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CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
ARCHEOLOGY ON THE ROCKS
From the side window, Eden could see Dave Quinn with what looked like a homemade briefcase under his arm, tapping on
the door.
"Come on in," Eden said. "Have a seat. I remember you take your coffee black."
They enjoyed pancakes and sausage over chitchat, and then Dave plunged in. "Well, we've both had time to think it
over. Your thoughts?
"It just seems to me we oughta get an archeologist --"
"Hold on before you say anything else. I have to tell you some things. When we lifted the stone on the sarcophagus,
or whatever it is, I felt a strong wave of deja vu. I thought about it so hard, I couldn't sleep. It kept going
through my head again and again, like a song you can't get out of your mind. What do they call that?"
"An earworm. I had one that lasted for weeks. Also called repetunitis."
"Whatever. Anyway, it finally came roaring back -- what I was trying to recall, not the song.
Remember when we talked about Solomon Spaulding and his novel, Manuscript Found? Well, that's it!" he exclaimed
joyfully. "In fact, it's often pointed out as a direct parallel to Joseph Smith's discovery of the golden plates that
led to the Book of Mormon, and some tried to use it as proof that Smith ripped off the whole thing."
He excitedly fumbled through the makeshift briefcase, producing a sheet of scruffy-looking notepaper. He put on a
pair of half-lens
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reading specs, and intoned:
I happened to tread on a flat Stone. This was at a small distance from the fort and it lay on the top of a
small mound of Earth exactly horizontal. The face of it had a singular appearance. I discovered a number of
characters, which appeared to me to be letters, but so much effaced by the ravages of time that I could not
read the inscription. With the assistance of a lever, I raised the Stone --
He peered at Eden over the reading glasses. "Well, what do you think? That's old Solomon Spaulding's description of
finding the manuscript. Deja vu all over again, right? But read Joseph Smith's version of finding what he claims to
be the origins of the Book of Mormon: he gives a similar description of digging up the gold plates. He says they were
buried at Hill Cumorah, just a few miles south of Palmyra, New York. Uh, that's beyond Rochester, up there in the
Finger Lakes region. Anyway, Smith said he used a lever to pry up a stone that covered where the plates were buried."
Eden snorted. "Seems like there were a lot of folks prying stones off burial sites back then." Both of them knew
Spaulding's story was a tale he made up and intended to publish as a novel, but Joseph Smith's story became part of a
well-established religion that now has over nine million members.
Eden told Dave that maybe Solomon's story wasn't just made up... maybe he found something like they found yesterday.
Maybe he found something but kept it to himself. Maybe he used the tale to embellish his story. It was all guesswork.
No proof of anything -- except for what they had found.
"Now, if you're ready for some really weird shit," Dave resumed, "just over the hill from where we dug up that stump,
there was a frontier blockhouse called the Swanson Fort, built in the late 1700s. Back then, a blockhouse was just a
log cabin with a palisade fence,
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where settlers could go to escape the Indians. It wasn't really a fort in the military sense, but people around here
just use that word.
"Remember, Spaulding said his find was a small distance from the fort. That's another parallel with Joseph Smith's
story: both the Spaulding tale and Smith involve finding something under a rock near a fort. Is that spooky, or what?"
Eden was in deep thought. "Hey, maybe our find is just like Smith's. You haven't seen any angels hovering around,
have you?"
Dave ignored that. He explained that one problem in researching anything in the mid-1800s was that hoaxes were so
popular then. The Cardiff Giant, sea serpents, perpetual motion machines, chess-playing machines, and stories about
lost tribes abounded. One guy had people convinced that Patagonia was inhabited by a race of giants. Anything exotic
appealed, and few folks knew much about the world beyond their hometown.
Every medicine show had its Wild Man from Borneo, or some such. All this stuff was driven by the Enlightenment," Dave
said. "When scientists, let alone the common folk, were presented with real discoveries like a duckbilled platypus
or the remains of a mammoth, on one would believe them. No wonder they were skeptical. It seems the nineteenth
century was one of hellacious good fun."
Eden mused, "Ya know, it's not hard to imagine Solomon Spaulding mulling over how he would reveal what he had found
to the world. He would start with a fanciful tale, embellish it, and let it lay awhile. Then, little by little, he
would slip "truth" to folks. It might have worked except for one thing -- he died before the Revelation of Spaulding
could be published."
If it weren't for the indisputable fact of a religion with over nine million believers, a revelation of pre-Columbian
lost tribes would seem as fantastic as Eden's freshly hatched, hare-brained theory about Spaulding.
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with the Solomon Spaulding story -- trying to recreate it."
"Yeah," Eden said gloomily, someone too cheap to use gold plates.
"Eden, it does make sense, if you think about it. The site is awfully close to where Spaulding lived out his last
days. And Gus thinks someone may have wanted to mess with the Mormons' minds. Hell, it might have been Spaulding
himself."
"You said they took more pictures. Do you think they'll give you any more information?" Eden asked hopefully.
"Roger says he'll run a computer program on the coverstone characters. He says it doesn't appear to be a language as
such, but it might contain an encrypted message. Probably about a bunch of Swedish monks lost at sea and making it
to the Americas --"
"That would be about right, and the cuneiform river stones are, no doubt, the Ten Commandments from the lost tribes
of Israel, except three are missing."
"Sounds about like it to me," said Dave, gloomily. "At least now we know we aren't going to get rich. This could be
a big controversy for years: Is it a message left by ancient mariners? Or Spaulding's attempt to stimulate interest
in his novel? Or a cache of information passed down by ancient astronauts? I can hardly wait until the National
Enquirer shows up."
"Well, we can always hope it turns out to be a real ancient find," Eden said. "Who knows, who could tell?"
"Start holding your breath," Dave grumped.
"Well, even if it is a hoax, it's still a pretty amazing piece of history. And being from the 1800s, it might even
have value to people who collect that sort of stuff," Eden encouraged.
"Look, Eden, I've poked around long enough to know something: any legitimate archeologist is going to treat this find
like the plague. So much controversy has been stirred up over the Ohio Valley aborigines -- the earthworks and all
-- that it's politically
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incorrect to even speculate on it. Prestigious scientists have had their careers toasted on the Hopewells and the
Adenas. This whole area of research got mucked up in the late 1800s and early 1900s. Now, Eden,
let's mix in some angry LDS folks... oh, I can just imagine!
He continued, "Here... let me read you some of what Gus and his colleague translated.
"The family name I sustain is Fabius, being descended from the illustrious General of that name. I was
born at Rome and received my education under the tuition of a very learned Master. At the time that
Constantine arrived at that city and had overcome his enemies and was firmly seated on the throne of
the Roman Empire, I was introduced to him as a young Gentleman --
The vessel laden with provisions for the army -- (unreadable) -- boundless Ocean. Soon the whole crew became
lost and bewildered --
On the fifth day after this we came in sight of land, we entered a spacious River and continued sailing up the
same many leagues until we came in view of a town. Every heart now palpitated with -- (unreadable) -- distance
from the shore. Immediately the natives ran with apparent signs of surprise and astonishment, to the bank of
the River..."
"Any of that sound familiar?" Dave asked.
"It wouldn't have before we got into all this. But I've read some of Spaulding's stuff. I'd say it's Spaulding
word-for-word."
"Bingo!" exclaimed Dave. "It looks like we found a plant by the Great One -- Solomon Spaulding himself -- or a
plant by someone who wanted to jerk off the experts with a faux Spauldingesque find. Either way, it makes our
discovery just a curiosity."
"Well, it'll make a great display for the George County Museum
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in Rainelle, unless we can find a collector with cash," Eden smirked.
"Humph. If you want to peddle the stuff, I'll take my cut," Dave said. "But I've pretty much lost interest."
So far, the Deputy's success at treasure hunting matched his success at sleuthing. Peddling their find had no appeal.
And then a little bulb flickered in his brain... maybe the Mormons would be willing to finance a project to discredit
the Spaulding story for all time!
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... "Hey," mumbled Pauly, "that's jus' like what the grand poohbah-whatsis up at the lodge said happened back in Hamul
when the Tihu located where the Araca would be found."
"What the f--?" Lin answered incredulously. "What in the pluperfect hell are you gibbering about, Pauly? You don't
belong to them Masons, do you? I know they're big into that Egyptian bullshit flapdoodle -- but just what the hell are
you talkin' about?"
"Naw, ain't none o' that there 'gyptian stuff. That was discredited years ago. Never was in Egypt -- nor Asia neither.
Came right over through Ethiopia, through South 'merica -- maybe Mexico. That Well o' Souls is jus' a bunch of
Hollywood hooey anyway. We got the real goods. Dug up the story just like old Joe Smith done,"
Pauly slurred. "Never found it though -- they never did find it."
Lin frowned. "Never found what, Pauly?
...
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was really getting interesting. Pauly knew something juicy and had been told to keep his big mouth shut. Lin could
spend the rest of the night on this!
As it turned out, Pauly didn't know very much about the Araca. But he did tell Lin that the family,
which he interchangeably called the lodge, was some fraternal organization or cult that developed in the mid-1800s. It
was organized after some stones were discovered that bore obscure writing. Pauly rambled on about a man named Rigdon
who started the sect long ago. Pauly was getting into it, trying to impress Lin with his secret knowledge of
the family.
Then, a few days later, the beans began to spill when Lin let it slip to Eden that Pauly had [been] blabbing about
some sort of mysterious cult that was operating in the George County.
...
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here's what I found out: Andy, Randy, Ted, and Pauly belong to some sort of bullshit quasi-religious
sect that was started sometime around 1848 or 1849 by this Walter Rigdon character. I'm saying it was kinda like a
religion, because it was like a lot of other lodges that were popular back then; lots of symbols, incantations,
hoodoo, that sort of thing. I think it's more like a good-old-boy clique than anything else.
"Anyway, back then Rigdon convinced a bunch of people that he had discovered runes -- that's what
he called 'em, runes -- that contained messages that only he could decipher because he was a Chosen One. He said the
messages were from some lost tribes that moved into America that got here by way of Asia. They came from God-knows-where
and set up housekeeping out west in New Mexico or some damn place. Pauly says they were taught that the messages were
revealed by a Kachina or something, by name of Makya or something, who will come again to help others and bring
peace to the world. He wasn't too clear on how the messages got on the stones and into Rigdon's hands.
"Rigdon also said Makya was a guide, or channel, through the spirit world who would reveal to the faithful followers
the location of the Araca. And all the faithful would follow and take orders from Rigdon the Revealer, who is the
representative of Makya on earth. He threw in a lot of Great Spirit talk too.
"I think of you could get this load in a spreader, you'd have enough manure to fertilize all of George County," she
concluded.
"Anything else you can think of?"
"Like I said, Pauly ain't the sort you give sharp scissors to. Come on now, Eden, level with me. This is some bunch
of Peyote-button munchers you're trying to bust, right?"
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"You're too smart for me, Lin," he replied, leaving her hanging.
"I'da believed you if you'd denied it. Now you're trying to bullshit the bartender," she said, peevishly. "Thanks
for nothing."
"Anyway," he asked, "does he have a clue what an Araca is?"
"He says it's some kind of gadget that focuses the energy of the gods, kinda' like the Ark of the Covenant, I'm
figurin'. He don't know what it looks like, but he thinks Rigdon, or someone in the early days -- that's what they
call anything before the twentieth century -- tried to make one. According to Pauly, it was destroyed by some
sort of angry beings or was lost. He didn't seem very clear about it, or a whole lot of anything else, for that
matter. He said the location of the original Araca hasn't been revealed, and won't be until the end-time -- whatever
that is. I figure it's like the Book of Revelation story, ya know?"
"So Eden, that's it. When you pick up Pauly Loughman's brain, the pickings are slim, I think the lodge just let him
come along so they would have someone to clean up after them."
Eden chuckled,. "You got that right. Thanks for all the help. I'll remember, and if you need anything, you just let
me know."
"Oh, there's one other thing."
"What's that, Lin?"
"Pauly said something about not being initiated yet. He didn't seem to be looking forward to it either. You got any
idea what that might be all about?'
"Nope," Eden replied, "you know more about it than I do."
He had the same feeling after talking with Lin that he had after his conversation with Colleen: all very interesting
but not very useful. There was a lot of weird shit going on in and around George County and Rainelle, but it didn't
seem to be connected to the dead woman.
Eden did fantasize a scenario in which the three young women wind up in a satanic rite and are sacrificed to Makya
at Andy
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Walbridge's Funeral Home in a ritual to free up the location of the genuine Araca. In the fantasy,
Amara commits suicide to become the spiritual bride of Makya in a ceremony conducted by the resurrected Walt Rigdon.
But Eden didn't share his fantasy with anyone, for fear of having to repeat it to Weird Herman Harold
McMurchy's shrink....
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..."Something to drink?" Dave offered. "There's coffee, and soda in the fridge. I'm afraid to drink caffeine -- I don't
need any more stimulation. I feel like I'm on speed."
"Okay, well begin," Eden said. "Sharing will relax you."
"All right. One of the hardest things I have to sort out is what Sidney Rigdon really believed, and what was pure
bullshit, or what he may have been duped into believing. You remember Rigdon was the one who supposedly stole the
Spaulding novel? Anyway, add to that dilemma how much of all this is hoax and how much is real, how much is
psychic and how much is scientifically provable, and you can see the --"
Eden scowled and interrupted, "I think you can put most of it in the hoax-and-bullshit category."
Dave forged ahead. Colleen theorized that Rigdon was part believer, part charlatan, and partly
taken in by hoaxes that were floating around at the time. He figured Rigdon might have really believed the whole lost
tribes story and stole Spaulding's novel, believing it to be New World gospel.
"Who knows," he said, "I have suspicions and pretty good indications that Rigdon and Joseph Smith arranged to have
it "revealed" to the world. I don't have hard evidence, but I think
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Rigdon, Spaulding, and Smith had some sort of falling out and Rigdon went his merry way and tried to create his own
church, or at least a cult based on the Manuscript Found revelations. Spaulding wound up in the Amity cemetery, Smith
founded the Church of Latter Day Saints, and Rigdon -- well, who knows? The word is that another Rigdon -- Walter
Rigdon -- was involved somehow, but it might be that he inherited the group from Sidney."
Eden picked up on the word "cult," but he did not mention the Andy/Randy group. It would only muddy the already
murky waters.
Dave went to the sink and drew a glass of water. He held it up to the light and examined it, apparently for sediment.
Eden figured he would use it to make a point, but instead he drank without comment.
"I have no reason either to believe or to doubt any of it," Eden said, "If that's what you brought me out here for --
to assure you that you're not crazy and you're on the right track --"
"No," Dave said abruptly. "That's not why I called you. There's a lot more, and it's more bizarre."...
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the mysterious stuff that goes on in this area, Indians avoiding the Ohio River Valley because it's haunted, the
Grave Creek Mound, the weird vibes emanating from the prison -- the Germans, the Russians -- an elaborate Hindu temple
thousands of miles from India, in what is pretty fundamental Christian country, and in -- of all places -- West
Virginia? And on to Amity, and the lost-and-found stones and plates? Those stones and plates may
have led to the establishment of a yet another religion, Mormonism? Is this all just coincidence?"
"Dave, maybe you've been at this too long," Eden said quietly. "Now don't get your dander up, but I'm really not
convinced. It's just too far-fetched. You know I'm a skeptic by nature... and I know you've spent a lot of time on
this... but maybe that's the problem... you may be too close to it --"
"Okay, okay," Dave broke in, "I'm not a hundred-percent on the piezo-stuff, but I am convinced there is much more to
all we are seeing than just random, unrelated, strange occurrences. Eden: If you can stand atop
Grave Creek Mound and feel nothing, or you can stare down into the Moundsville prison yard and not feel it, or you
don't get powerful vibes at New Vrindavan, or you can't feel the psychic tide in Amity Cemetery -- then you can tell
me I'm a nut case, and I'll give up."
The Deputy stared at the impassioned Dave for many seconds. Then he slowly dropped his eyes, focusing on Dave's
coffee cup on the table. There was nothing he could do but sit in awkward silence.
After several minutes, Eden announced, "Well, it's getting awful late. You have put a lot of good, hard work into
this, Dave. Why don't we sleep on it?"
Eden shuffled off to his truck and headed east to Random Creek. Out there on the western sky, just below the handle
of the Big Dipper, a brilliant flash left a long, luminous trail behind it, heading toward the horizon. Go. go, he
thought. Go home to Chaco Canyon.
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...
"Eden, you can't say anything that I haven't already. But Aingeal is Aingeal, and she's on a mission, determined
to get the story. Like you said, she's a big girl."
Then she added with a note of concern, "You really don't think this Rigdon coven, or cult, whatever the hell
they are, is up to anything criminal, do you?"
"I suppose not, but they're a pretty kinky outfit. When you have a weird-ass initiation rite like that, it
creates a strong hold on people. And in this town, people will do anything to avoid a scandal. So it leads to a code
of silence and coverup." ...
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...
Randy invited her home for dinner several times and he suggested they attend church together. "Randy belongs to one
of those holiness churches. He attends a tabernacle out in the western end, somewhere around Brightbrook."
After awhile, at one of the dinners at his home, Randy introduced Aingeal to funeral director Andy Walbridge and his
wife. They got along well, as Aingeal continued to gain acceptance into Randy's circle. Eventually, she worked her
way into a group of his associates and later into a clique she began to call "the inner circle." This coterie
consisted of Andy Walbridge, Ted Dunlow and -- to Eden's surprise -- barber Harry Woodland.
Aingeal mentioned a couple of other names Eden dodn't recognoze, people from the next county. And it was doubtless a
coincidence, but one name she mentioned was Russian: Mikail Pavlock, a Ukrainian who had immigrated shortly after
the Soviet Union breakup.
Aingeal continued, "I haven't heard anything about the Rigdon group itself. But I'm sure these guys are part of it.
I'm also quite sure the wives of Walbridge, Dunlow, and Woodyard are involved. I assume the other wives are in it as
well. I'm not sure about whether the Ukrainian is married. If he is, I feel for his wife -- he seems like the kind
of sweetheart who would enjoy being a prison guard."
Aingeal claimed to be on the verge of being invited to join the
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Dave was busily working on a cocktail table for one of his city clients, but happy to share coffee with his friend.
Consumed by the murder cases, Eden had forgotten about their find, but Dave brought it up.
"Hey, I've got news on the stuff we found when we dug up that old stump. Gus Bimelar called. He
remembered at a conference a few years back that he ran across a woman who was researching nineteenth-century hoaxes.
She was particularly interested in the Rigdon-Spaulding controversy and how it might have been related to the founding
of the Mormon Church.
"Well, he didn't pay much attention to this woman back then, because there are so many loonies who have theories about
lost tribes and the Mormon Church," Dave explained. "But Gus now believes it's very probable that our find is one of
three or four other plants that were made by one of Sidney Rigdon's relatives -- Walter Rigdon.
"According to what the woman could find out -- she did a lot of genealogical research on the Rigdon family -- Walter
Rigdon went around the countryside, setting up artifacts that could be discovered, so he could begin his own version
of a lost-tribes religion. Maybe he wanted to start a Latter-Latter Day Saints religion of his own?" he chuckled.
"Did you get the name of that woman?" Eden asked.
"You noticed I didn't tell you right away?" Dave teased. "It's a mysterious person you're already aware of."
Eden thought, Colleen McKay -- Aingeal Farrell -- or even Shele -- no --
"Mara," Dave announced.
"Mara Kinchloe? She'd be too young to -- "
"No, no. Mara -- Amara McClure. Who'da thunk it? She, sure as hell, never said anything to me about her research.
Maybe she planned to write a book, and was keeping it a secret."
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Eden suddenly had an image of Amara McClure lying on her bed, a .38 slug in her temple. With it came a queasy
sensation in his stomach and the instant rebirth of his hunch that her death was not a suicide.
Dave said, "I remember when you were investigating her shooting. I figured she found something she shouldn't have
been messing with. Remember that?"
Eden nodded. He remembered all too well their discussions surrounding how Amara killed herself.
"Wow," Eden said. "This is quite a surprise. I need a little time to digest this news. This revelation alone might
make us reinvestigate Amara's death."
Shaken, Eden said his thanks and departed. As he drove, his mind raced in speculation...
If Amara McClure killed herself... could it have been because she stumbled onto something about the Rigdonite cult?
His suspicions emerged from the world of a personal fantasy into a full blown vision of possibility. Maybe she
uncovered something a cult member wanted kept secret. Maybe she tried to blackmail one of them. Maybe she had
become involved with them, creating a reason for her to kill herself -- drugs -- a bad trip -- occult dabblings --
his mind raced on a trip of its own....
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