Earl E. Gobel - Hearts of Grey

Hearts of Grey

Earl E. Gobel

Copyright 2009 by Earl E. Gobel.

Library of Congress Control Number: 2009906373

ISBN: Hardcover 978-1-4415-4980-8

Softcover 978-1-4415-4979-2

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

To order additional copies of this book, contact:
Xlibris Corporation
1-888-795-4274
www.Xlibris.com
Orders@Xlibris.com
61116

Contents

This book is dedicated in loving memory of

Henry Chuck Charles Valencia Jr.

Uncle Chuck

September 5th 1951-March 23rd 2009

Prologue

A novel of romance,
conspiracy and jealousy

The year is 1864 ... the civil war between the Union North and the Confederate South is raging onward. Despite heavy casualties, neither side will consider surrendering.

Meanwhile in Georgia ... The Union Army ... , over 65,000 strong, lead by Major General William Tecumseh Sherman is making its infamous march to the sea.

Total devastation is the only thing left in their wake.

But what happened in Columbia, South Carolina ... will forever be etched into history as the Greatest Crime of the War.

Columbia ... the very Pride of the South ... will soon be left in complete ruins. One - third of the entire city ... over thirty-six square city blocks will be left in a smoldering pile of ashes and rubble. And the once bustling city ... would never be what it once was. Never!

The banks ... that held the wealth of the Confederacy ... were looted of all of their contents.

Years later ... after the war, hearings would be held to find those responsible for everything that happened. Nobody would ever be convicted of any war crimes. Not even General Sherman himself. But certain names of some Union officers were stained for all eternity ... with links back to Columbia. Their names will forever strike at the very hearts and souls of the forever loyal people of the south.

But in the South ... the land of Dixie ... theres a saying that goes Good times are not forgotten. But the bad times are remembered just as much as the good ones ... Some even more so.

Stories would be told to generations after generations about different theories of what really happen back then in Columbia.

But if the Union Army ... claims that they didnt take the Gold and Money from Columbias banks .... and the Confederacy still claims that they were robbed ... you have to ask yourself ....

What ever happened to the Gold of the South?

Was it stolen? And if so ... by whom? But if it wasnt stolen ... then where is it?

And if there was a real treasure to be found .... Just how much would it really be worth?

Would it be worth your only daughters happiness... or maybe even her very life?

These are the questions that will have to be answered. When is the search for such things ... no longer worth the cost of finding it? So follow along as history takes on a dark mysterious twist. One thats sure to have you rooting for the Good Guys ... even if you cant decide who they are.

Cause in the South ... The Hearts of Grey is a rewrite of history.

Or maybe just a reconstruction of the facts ...

The Hearts of Grey ...

The South has Returned ... or maybe it never truly left?

Introduction

T he year is 1865. The Civil War between the states is raging on. General Sherman, along with over sixty thousand Union troops, has just forced their way into Columbia, South Carolina. By the time the sun rises the following day, Columbia would be in ruins. Three-quarters of the once-striving showcase of the South would be reduced to ashes. The pride of the South, the pride of the Confederacy, would never recover.

Meanwhile, 155 miles to the south, in the small town of Mattersonville, Georgia, fourteen men work throughout the night to unload seven overloaded wagons. The boxes are heavy, extremely heavy. When they finally finish, they quickly stash six of the wagons in a nearby cave. Then they are all executed.

Two days later, in Columbia, South Carolina, Jason Barnes, former president of the Commercial Bank of Columbia, stood inside the burned-out shell of his once-glorious bank. He was yelling and screaming about what the Union soldiers had done to his beloved town and to his bank.

God himself will find those responsible for these unthinkable crimes against the fair people of Columbia, and his wrath will smash those thieving cowards to death in his name! He yelled.

Just as he finished, there came a terrible rumble from behind him. He turned to see the last remaining wall of his beloved bank, the south wall, start to teeter. Then it came crashing down on him. And he screamed no more.

Present Day, 1955

It is the second week of June, and the talk around Mattersonville, Georgia, is all about the upcoming Fourth of July picnic. There are suddenly things to do and places to go. Everyone in town has plans for the Fourth. Everyone except for Mike, that is. Born on August 1, 1932, Michael Anthony Belles is the older of two children. He is not tall, just a tad under six feet, but he is very well proportioned for his weight. Four years as quarterback for his high school football team gave him the look that he somehow managed to keep. But then again, working on the local docks in neighboring Savannah hasnt hurt his good looks at all.

In high school, he had always been popular with the girls. But at the present time, he didnt even have a girl. Not that he couldnt have one if he really wanted one. But there just wasnt any girl in this nickel-and-dime town that even stirred his fancy. Let alone his heart.

And thats exactly what Mattersonville wasa nickel-and-dime town.

Mattersonville, Georgia is not your ordinary, run-of-the-mill southern town. In fact many people, even those in Georgia, had never even heard of it before. But there it was shining beneath the Georgia sun, basking in the ocean breezes that blew in from the coast.

Now to find this quiet little part of the south, there was no need for those fancy maps. Most likely you wouldnt find it on any of them anyway. In fact, most people who stumbled onto it did so purely by accident. Sure, the little town had all of the normal, run-of-the-mill things like any other town. But one thing it didnt have was a zip code. It just never had one and most likely never would. But it did have a post office if that made any sense. So the town would use the zip code of the closest available townSavannah, Georgia. Now how far was Mattersonville from Savannah?

Well, just about as far as you could spit. Hell, even if you couldnt spit, for all that matter.

Directions to get there were easy. Go to Savannah, walk down the center of Main Street to where the asphalt and concrete sidewalks ends, step off onto the dirt, and youre there. In fact, many of the residents of Mattersonville would use the name Savannah as their city of residence simply because people knew where Savannah was and nobody had an idea where Mattersonville was. They still got their mail, so what was the harm in it?

Mattersonville got its name because the greatest of all of the Southern plantations was located there. Named after its founder William W. Matterson, Matterson House was huge, two stories tall with fourteen bedrooms in all. Its gleaming white pillars towered up from the large wooden porch all the way up to a large balcony, that protruded off of the roof. The balcony was more like a big porch, surrounded by a four foot high white wooden railing. The railing ran from the roof, out one of side and across the front of the balcony, before it ran back to the roof. Two French glass doors, gave access to the balcony via the upstairs attic. In the days prior to the Civil War, it served as a city meeting place for social events for the upper-class citizens of Savannah, or for all of Georgia for that fact. But things changed after the war, as it did with most of the other cotton plantations in the South. And seven years later, following the death of his wife, Katherine, William W. Matterson himself climbed onto his favorite horse and quietly rode off into the sunset never to be heard from again. Some people will tell you that he went to California or maybe even Canada. But none of those rumors were ever proven.