand in hand.
“Besides, do you know how much work there is to do here? With this certification, we can stay busy for years and never even have to leave our home town,” she informed him as they headed to the door.
“If I didn’t know better, I would swear you were trying to find a way to keep me here all the time,” he replied with a laugh, giving her hand a squeeze before reaching for the door.
She felt the slightest pang of guilt as that was exactly her plan.
Entering the offices, they were immediately greeted by one of the Society members Charlotte had met at her gathering.
“Mrs. Garrison, so nice to see you again,” the man announced as he met the couple in the hallway.
“Charlotte, please, and this is my husband Robert,” she said quickly, as she could see the glint of suspicion in her husband’s eyes.
“Call me, James. Please follow me,” the man added after shaking Robert’s hand.
Leading her husband by the hand, she quickly fell in behind James before he had a chance to question her.
“If you would go ahead inside, Robert, I will find a place for Charlotte to wait for you. Unfortunately, she cannot attend. The interviews are private, and we can’t make exceptions.” The man opened a door and motioned for Robert to enter.
“Good luck, Honey,” Charlotte offered as she mirrored James’s motion.
“Please follow me,” James said to her after closing the door behind her husband.
Charlotte followed as James led her into the museum display area.
“Feel free to explore the grounds while you wait.”
He indicated the room and the door leading to the grounds beyond.
