“‘and at last, dearest Maggie, we will go into the city. I will show you the park where rivers come together and pirates hanged. I will show you the church where George Washington worshipped and signers of the great constitution of these United States are buried. there is also a house Washington stayed in. can you imagine us living some where good enough for a president?
“we will visit your Legare cousins as your father once told me they moved here before the war.
“I beg of you not to ask how I hav acquired the means to give you all this as I will name it good fortune after every thing the war took. I hope we hav four sons to fill our new house. but first, know I missed you every day of those six years I was away.’”
At this pause, Nash looks at Cap.
“What is it?” I ask, looking between them. “Is it something? Something from the war?”
Cap grunts. “Keep going.”
Nash does.
“‘we will sit upon a bench in the back yard and never forget the riches we hav.
“I hav included a train ticket for you to Charleston so we can begin our new life together. one better than we ever dreamed.
“I love you
“Anson’’”
It’s beautiful but ... “That doesn’t sound like a treasure letter.”
Nash doesn’t seem to disagree because he wordlessly looks at Cap.
“Look at that last part and how he tells her not to ask how he can afford it. It’s a confession,” Cap says, poking at the paper with the mermaid of his cane. “And the places he specifically mentions.”
Nash reskims the letter. “Last three are downtown. White Point Garden, Saint Michael’s, and the Heyward-Washington House.” He passes it to me and works his teeth over his bottom lip.
I reread it like I have anything to contribute. Like I have any clue what either of them are talking about. All I know about Charleston is that it’s hot; all I know about the Civil War is that the South lost and slavery ended. I’m useless.
“And the cousins?” I ask. “This Legare?”
“Luh-gree,” Nash corrects. “Well-known name in the area. Property all over the place. Whole street with the name in downtown after Solomon Legare—a goldsmith—who built the first house on it. It left the family and eventually became the Sword Gate House—my favorite on the street.”
“Why’s that?”
Nash swallows a sip of coffee. “It was on the tour.”
A not-answer, of course.
“You think Anson left clues at these places? Or distributed the gold? Went to this cousin’s house?” I ask. “Why send this letter at all?”
“Probably nervous,” Nash answers, scratching an eyebrow. “Maybe—if he really did make off with some of the money.If—” He gives Cap a skeptical look. “Then he knew authorities would be looking for it and sent this as a way for her to find it if he got arrested.”
“He used at least one different name,” Cap adds. “Found it on an inn receipt. John White.”
“Why?”
“I assume to hide his tracks of the purchase of a house.” He chuckles. “Probably didn’t matter.”
“Why not?”
Nash answers. “The Union held Charleston at the end of the war, and the city was chaos after it. Someone wanted to buy a house, it’s doubtful anyone cared where or who the money was coming from as long as there was money. Real estate records from then are mostly nonexistent, making any name he bought it under basically useless.”
I look back at the letter. “How would Maggie have known where to look?”
“My guess is something in here would have let her know,” Nash says. “An indicator.”
