The meeting minutes in the ledger for the Canal Towage Company were more interesting, since they provided data on the operations of the canal during its last two decades. The purpose of the Canal Towage Company was to standardize and streamline the process of shipping coal down the canal. Because it was created in 1902 by agreement between the Consolidation Coal Company and the canal trustees, the Canal Towage Company was also under the aegis of the B&O Railroad. Consolidation Coal was a B&O subsidiary that owned and operated coal mines in western Maryland. Coal was transported from the mines to the head of the canal in Cumberland via another B&O subsidiary, the Cumberland and Pennsylvania Railroad. So from its resurrection after the 1899 flood until its demise in 1924, the C&O Canal served as little more than a link in the distribution chain that delivered B&O-owned coal to Washington, D.C.
Vin skimmed the issues discussed in the minutes, looking for lists and tables. He found them in the appendices. Financial statements for the years 1902 through 1922. Statements documenting the coal tonnage carried and the tolls paid each year. Annual statements of spending for the construction and repair of canal boats, listed by boat number. And the pages he’d been hoping to find – the annual fleet rosters from 1903 through 1922, listing the captains operating on the canal and the boats to which they had been assigned.
The rosters were ordered by boat number, and Vin skimmed quickly through the list of boats and captains for the 1903 season without finding the name he was looking for. He turned to the roster for 1904 and found the following entry partway down the page:
32 Emmert Reed Harpers Ferry Road, Sharpsburg, Maryland
Flipping through the subsequent rosters confirmed that Reed had captained boat 32 from 1904 through 1912. Each entry listed the same address; Vin penciled it down along with the boat number on the provided scrap paper. He paged through the rest of the appendices, closed the ledger, and slipped it back into its document box. After returning the boxes and signing out of the room, he walked downstairs to the lobby, returned his badge, and signed out of the building.
His visit to the National Archives had required stepping through a gauntlet of checkpoints but taken less than two hours from start to finish. And look what was offered! A chance to sift at his own pace through original documents that were well-preserved and a hundred years old. It was a benefit of moving to the D.C. area that he’d never considered before.
Since it was the Friday before Labor Day, traffic was lighter than usual and he made it home by four. He went straight to his desk, where he dialed into the network at Rottweiler’s Boston office. He browsed to a white-pages website, entered “Reed” as the surname and “Sharpsburg, MD” as the city, and clicked the Search button. Four listings appeared: Cameron, E J, Elizabeth, and Martin. None of the addresses were on Harpers Ferry Road. He printed the page and disconnected the call, then dialed all four numbers.
Cameron sounded like a young guy, maybe in his early twenties. Vin didn’t leave a message. The number for E J was answered by a “no longer in service” recording, which left him wondering how current the listings were as he crossed off E J’s entry. His call to Elizabeth went unanswered. That doesn’t happen very often anymore, he thought. Maybe an elderly person? Martin’s phone was picked up by a teenage girl. Without much conviction, he repeated the query he’d used previously, that he was a researcher interested in a canal-era locktender named Emmert Reed. Would she or anyone in her family know that name?
“I haven’t heard of him. You’ll have to ask my Dad.” She went on to mention that her Dad was away on business but would be back in ten days. Vin wrote “call 9/10” next to Martin’s name.
That was a quick exercise in futility, he thought. He skimmed the list again – it wasn’t useless yet. He hadn’t trusted Cameron to return his call, but a few more attempts to catch him might be worthwhile. And maybe Elizabeth was one of those people who hate answering machines and he’d called while she was out. Even Martin was worth another try, though it was hard to imagine waiting ten days to do it.
He sensed a presence behind him and swiveled in his chair. Randy was squatting nearby, watching him hopefully while wagging his tail on the rug. It was time for a run on the towpath.
Chapter 32
One Red Leaf
Saturday, August 31, 1996
Leaning forward in her patio chair, Kelsey pressed the shedding blade against the base of Allie’s neck and stroked back along her flank. When the blade reached the dog’s hindquarters, she shook loose a clot of hair that fell into a paper bag between her feet. Allie stood still with half-closed eyes and the trace of a smile, panting lightly in the early-morning air.
“You’d be happy if we did this all day, wouldn’t you?” The dog eyed Kelsey and closed its mouth to swallow, then resumed panting as the blade traversed its left side and chest. The early morning sun was already warming the air, so Kelsey unbuttoned her lavender sweater and draped it over the back of her chair. She looked down at the growing haystack in the paper bag.
“Maybe next year we’ll just shave you on Memorial Day and be done for the summer.” She tugged the dog’s collar to turn her around and began stroking Allie’s right side. When the yield of hair tapered off, she slapped the dog lightly on the breast and laid the blade on the patio table. Allie slumped down on shaded flagstones as Kelsey sipped her cooling coffee and leaned back in her chair.
In the sweetgum tree past the edge of the flagstones, a single bright red leaf near the center stood out against the litter of green stars. It’s a harbinger, she thought, of events that are now close at hand. Looking up she saw blue sky, with traces of cirrus to the southwest. It’s funny that my sense of anticipation is heightened now, when a generation ago I was oblivious. Maybe now, all these years later, the truth will rise to the surface and become clear. As it had become clear to her subconscious already. A light breeze stirred the sweetgum’s leaves and chilled her arms and shoulders. And the money? That might be compensation for the long, long wait. She crossed the patio toward the glass doors. It was time for her vigil to start.
Chapter 33
Reeds
Tuesday, September 3, 1996
Vin paged through the Washington Post in the breakfast nook as he finished his coffee. Labor Day weekend was over and Nicky had left for the Clinic early, anticipating a long day. To his surprise, Rottweiler had thrown the ball back into his court over the weekend by sending him the specifications he needed for the suggestion-rating feature. He sighed, unenthused by the prospect of getting back to work. This feeling – that what he produced was trivial and dull – was what had made him want to quit his job in the first place.
He reached for the front-page section, which he usually saved for last, and read an article about two hurricanes that the media had been covering for the last week.
A few days ago Hurricane Edouard seemed destined to deliver a jarring punch to southern New England, but benevolent forces prevailed and the hurricane swung back over open waters during the weekend. Now 195 miles southwest of Halifax, Nova Scotia, Edouard has been downgraded to a tropical storm. While Edouard left buildings and infrastructure intact, its slashing rain immobilized thousands of coastal residents and visitors in traffic gridlock as they attempted to evacuate Cape Cod and the island communities ahead of the storm.
With Edouard receding, Atlantic seaboard residents are turning their attention to Hurricane Fran, whose 80-mile-per-hour winds were gaining strength as Fran passed 495 miles east of the Bahamas, en route toward a possible landfall later this week in the Carolinas.