Chapters 1A Chapter by Robert GuttersohnIn the first chapter, Travis Ardon seeks a body buried on Belle Isle with a secret to Detroit's past. He also reexamine the months prior that brought him to the island, searching for a corpse.The waters of the Detroit River smacked against the side of the wooden rowboat as I paddled out to Belle Isle. The waves tossed the vessel from bow to stern; cool water splashed overboard, drenching my shoes and slacks. I lurched forward as the boat landed on the island’s grassy northeast bank and grabbed the lamp and shovel I had brought with me. Using the shovel to hoist myself, I left the boat and walked up the bank. It was an early fall morning. The east end of the island was covered by an assortment of trees, their leaves turning crimson. Her body was somewhere buried amongst them. The sun had yet to rise, and there was a fairly cold breeze snaking through the trees surrounding me. As I walked, I thought of my past. I was born Travis Ardon to Charles Sr. and Josephine in Grosse Pointe Farms just outside of Detroit. I was, by all definitions of the word, born to an aristocrat. Every day, America was stepping closer to division and eventual civil war. But for years, a war already had existed in the shadows " a war between opposing zealots, between those that wanted slavery abolished and those that would fight hard to keep Negroes enslaved. Over the summer months, I infiltrated this war and in the end, found myself on Belle Isle searching for a body buried with a secret to one of Detroit’s dark chapters. I pressed on through the bushes and their thorns and the roots that wormed out and back into the earth. I fell halfway into a lagoon that I didn’t see, but I climbed out and continued until I finally emerged on the southeastern edge. As I looked over the opening to Lake Saint Clair, I saw a soft glow on the horizon. The sun would soon rise. And I felt no closer to finding her. Growing up in Michigan, I knew of the issue of slavery. It was no secret. But to me the Mason-Dixie Line couldn’t have been any closer than England. Yet it was the line dividing ideologies on slavery " a central figure pushing the United States to civil war. It was an issue debated thoroughly between federalists and their opposition. But the issue, as far as I had seen, had only fired up debates, not rifles or cannons. The conflict was missing its tipping point " a point where for all Americans it was either yae or nay. Sure, there were skirmishes and rebellions reported here and there, but the buildup had not reached the point of all-out war. And sitting between the two scales were people like me " apathetic Americans living in a conceived peaceful world. And I never could have thought I’d become one of those tipping points. On Belle Isle, I saw one tree that had grown out of the bank. It was growing out and over the river " as I was told it would. I started digging by the base of the tree when the shovel hit something hard. I dropped to my knees and wiped the dirt away. A fragment of mud-stained linen appeared. Encouraged, I continued until I saw a flap in the linen. I reached for the flap and yanked. With its hollowed-out eyes, protruding cheek bones and Jolly-Roger smile, a human skull stared back at me. We are all Peters and Judases was one of the last things my lifelong friend Ned told me. This statement rang in my ears as I held the skull in my hand for a moment. I understood fully now what he meant by that. But I hadn’t yet understood the phrase he repeated after standing over the body of the man he just killed. We all have scars, Ned said. There was a small wooden chest, no bigger than a shoebox, buried with the skeleton. I opened the chest, slowly unfolded a letter inside and read. And as I read, the revelation of what Ned meant came to me finally but in the worst way imaginable. © 2011 Robert GuttersohnAuthor's Note
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4 Reviews Added on August 16, 2011 Last Updated on August 17, 2011 Tags: Civil War, literary fiction, history, slavery, journalism AuthorRobert GuttersohnNiles, OHAboutI am a journalist currently writing for the Youngstown Vindicator, a self-published author of Bartholemoo Chronicles and a three-tour Iraq War veteran. I am currently finishing a second novel called P.. more..Writing
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