By
Faye Von Tress Garmon
-- Katie McLean
needed help. Poochie Marie
understood that—she was
standing over her, whimpering
and licking her face when a
man and his dog appeared in
the clearing.
"Katie! Katie! You
okay?"
Slowly Katie began to focus.
For just a moment, she
emerged from a deep dream and
saw a familiar face. It was
Dick Cameron, an old Marine
buddy of her dad’s. She
could feel him massaging her
cold hands before she slipped
into a different place . . .
The warm spring sun that had
so warmed the rock she was
sitting on intensified
everything around
her—the lacy look of
newborn leaves, silhouetted
against the sky by the tall,
slender oaks and elms . . .
the pristine white of
dogwoods in full bloom. And
throughout, an awareness of
ancient earth, mulched with
untold seasons of fallen
brush and leaves, whose deep
decay gave forth the rich
smell of woods untouched by
civilization.
Poochie Marie explored the
wild violets and mushrooms
around nearby trees, digging
and sniffing at each in its
turn. With one hand Katie
held a book she was reading,
using the other to shade the
faded writing from the sun.
Soon after she began to read,
the calm of the spring
morning dissipated as random
phrases leaped off the pages
. . .
January 29. 1879: “Why
has he been so mean to me
since Mama died? . . .I am
old enough to ride Henry over
to Aunt Lily’s house by
myself. Mama and I did it
lots of times. Besides,
it’s not that far, and I
always have time after my
chores. So why not?”
Katie’s eyes dimmed. She
knew exactly how it felt to
be a little girl who lost her
mother. More of her own
memories began to emerge, but
the phrases kept invading her
thoughts, as clear as if they
had been spoken . . .
April 16, 1879 “Why do I
always have to stay here with
Papa? I know he’s my
father, but I HATE him. He
won’t even let me talk
to Billy at church! If it
weren’t for Addie Lee
slipping our notes to each
other in school . . .”
June 10, 1879:
“It’s been six
years since Mama died.
I’m almost a grown
woman, but Papa’s never
going to let me out of his
sight. I HATE him, almost as
much as I love Billy!”
September 20, 1879:
“Papa never quits
telling me what a bad person
Billy is! He’s so wrong!
I wouldn’t dare show him
Billy’s notes, but if he
read them he’d know what
a sweet, gentle person Billy
really is. Some Saturday when
Papa’s helping old Mr.
Craddock plough his fields,
I’ll saddle up Henry and
ride over to see Billy . . .
just to talk. I can’t
bear it any longer. And if
Papa does find out, well,
Addie Lee and I are best
friends, so I could . .
.”
Katie suddenly felt some
external force pulling at
her, as the phrases faded
into oblivion, losing their
grip to something stronger.
"Katie! Talk to me,
Katie! Are you all
right?”
Dick was shaking her now, a
grim expression on his
weathered face.
“What—why are you
…”
“Thank God you finally
came around, Katie! I was out
walking Black Jack when he
started barking and pulling
at the leash. When I gave him
his lead, he brought me here
and stopped, and there you
were, lying on the ground!
What happened?"
"I …don’t
know. I was putting Poochie
on her leash and starting for
home.” She paused as he
helped her up. “I must
have tripped on something. I
guess I hit my head on that
rock when I landed."
“You guess?” Dick
asked, with a sardonic grin.
“Judging from that big
bruise on your forehead,
that’s a pretty good
guess. Can you walk okay?
Come on…let’s get
you home. Here, Jack! Come
on, Poochie.”
Still holding onto Katie,
Dick took control of both
leashes. The big Lab and his
small companion trotted
slowly ahead through the
woods toward town.
"Wait! Not yet!”
protested Katie.
“I’ve got to find
the book!”
“What book?”
Leashes in one hand, Dick
kept gripping her arm with
the other as she stumbled
around the spot where she had
fallen.
“Here! Here it is,”
she exclaimed, her pale face
suddenly flushed with
excitement. “I found it
when I went to see what
Poochie was trying so long to
dig up. It’s a
diary!” she explained
triumphantly. “As old as
it is, I was able to read the
whole thing!”
“You and that constant
curiosity of yours,” he
said, shaking his head with
resignation. “Come on,
Kid. We’d better get you
to your Aunt Elizabeth’s
before that lump on your head
becomes the proverbial
hen’s egg—or
worse!”
By the time Dick left,
Elizabeth had washed
Katie’s dirt-streaked
face, fixed an ice pack, and
steered her to the nearest
bed.
“Okay, Katie
McLean,” she began.
“Just what were you
exploring this time? I
can’t believe that
taking Poochie for a walk to
Granddad’s old
place—and just to pick
violets?--could beat you up
like this!”
"Really, Aunt Elizabeth,
I didn’t mean to explore
anything. When we got there,
I decided to sit in the sun
for a while first. But pretty
soon Poochie started digging
and digging at the base of
one of those old
trees—you know…the
ones with holes around their
roots.”
Elizabeth laughed. “She
loves to dig. Her
curiosity’s about as
strong as yours.”
“Well, when I went to
see what she was after, she
had dug out just a stiff
corner of something. So I
found myself a strong stick
and worked at it ‘til I
got it. It was an old leather
pouch! And when I finally
worked the tie loose, guess
what I found inside! A
diary!”
“No kidding!”
Elizabeth shook her head in
astonishment. “And
wouldn’t you know that
you, of all people, would be
the one to find it!
Naturally, you just had to
read the whole thing before
you headed home,” she
said, smoothing back
Katie’s long red hair to
apply the ice pack.
“Oooh...ouch,”
Katie said with a wince, as
the ice began to numb her
forehead. Then she grinned at
Elizabeth.
“Well…wouldn’t
you have?”
“Sure,” agreed her
aunt, “but I
wouldn’t have got so
absorbed in it that I
didn’t watch my step,
especially in such old
woods.”
“But I thought I
did!” protested Katie.
“First, I put it back in
the pouch and held onto it
with one hand while I picked
up Poochie’s leash with
the other. That’s about
all I remember ‘til Dick
woke me up. The fall
wouldn’t have hurt me at
all if I hadn’t hit my
head on that big old
rock!”
Elizabeth threw a thin green
blanket over Katie, pulling
it up to her chin.
“Well, you’re safe
now…thanks to the good
Lord and Dick …just try
to lie still for a while and
let that ice work. By the
way, do I get to see the
mysterious artifact?”
“I think Dick put it on
the kitchen table.
Go ahead. Read it and tell me
what you think.”
“After you rest,
Girlie.”
With that, Elizabeth returned
to the kitchen. Indeed the
book was on the table. Her
curiosity urged her to look
at it that very moment. But
first she needed to feed
Poochie and her feline
brothers, old Linus and
Snoopy. The minute she took
the Meaty Bones out of the
cabinet, Poochie Marie began
doing the little trick
she’d learned to earn
her treat--her short legs
propelling her long brown
body into a quick circular
dance.
It was nearly supper time
when Katie appeared at the
living room door, her
forehead darker, but not so
bumpy. Elizabeth was curled
up on the couch, trying to
read the faded words without
tearing the fragile pages.
She glanced up.
“Can’t blame you,
Honey,” she said.
“I love history as much
as you do…especially
about Lincoln County and all
our ancestors. This thing is
a real blast from the
past!”
“I know…but I keep
worrying that it’s going
to fall apart! It’s so
dirty and thin, and the pages
…well, they’re
just. . . so old!”
“Katie, did you get all
the way through this before
you fell?”
“Yes, I really—say!
Maybe that’s why I had
such a strange dream before
Dick woke me up."
"No wonder, Honey. You
were out like a light. Dick
said it took him at least
five minutes to bring you
around. Said he was almost
ready to call an
ambulance."
“That would've been
something, wouldn't it?”
Katie said, almost giggling.
“I can just see an
ambulance lurching through
all that old, gnarled
underbrush."
"It's not funny, Katie.
That fall might have killed
you! But—what
dream?”
“It was so real, Aunt
Elizabeth…not like I was
just reading the diary…
it seemed like I was right
beside her, living through
everything she wrote.”
“In what way?”
asked Elizabeth, obviously as
fascinated now as Katie was.
“Well,” Katie
began, as if searching for
the right example. “You
and Uncle Jon have often said
this house is over a hundred
years old, right?”
Elizabeth nodded, lifting old
Linus Kitty onto her lap,
where he curled, purring,
into a large, gray ball of
tiger-striped fur.
“But the house I saw in
my dream didn’t even
have tin squares on the
ceiling like this one…it
was all wood. Everywhere. Not
really very pretty, but
comfortable, I guess. But
real old.”
“Okay, Katie, just think
about the dates she wrote on
each page. Her house would
have been a good fifty years
older than this one.”
“But isn’t it
strange that my dream showed
me that? I don’t
remember doing research at
the paper for any story that
old. And Dovie didn’t
describe it in—”
“Dovie?” exclaimed
Elizabeth, her blue eyes even
darker now with surprise.
“Where did you see her
name? I missed that!”
Katie carefully took the book
and turned the pages to the
back cover. There, in the
same pale, dainty script
found on all the other pages
was written, “Dovie
Campbell and Billy
Shaughnessy—forever!”
“That’s
amazing,” Elizabeth
murmured, “You know,
Katie, there are Campbells
all over the history of
Lincoln County, but it’s
still quite a coincidence. At
least, now we know who she
was!”
“That dream was so
real!” Katie said again.
“It was as if I were
right there with her. Oh, I
know, Aunt Elizabeth, I
know…but, tell me
something. Didn’t you
ever have a dream where you
could see every detail, and
remember it?”
Elizabeth reflected for a
moment.
“Maybe…sometime…but
I can’t say I’ve
had one that vivid. Details?
Like what?”
Elizabeth’s cell phone
interrupted.
“That’s probably
your Uncle Jon, calling to
tell me when he’ll get
home.”
While her aunt was on the
phone, Katie heard Snoopy at
the door, pawing at it to get
in. When she opened it, there
he was with his catch of the
day—a squirrel he had
successfully managed to bring
home as a gift. He dropped
the odious present on the
porch and raced in, a streak
of black and white fur
crossing the room.
“I’m through,
Katie. He’s coming after
the council meeting’s
over. Now, what
details?”
“Like the ceiling. Why
would anyone notice that in a
dream, let alone remember it?
And then there was the old
wood-burning stove. I watched
a young girl and her mom in
the kitchen, and they used a
black thing that fit into a
round burner lid to lift it
up and put some wood on the
fire below it.”
“But Katie, all of us
have seen pictures of those
old wood-burning stoves. They
called that black thing the
lifter. And you don’t
have to be a newspaper
journalist like you are to
imagine that.”
Katie walked into the
adjoining kitchen. Elizabeth
followed, her small face
shaded with curiosity as she
watched her niece examine the
not-too-modern cook stove.
“But if you dreamed
about those images
you’ve seen on paper or
in old movies, do you think
you’d hear the crackling
of the fire burning? Or see
blue and yellow flames when
the burner lid comes up? Or
get the smell of burning wood
and the warmth it puts out?
AND…would you ever get a
whiff of home-made bread as
it’s baking? I did. In
that dream.”
Elizabeth stood transfixed.
She knew Katie was a good
writer, but she had never
heard or read anything from
her quite like this.
“Well,” she began
uncertainly, “we know
why you smelled the bread.
You’ve been smelling the
real thing since you were a
little girl. Your mother
always made the greatest
yeast bread.”
Elizabeth’s words
trailed off, saddened by the
memory of the sister who,
widowed by a war, had also
died so young, leaving
ten-year-old Katie in her
care. But Elizabeth and
Jon’s only little ones
were their two beloved cats
and Poochie Marie. Adopting
Katie was a godsend.
“But don’t you
think it’s strange, Aunt
Elizabeth, that I could hear
and feel and smell and see
everything as if I were right
there? I thought grown-ups
didn’t dream in color,
or have those other senses.
Did you ever?”
“Not that I can
remember, Honey. But doctors
will tell you that the brain
can do strange things to
compensate when some part of
the head is damaged. Take
Mrs. Jennings next door. She
found a picture on her
computer screen of a place
she loved years ago. The
picture was actually in black
and white, but she saw it in
color…every time she
pulled it up! Her eye doctor
said that her brain was
creating its own images,
trying to make up for her
vision loss.”
“But Mrs. Jennings has
macular degeneration!”
protested Katie. “I
don’t.”
“I know, Sweetheart. But
that does show you that the
brain can work in mysterious
ways.” The phone
interrupted her logic.
“After I take this”
she said, “I want to
hear the rest—every
nitty-gritty bit of it.”
Gently, almost lovingly,
Katie ran her fingers over
the cover of Dovie’s
diary. She was eager to tell
Elizabeth the whole dream.
Then maybe her aunt would see
some clue that she could
not…at least make a
guess as to what happened in
the end.
The die was cast—one way
or another, Katie McLean was
going to find out more.
“That was Jon
again,” Elizabeth said.
“They cancelled the
meeting; so he’ll be
here soon. Now… I want
the rest of the story.”
“There’s not a lot
more,” Katie said,
“except for something
you didn’t read in the
diary—you remember it
didn’t go much farther
than her plan to go see
Billy, right?
Elizabeth nodded. “Yes,
that did kind of leave me up
in the air.”
“Well, in the dream, I
watched her carry out that
plan. She did saddle up old
Henry after her father left
for Mr. Craddock’s and
she had finished all her
chores. Billy’s house
was farther away than the
schoolhouse. She wanted to
take the shortest way, but
she was kind of afraid
to.”
“Why? I thought she was
good enough at riding a horse
that she could go
anywhere.”
“She was…but both
her parents had often warned
her not to ever ride through
the Ramsour’s Mill
Battlegroud, especially along
Clark’s Creek. You
remember they used the bricks
left there from the War to
build the first
courthouse?”
“Yes, but that was
several years before.”
“But they didn’t
get them all, and her folks
always told her that riding
through there might cause her
horse to fall or stumble and
throw her! Anyway, she did
take the safe way through the
fields to Billy’s. And
just before she got there,
she had to go through
Crowder’s woods.”
“That shouldn’t
have been too hard,”
Elizabeth said. “I
understand there are age-old
paths through there that are
still easy to follow.”
“You’re right.
Dovie loved riding through
there, with the spring
sunlight dappling the ground.
And the birds—they were
like a symphony, there were
so many of them!”
“And you heard them,
too, I suppose?”
“Oh, yes! I don’t
think I’ve ever heard so
many together before. And the
smell—just like on
Granddad’s old place,
where the earth is so old it
gives you this rich aroma,
and the air was
heavenly!”
“Go on! What happened
next?”
“Well, the woods ended
just across a small field
from Billy’s barn, and
just as she got to the edge
of them, she saw Billy and a
girl she didn’t
recognize near the barn
door…and they were
arguing about
something!”
They looked up as Jon came
through the front door..
“Hi, Elizabeth! Hi,
Sweetie! What’s up?
Lord, Katie, Honey, what
happened to your head?”
“Hush, Jon! We’ll
tell you in a little while.
Go on with your dream, Katie!
What did she do?”
“What
‘she’?” Jon
was getting vexed, especially
since he smelled a good story
for the paper.
“I told you to wait,
Jon! Just listen to the rest
of the story and then
we’ll catch you
up!”
Jon acceded to his small
wife’s demands and
settled his tall frame into
the nearest recliner.
Elizabeth nodded, urging
Katie to continue.
“Well, first she backed
a bit farther into the woods
so they wouldn’t see
her. She watched until the
girl slapped Billy—hard!
Then she climbed onto her
horse and took off!”
“What could that have
been all about?” This
time, Jon was asking.
Katie shook her head. They
could see tears.
“As the girl turned to
mount the horse, Dovie
noticed that her long skirt
flared out just like Aunt
Lily’s did
before—”
“She was pregnant!”
Elizabeth practically
shouted.
“And this Billy,
obviously, was the
father.” added Jon.
“Dovie’s eyes were
so blinded with tears that
she could hardly see to turn
Henry around and go home as
fast as she could! Hard as it
was to admit it, she realized
now that Billy was not what
he seemed to be. Finally, she
knew the real Billy
Shaughnessy! All along, Papa
had been right! He was only
trying to protect her from
turning out like that other
girl! Her heart was crushed
and so heavy. And gradually,
remorse seeped in to weigh it
down even further. She had
been so stupid, so selfish!
She would do her best to make
it up to Papa. She would cook
him a special meal for supper
tonight and tell him that she
loved him….that she
would take care of him for
the rest of his life...that
she would never think of
leaving him again!"
Katie paused for a moment,
trying to suppress her own
sorrow so she could go on.
“Unfortunately, she was
so eager to do that, she
decided to take the risk and
ride home through
Ramsour’s Mill. She
reminded herself that haste
makes waste, but she would
bridle her impatience and be
very careful with old Henry.
Besides, Henry was one of
Papa’s favorites. Still,
she hurried.”
She stopped to take a few
sips of the iced tea
Elizabeth had put before her.
After so much talk, the cold,
sweet liquid soothed her
throat.
“Go on,” Jon urged.
“I know this can’t
be the end!”
“Not quite. Close,”
Katie told them. “You
see, the terrain really was
rough on Henry. I could feel
his uncertain hoof beats. One
time he stumbled and almost
fell. That’s when I saw
the diary slip out of
Dovie’s pocket. I
don’t know why she took
it with her that time, but
she did.”
“Oh, no!” exclaimed
Elizabeth. “And
that’s why her entries
stopped before all this
happened!”
“What diary?” Jon
asked impatiently.
“What did she do next?
Did she notice it?”
“I’m sure she
didn’t,” Katie
answered. “She was
coaxing Henry back onto
firmer ground when, suddenly,
I was in this whirling, black
place, and before I could get
really scared, Dick was
waking me up!”
All three sank back in their
chairs, a bit exhausted from
the drama of it.
“All right,
Elizabeth,” Jon
demanded.
“Now! It’s my
turn!”
At first, Snoopy had been
climbing all over Jon to
welcome him home. Now he was
rattling the Venetian blinds
because his requests to go
back out had been ignored.
Katie got up to let him out
while Elizabeth, her normally
fair face flushed with
excitement, did her best to
satisfy Jon’s curiosity.
“Well, Sweetie,
you’ve really done it
this time.” Jon took
Katie’s hand as she sat
back down.
“What do you mean?”
“Between your
imagination and that blow on
the head, you’ve come up
with a great piece of
fiction!”
“But the diary is
real!” Katie got up and
took the diary off the
counter. She handed it to
Jon.
“You know what,
Katie?,” he said, after
leafing through the pages.
“This thing’s about
as mysterious as Lincoln
County’s courthouse
ghost!”
Katie gasped, her face
beaming with a new idea.
“Maybe Dovie IS the
courthouse ghost!”
“Don’t get carried
away, Honey,” said
Elizabeth. “I don’t
want that curiosity of yours
to lead you to some major
disappointment. How in the
world could you put that all
together?”
“Whatever people believe
about the ghost…and you
know I was brought up on that
story…Dovie was real.
The diary and the people in
it were real! And the ghost
has been caught on digital
surveillance tape,
remember?”
“I only reported what
witnesses said, when I wrote
that story,” Jon told
her. “I guess the
conclusion has to come from
how much people believe in
things we can’t
prove.”
“You know,” Katie
said thoughtfully,
“there just might be a
way to make them believe
harder.”
“How?” they
demanded simultaneously.
“Research.”
Several days had passed since
Katie’s encounter with
an ancient diary and her
strange dream. Jon and
Elizabeth’s work on
their online news service
made their mealtimes rather
sporadic, since their major
goal was on-scene reporting;
so they hadn’t noticed
right away that Katie’s
meals at home were just as
sporadic, even though her job
at The Lincoln Observer
usually occupied normal work
hours.
Finally, Katie asked them to
join her for dinner one
evening at The Lincolntonian
Restaurant. It was Friday,
and her aunt and uncle had a
break for a change.
“Katie sounded like the
cat that swallowed the canary
when she called,”
Elizabeth said. “I
wonder what she’s been
digging at this time.”
“No telling,” said
Jon. “Oh, here she
comes. She’s a real
beauty, isn’t she, with
that long, red hair and those
green eyes..not quite the
little freckle-faced kid we
once knew, is she?”
He paused as Katie reached
the table.
“Hi, Sweetie.” He
got up to give her a hug.
“We were just talking
about you.”
“Don’t worry,
Honey. He was just envying
that tall, slim figure of
yours…jealous, I
think.”
“How are you both?”
she asked, leaning down to
give Elizabeth a kiss.
“Thanks for coming. This
is a neat place, isn’t
it? It was about time
Lincolnton got a really nice
eatery!”
“And it’s about
time you let us in on all
these odd hours you’ve
been keeping, Young
Lady!” her aunt told
her, a smile undermining her
tone.
“You should talk! With
all those police scanners
around the house, you two
never have a normal day at
home, let alone a decent
meal!” she countered.
“But you’re right,
Aunt Elizabeth, I do have
something special to show
you.”
The waiter appeared to take
their orders and tried to
leave the large, attractive
menus. Jon shooed him away
impatiently.
“Just bring our drinks
for now,” he told him.
“We’ll call you
later.” Then, to Katie,
“Okay. What’s the
big mystery? Elizabeth told
me she could tell you had
something exciting
brewing!”
Katie waited until the tall,
young man gathered up the
menus with a confused look on
his face. As he walked away,
she reached into her purse
and pulled out a couple of
pages, covered with old-style
newsprint. In large type at
the top they read the name
“Lincoln County Daily
Banner.
“Here,” she said,
handing them over. “I
love those gas lanterns along
the wall, but I know it may
be hard to read. Maybe you
two can read this
together.”
Eagerly, Elizabeth took the
pages. While Jon was putting
on his glasses, she began
reading the headline.
“The Legendary Lady of
Lincolnton Passes Away.”
Stunned, because she had read
far enough ahead to see the
name, Elizabeth glanced in
wonder at Katie, and Jon
began reading:
“April 14th,
1929…Miss Dovie
Campbell, 66, passed away
yesterday at the home of her
cousins, Ada and Donald
McHenry of Lincolnton.”
“How in the world did
you ever find this,
Katie?” Jon asked.
“You must have read
every issue you could get
your hands on.”
“I wasn’t
counting,” she said,
shrugging her slim shoulders.
“I just decided to start
looking at all the old
obituary columns of that era.
I thought, if I did find
Dovie’s, I might learn
something else!”
“And did you?”
Elizabeth urged.
“Read it and see,”
Katie answered, hardly able
to suppress her impulse to
tell them herself.
Elizabeth took over,
adjusting the pages so that
the fading light from the
Venetian blinds could make
them easier to read.
“Miss Campbell
eventually acquired her
legendary title because of
her constant trips, week
after week, year after year,
to the Lincoln County
Courthouse. Sources tell this
paper that our older citizens
believe that she last saw her
beloved father there after he
was convicted of
murder—“
Jon’s chin dropped.
“Murder!” he
exclaimed. Then, “Sorry,
Honey.”
Elizabeth shook her head
sadly and continued,
“—he was convicted
of murder and taken from her.
Our older citizens are
obstinate in their belief
that she visits the
courthouse so often to be
near the place she last saw
him."
“Oh, how sad!”
Elizabeth’s tears
blurred the print, and she
handed the article back to
Jon, who took up where she
had left off.
“All the folks in
Lincolnton had often seen
Miss Campbell sitting on the
lawn on warm days, feeding
the birds. Courthouse
employees said she often came
in and simply strolled
through the halls. Whatever
her reasons, she will be
missed by all of us, every
time we drive past the
Courthouse.”
Jon handed the pages back to
Katie.
“Well, that does sound
like the connection you were
looking for, Honey, but is
that it?”
“No. I knew the story
about the murder case had to
be somewhere.”
She paused as Jon waved the
waiter away once again.
Not to be daunted this time,
the young man lingered long
enough to refresh their tea.
“So,” Katie
continued, “I started
looking for all the old
courthouse records…but
when the first courthouse was
torn down and hauled away, it
seems the records disappeared
with it.”
“Oh, no!” Elizabeth
moaned…”after all
that digging and that
provocative clue!”
“Don’t worry, Aunt
Elizabeth. You know I
couldn’t stop there. The
Daily Banner in Lincolnton
wasn’t the only paper in
existence at that time.”
“So…you started
researching all the
neighboring papers?” Jon
asked.
“Yes. But I began with
The Charlotte Observer. After
all, they were the biggest
and most apt to have
extensive archives. Besides,
a murder, even in Lincoln
County, would have made big
news in Mecklenburg in those
days.”
“Did that work?”
asked her aunt.
“Yes. I didn’t
bring reprints of everything,
but I did learn that
Dovie’s father, Rorie
Campbell, was admired by many
of his neighbors, who also
knew about his deep concern
for Dovie’s feelings for
Billy Shaughnessy. But they
also knew he had a volatile
temper, and he had often said
that, if that Shaughnessy
scoundrel ever touched his
Dovie, he’d kill him!
So, when Billy’s family
came home that afternoon and
found Billy dead from a
shotgun blast, the law felt
compelled to go talk to Mr.
Campbell.”
“Did he do it?”
asked Jon.
“Who could have blamed
him?” Elizabeth asked
angrily.
“He swore he
didn’t,” answered
Katie, “but they found
some very incriminating
evidence. He had his shotgun
leaning against the kitchen
wall…and one of his
shirts was found in the
kitchen sink in cold
water…soaking out some
blood around the
sleeves.”
“And that did it!”
Jon concluded.
“But, wasn’t there
anyone to give him an
alibi?” her aunt asked.
“When did it
happen?”
“The very day Dovie rode
over to visit and found him
with that other girl!”
“Just a minute!”
Jon put in. “I thought
Dovie’s father was at
his old neighbor’s that
day, helping him
plough.”
“He was. But the article
stated that Mr. Craddock
couldn’t give him a firm
alibi because he went into
the house to rest and fell
asleep for a while.”
“But couldn’t
Dovie’s father explain
the bloody shirt and the
shotgun?” asked
Elizabeth.
“The report quoted Mr.
Campbell as saying that he
had tried to shoot a rabbit
he saw at the edge of the
woods, on the far end of the
field. Then he tripped over a
rock and somehow cut his arms
in the process.”
“I might be inclined to
believe him,” Jon said,
“but that evidence was
pretty convincing, especially
since he seemed to have
motive and opportunity.”
“What did they sentence
him to?” Elizabeth
asked, expecting the worst.
“Life in the State
Penitentiary,” Katie
told them. “And before
they took him away, Dovie
apparently raised quite a
scene. She screamed at the
judge that she knew he was
happy to convict her Papa of
a crime he didn’t do
because he…the
judge…was Billy’s
uncle. Then she ran to her
dad and hugged and held onto
him until they pulled her
away. She kept crying and
calling after her father,
saying that Aunt Lily would
bring her to Raleigh to see
him as often as she could.
Then some officers took her
dad to the railway station.
It seemed oddly convenient
that there was a train for
Raleigh due that very
afternoon.”
“What a tragic
ending,” murmured Jon.
“That’s not the
end,” Katie said grimly.
The two glanced at each other
and leaned toward their
niece, almost dreading what
was coming. After all, what
more could possibly happen?
Reading their unspoken
question, Katie said simply,
“A train wreck. On the
way there the train jumped
the tracks. Later, they found
that the rails had been
damaged somehow. Rorie
Campbell was one of the
passengers who didn’t
survive.”
By now, tears had spilled
over onto Elizabeth’s
cheeks as she
murmured,“So she never
saw her father after that day
in court.”
Jon concluded sadly,
“And that’s how she
became The Legendary Lady of
Lincolnton.
The courthouse was the last
place she saw her
father…the only place in
the world where she could
feel even a little bit close
to him.”
“I think she never
stopped coming there,”
Katie added. “Even when
the old one was torn down,
the new courthouse was built
on that same site. I think
she’s still there now
and then, wandering through
the halls that are sacred to
her, because that’s the
last place she ever held her
Papa in her arms. Remember my
dream?”
They nodded mutely, as all
the conclusions sank in.
“She made him a promise.
She vowed she would never
leave him.”
Jon shook his head, for once
nearly at a loss for words.
Finally, he looked at
Elizabeth, who was dabbing at
her eyes with her napkin.
“You know what,
Elizabeth? I think our
inquisitive little girl here
has a very believable
explanation for what’s
been going on for years at
the Courthouse.”
Katie’s eyes danced with
delight as she sank back in
the booth, quite exhausted.
Relaxed now, she took in the
appealing ambiance of The
Lincolntonian—the simple
elegance of white linen,
sparkling crystal and silver,
the low key conversation of
patrons attended by a wait
staff dressed in black and
white…blue and golden
flames flickering in gas
lanterns long the
walls…barely audible
music coming from somewhere.
She leaned over and whispered
to Jon, “Where’s
that waiter?” she
demanded. “I’m
starved!”
Two years later, Miss Katie
McLean, now the Special
Features Editor of
Lincolnton’s leading
newspaper, began to research
historical events in
neighboring Iredell County.
By chance she came across a
story titled “Deathbed
Confession.”
Intrigued, Katie found
herself plunged into a
scenario that gripped her to
its end. Edgar Lochman, an
Iredell citizen who realized
he was dying from an
incurable illness, told
authorities that he had shot
a young Lincoln County boy
named Billy Shaughnessy in
1879.
His daughter had told him
that Billy was the father of
her unborn child but refused
to marry her. When she vowed
to kill herself, Mr. Lochman
took his shotgun, tracked
down Billy, and shot him.
Since the man convicted of
the crime had died in an
accident before going to
prison, Mr. Lochman said he
felt no remorse for the
crime, especially since his
daughter had died in
childbirth.
Katie felt a sudden chill run
down her arms. She recalled
all of the conclusions she
had reached about how Dovie
Campbell‘s spirit could
still be lingering at the
Courthouse.
From what she had read in
Dovie's diary and in old
newspaper reports, it was
obvious that Dovie had never
married, that her attitude
toward her father had
changed.
Although the background in
her dream was not described
anywhere, details about the
area of Ramsour’s Mill
were already locked in the
memory banks of a young girl
who had grown up in an
historic area—details
like the wood stove she so
vividly described. But only
in Katie’s dream had
there been a story about a
pregnant girl—until now.
She rubbed her arms,
smoothing down the goose
bumps. Creating a theory
about Dovie was one thing;
realizing that she had
dreamed part of what had
actually happened was
another!
But wait. Maybe there had
been a slight breeze that day
that blew the girl’s
skirt out as she mounted the
horse, making Katie
suspicious. Maybe the girl
was furious with Billy about
something else. Maybe.
For once Katie McLean had
stumbled upon a mystery she
knew she would never be able
to solve.
A week later, Katie shared
with her Lincoln County
readers “The Abiding
Faith of Lincolnton’s
Legendary Lady Vindicated at
Last.”
Since Katie’s editorial
appeared, there have been no
sightings of a ghost in the
Lincoln County Courthouse.
