I hate him too.
I spread the papers across the counter, and Nash slips on the same pair of wire-framed glasses from yesterday.
“You’re staring at me,” he says, his low voice laced with a teasing lilt.
I raise my brows but focus on the papers, selecting one at random. “You’re wearing glasses.”
His head teeters. “I’m older than I used to be.”
I pinch my lips to fight my smile.
Cap explains what we’re looking at. “Those are copies of the correspondence from the bankers to the high-ranking officials regarding the transport of the money from the banks.”
I skim a document, no big redXshowing me anything useful.
“Not much in those other than confirmation that the money was stolen on its route from Washington, Georgia back to Richmond, Virginia.”
“Back to?” I ask, flicking my gaze to him as I exchange one paper for another.
“It started in Richmond,” Nash answers. “Banks and officials were scared with the war ending and the collapse of the Confederacy that the Union would seize the funds. They took it south to keep it safe. When they were assured that the money wouldn’t be seized, the banks decided to take it back to where it started. To the banks and people it belonged to.”
“And that’s when they were robbed,” Cap adds, pulling a flask out of a pocket and dumping a heavy pour into his coffee. Next comes his bottle of pills, Nash and I watching him intently as he throws one down with a gulp of his spiked coffee. This man must be running a race with his vices to see which one will take him first. He continues. “Pissed off soldiers who hadn’t been paid got wind of the wagon coming through. Poorly guarded. Raided the sonofabitch in the middle of the night.”
“It was a free-for-all,” Nash says. “Men stripped their pants off and filled the legs with as much money as they could. Hats. Whatever they could find. Some buried it along the road in hopes of getting it later.”
“What happened?” I ask, taking another sip of my drink.
“Some was recovered after the robbery,” Nash answers.
“And the rest—nobody knows how much—never was,” adds Cap. “Speculated between eighty-five and one-hundred-and-fifty-thousand 1865 dollars.”
“And you think—what? Anson Burns got away with all of that? How could he have carried it if the others couldn’t?”
“Don’t know.” Cap pulls Penny out of his pocket. I smack his hand, making him frown before he puts it away. “Could’ve had awagon. An extra horse. Probably didn’t end up with all of it. But enough.” He slides Nash the letter. “Read it.”
I step closer to Nash so I can get a better look and our eyes meet over his shoulder; it’s the closest we’ve been in eight years. The way my body lights up warns me to step back. Screamsget out of this house right now!I ignore it. If we’re doing this together, I can’t be scared off by unfounded butterflies and proximity-induced hot flashes. I’m here for the gold.
Nash looks back at the paper, reading it aloud as I follow along.
“‘My dearest Maggie
“my delay of returning to you is finely over. I hav spent a fortnight planning a surprise. you told me once you dreamed of living on the coast and painting it. I am returning to you from this war to give you every thing that you ever wanted. I hav planned us a life in Charleston in a house more beautiful than you can imagine and hav made a list of places for us to see
“there is a plantation here with a garden bigger than our whole farm. the owner is a reverend and allowing visitors. I went for a forenoon looking for the perfect scene for you to paint and found it in unexpected colors of green, brown, white, and blue
“there is an oak tree which locals say is hundreds of years old and spreads far and wide. it must be the strongest in the world. you will never believe it and need to touch every branch and crack of the bark just to know its real’”
Nash pauses, looking at Cap over the top of his glasses. “Magnolia Plantation and Angel Oak?”
Cap grunts in agreement; Nash continues.
“‘we will go to the ocean like you always wanted. there is an island here where only the most daring people go, surrounded by saltwater and where the yanks camped in the war. we can fish for our supper and swim in the sea’”
Another pause.
Nash: “Folly?”
Another grunt.
