Page 73 of In the Pursuit of Haven
Her hands went back to the map. “Crabb’s,” she breathed. “That’s why the retaining wall is broken.” Abby began to read more of our sticky notes, making exclamations over the discoveries that were new to her. “You call them Shepherds of the Relics, huh?” She glanced over her shoulder at us. “I’ve got something to add to your clues.”
Jessie didn’t seem like he believed her. He leaned back on the couch, catching my arm under his. “Do you?”
“Zak is a descendant of one of these Shepherds,” she said.
That got Jessie’s attention. “How?”
“He’s got a coin on his money wall that he says belongs to his great-great-great-great—well, I don’t know how many greats—grandfather—John Clifford, who happened to own the first tavern in Salem… on Winter Island.” She tapped her finger against the island on the map. “That’s one we could look into.”
I was thrilled. Jessie, on the other hand, wasn’t about to let his sister get a win. His forehead creased. “Zak also says he’s related to the Derby family and the Crowninshields.”
Of course Zak would brag about his connections to the richest, most influential families in Salem. Ruth and her father made sure everyone knew they came from those exalted circles too.
“Why couldn’t he be?” I asked. “Those two families intermarried all the time.” I hopped up to run to the computer in my excitement and typed in John Clifford’s name along with “Winter Island.”
Sure enough, John Clifford was granted a license to run a tavern on Winter Island near Abbott’s Cove in 1679. “The tavern no longer exists,” I reported. A military fort had taken over the area later on. Knowing who might be a Shepherd wasn’t enough. We were running off borrowed time once Hunter got out of jail and raced us to the treasure.
We had to start finding more of these Relics and fast.
“Do you know where the tavern was?” Jessie asked. He stood, leaning over me and the keyboard.
I scanned through the information. “Near Spring Pond where Clifford built his home…” I could just imagine us taking up scuba diving to find the Shepherd Relics there. “And later on, he sold to Captain Jacob Allen, who married Clifford’s only daughter.” I found another interesting tidbit. “His son-in-law was also a former indentured servant, and then the married couple sold the land to Dr. John Caspar Richter van Crowninscheldt, who happened to… marrytheirdaughter.”
“See?” Abby straightened and clapped her hands. “I told you Zak was related to Crowninshields.”
“So is Ruth,” I said.
“And her last nameisCrowningshield,” Jessie said, like he was getting one over on his sister.
I quickly read through their family history. Apparently, the good doctor was the illegitimate son of a noble family of the Kingdom of Saxony, and he was named after the town he was born in—what a back story for the man who built Salem’s shipping empire… and with that came the smuggling.
Shady background! Smugglers!Not so high and mighty now, are you, Ruth?
Later on, Ruth’s scandalous ancestors hadveryenthusiastically joined the Revolutionary War. All the boxes were getting checked that they were the ones who’d befriended Crabb. Rebels, very little regard for social conventions at the time.
And I wasn’t sure what to do with this information really, only that Robert Corwin’s family wouldn’t be the only ones who passed their relic down to future generations.
“Maybe Ruth and her dad have the Relic,” I muttered.
“Nowthatwould be strange,” Abby said, not bothering to hide the doubt in her voice. “I’m telling you, Zak’s got it.”
“The guy couldn’t keep a secret from anyone,” Jessie said. “If he had it, everyone would know.”
“Well, Zak’s grandfather—his great, lots of greats-grandfather, John Clifford—could’ve hidden the Relic,” I said. There were just so many possibilities to iron out before we could go to Zak’s pub to investigate. “John Clifford took up residence in lower Essex Street, and he was buried? Let’s see…” I skipped over some of the less relevant info online. “His is the oldest gravestone in the burying ground near the west end of Lynn Common. Oh, and here’s the inscription. It says: ‘Here lyeth ye body of John Clifford Died June ye 17 1698 in ye 68 year of his age.’ And…” That’s when I found an anomaly. “Get this! Apparently, the nine in the date has been altered to resemble a two, and so the caretakers once believed that there had been a burial there as early as 1628.”
Another inconsistency on a gravestone—there was a theme!
“That has possibilities,” Jessie said, “but we’re also missing something important here. Clifford’s family line flows into the Derbys’ too.”
“So?” Abby’s scorn was as sharp as her brother’s.
“… through Elias Hasket Derby Jr’s.”
That was a famous name. His father was one of America’s first millionaires; Derby Street was named after Elias when he extended the wharf farther out. And some said—namely the underground tunnel tour guides—that after Jefferson implemented the Embargo Act in 1807, Elias took that opportunity to create his underground smuggling system to avoid the burdensome taxes.
“If the relic was passed down through the Derby side,” I said, “it could be anywhere in those smuggling tunnels.”
“Smuggling tunnels?” Jessie’s brow shot up. “That’s a pretty big conspiracy theory!”
