Edwards Ferry

Wednesday, August 28, 1996

The following afternoon Vin stood on a dirt ramp that led from the towpath to the river, examining a display sign that offered historical perspective on Edwards Ferry.

An Ideal Crossing

The Potomac River is calm and narrow here, making it an ideal location for a ferry crossing. In 1791 Edwards Ferry began to operate here, connecting Maryland farmers to the Goose Creek Canal in Virginia and to Leesburg markets. The ferry closed in 1836 but the community that grew around it continued, carrying on the name. Over time, a general store, a warehouse, and 36 residents composed the Edwards Ferry community. With the coming of the C&O Canal the small village prospered from the increase in commerce.

The text was arrayed above two old images of Edwards Ferry. The uppermost was an illustration of foot soldiers and horse-drawn caissons marching down a broad dirt avenue and passing a cluster of houses on their way to the river, visible in the distance beyond. The caption read “General Stone’s Division at Edwards Ferry” and the sign elaborated:

During the Civil War, Edwards Ferry connected Union Maryland with Confederate Virginia. Harper’s Weekly depicted Union troops passing through Edwards Ferry in October 1861. Many troops and supplies from both sides crossed the river here throughout the war.

The Harper’s Weekly illustration was superimposed on an enlarged photograph from the early 1900s, taken from the vantage point Vin occupied now. It showed leafless trees flanking a deserted path leading down to a wooden boat ramp. Presiding over the path was a brick building with tall windows on both stories. Vin looked at the gutted shell to his left. All that remained now were its side walls and a portion of the back wall. The sign explained its fate.

The crumbling Jarboe’s Store remains here today. It was a general store and post office operated by Eugene E. Jarboe in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. Flood damage forced the National Park Service to partially tear down the unstable structure.

He opened the book in his hand to the bookmark he’d inserted an hour ago at the library. Author Wesley Vieira provided a more detailed account of the proprietors and times of Jarboe’s Store, but from Vin’s perspective those times ended too soon. After the ferry stopped running in 1836, Jarboe’s relied on the canal for both customers and supplies. Diminishing canal traffic undermined the store, and Jarboe’s closed in 1906.

It was a passing reference Vieira made to a denizen of Edwards Ferry during the last decade of canal operations that caught Vin’s attention at the library.

Emmert “M-Street” Reed tended Lock 25 at Edwards Ferry from 1913 until the canal’s demise in 1924. To help fill the void left by Jarboe’s, Reed built a smokehouse and sold smoked pork and turtle to boatmen and local residents. Reed’s nickname reportedly derived from his affinity as a younger man for the Georgetown taverns at the terminus of the canal. During Prohibition, rumors held that thirsty boatmen could sidestep the law and purchase pints of moonshine whiskey from Reed while transiting Lock 25.

A penciled arc extended from the space between the words “Reed” and “tended” in the first line. The arc curved to an annotation in the right margin that read “and his albino mule?”, and was written in a woman’s hand that he’d seen before – in the Kytle book, on his trip to the library last fall. He had smiled grimly while connecting the dots. His encounter with Kelsey Ainge at the New Year’s party, with her disingenuous comment about joined sycamores. The words he’d found under the snow, etched into the railings that joined the sycamores at Carderock. “Killers.” “Dead.” “Why are you here?” The visit to her studio with Nicky, when he’d seen the photo of the mason’s mark on her wall. And the little crosses planted on top of the stop-gate at Bear Island, directly above the mark. Then yesterday’s message from the library in a voice that sounded familiar. And now this handwritten reference to Emmert Reed’s albino mule. She was playing a cryptic game with him using excerpts from Lee Fisher’s note. The game had lost its momentum during his illness, but now it seemed to be starting again.

There was no other mention of Emmert Reed in Vieira’s book, but after reading the annotated passage, Vin had been unable to leave the book behind at the library and abandon Lee Fisher’s puzzle and Kelsey Ainge’s game for good. Though he had been drifting toward obsession last winter, he’d started swimming toward shore when his fever broke. Each stroke represented forward progress on his Rottweiler project or the wedding plans and pulled him closer to the limen. But now with one foot on terra firma and one in the water, he felt he was falling back in. He had checked the book out at the circulation desk and headed home.

And driving out River Road from Potomac, he found himself passing the turn for Ridge Line Court. Then passing Pennyfield Lock Road. And Seneca Road, three miles beyond, after which River Road turned to gravel and zigzagged through seemingly-deserted sod farms before ending at an unmarked intersection with a forgettable county lane. Two more miles brought him to Edwards Ferry Road, which led through tangled trees to the canal. There was an unpaved parking area, a wooden bridge across the lock, and the dirt path down to the river. This setting must have been known well by Emmert Reed’s albino mule. As he approached the bridge, he’d scouted the nearby trees for sycamores joined at the base.

***

He closed Vieira’s book and climbed the dirt incline toward the towpath. The lockhouse stood boarded up to his left, flanked on three sides by lush grass. He detoured onto the back lawn. The two upper stories were whitewashed bricks but the foundation was made of rough-hewn stone from which the paint had worn away. Because the house was built on a downslope from the towpath, the rear half of this foundation was above ground. It featured generous windows and two doors, all boarded up with green-painted wooden partitions that were screwed into the frames. He circled to the far side of the house and climbed the grassy pitch to the towpath. The front door and windows were sealed the same way.

He looked up and down the towpath and saw no one. On a weekday one or two cyclists, joggers or birdwatchers might pass Edwards Ferry on the towpath every few hours, but the site was far enough from major roads that it received a small fraction of the traffic that swarmed over the towpath every day around Great Falls.

Feeling a stab of dejection, he returned to his car. What had he expected to find here? A plaque next to the lockhouse detailing the exploits of famous locktender Emmert Reed? Unless his memoirs were stashed somewhere inside the lockhouse, old M-Street had left no trace of his tenure at Edwards Ferry. Grasping at straws, Vin decided to drive home through Poolesville, the closest real town on the Maryland side of the river. Vieira’s book mentioned that Charlie Poole had tended lock and managed Jarboe’s store in the years before Emmert’s tenure at Lock 25, so Vin guessed that old M-Street Reed might also be a local product. If he’d lived in Poolesville while not tending lock, maybe his grandchildren lived there today.

At the Poolesville post office he thumbed the community phone book and found listings for Ben Reed, D Reed, and Thomas H. Reed. He copied the names and numbers into a spiral notepad he kept in the car and drove back toward Potomac.

It was almost five by the time he got home and he had no enthusiasm for diving into the Rottweiler project as he stood and tapped a finger on his desk. Nicky wouldn’t be home for at least half an hour, so… he jogged upstairs, retrieved the cordless phone and a cluster of red grapes, and settled on the living room couch. From his pocket he pulled the notepad. The first number was for Ben Reed. He waited for the answering machine, then spoke deliberately but cheerfully into the handset.