100 Years of Blood

By Ty Johnston

The House of Abingdon

Its story begins in the early years of the 20th Century when the servant of an English Lord arrives at an isolated county among the foothills of Appalachia.

The land surveyed, work soon begins on a house spacious and fine enough for retired nobility, for retirement seems the goal of Lord Richard Abingdon. Retirement from the trappings of nobility, retirement from the world, from life.

With building of the house complete, a new community springs up not far away, a small town bearing the lord of the house's name, and Richard finds he can isolate himself physically but the world will continue to intrude itself upon him and his self-built domain.

What follows is a century of the rise and fall of the House of Abingdon, from its promising beginning to its dark and dreary end and all events between.

During that time, a host of individuals come and go within the house, from servants to those of high society and the strange, seemingly never-aging residents.

In the end, the house offers more questions than answers, more mysteries than solutions, for the obvious and the seeming obvious are never truth in The House of Abingdon.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ty Johnston
• Release date: Apr 10, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476379883

Ty Johnston

Originally from Kentucky, Ty Johnston is a former newspaper journalist. He lives in North Carolina with loving memories of his late wife.Blog: tyjohnston.blogspot.com

Book preview

100 Years of Blood

by Ty Johnston

a Monumental Works Group author

Copyright 2012 by L. M. Press

visit the author’s website: tyjohnston.blogspot.com

sign up for the author’s newsletter: tinyletter.com/TyJohnston

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Fiction available from the author

Demon Chains

Ghosts of the Asylum

City of Rogues: Book I of The Kobalos Trilogy

Road to Wrath: Book II of The Kobalos Trilogy

Dark King of the North: Book III of The Kobalos Trilogy

The Kobalos Trilogy: Omnibus edition

Blade and Flame (short story prequel to The Kobalos Trilogy)

Bayne’s Climb: Part I of The Sword of Bayne

A Thousand Wounds: Part II of The Sword of Bayne

Under the Mountain: Part III of The Sword of Bayne

The Sword of Bayne: Omnibus edition

The Castle of Endless Woe (novelette)

SEVER, SLICE and STAB: 20 tales of horror

The Impulse to Punish: a short story of Mars

More Than Kin

American Crossroads: five turning points

Carcass and Mallet

Sands of Time

The Storm

Non-fiction from the author

100 Web Sites for Fiction Writers

100 Days of Fantasy: a memoir

for the muse

Table of Contents

Chapter 1: The First Decade

Chapter 2: The Second Decade

Chapter 3: The Third Decade

Chapter 4: The Fourth Decade

Chapter 5: The Fifth Decade

Chapter 6: The Sixth Decade

Chapter 7: The Seventh Decade

Chapter 8: The Eighth Decade

Chapter 9: The Ninth Decade

Chapter 10: The Tenth Decade

Epilogue: The Following Decades

Chapter 1: The First Decade

In 1902 there were no roads in Van Buren County, Kentucky. At best there were a handful of dirt paths used by the local residents to cart their belongings upon, which was rare as most people almost never went anywhere further than they could walk. Of the population there were less than 500 individuals within the county and only three horses and a mule. Most everyone grew or hunted their own food. Water was supplied by various creeks that tumbled into the county from the distant Kentucky River. There were no hospitals, no banks, no newspapers, no government buildings and three churches. Of the churches, one was Baptist and two were Pentecostal. The three preachers also happened to own the county’s three horses, and often the three individuals could be seen riding their mounts along the hills and down in the valleys while on their way to minister to those in need of saving of the soul, or of the body for that matter, as the three preachers were the closest thing Van Buren County had to doctors.

No one came into the county and no one left, not since the days of the War Between the States.

That changed in June of 1902 when Edward made his appearance.

He came aboard a skiff along a stream, looking like a man of adventure who should have been standing at the bow of a mighty sea vessel with the wind tasseling through his hair. He wore a dark pea coat above riding boots that rose to his knees. His chin was angular and clean while his hair was dark and thick. A glint of venturesome spirit lit his eyes and his lips were thin but red enough that women would think him pretty, if not handsome.

With him were two pole men, one white and one of dark skin. These two wore the downtrodden looks of work beasts, and their garb was tattered and torn and dirty. Neither wore proper shoes, though the old former slave had wrapped his feet in newspapers covered with rope.

Their trek was a slow one up the narrow waterway, especially as every so often Edward would command his compatriots to pull to one side so he could put to use his field glasses. He would look and look, give the occasional nod or grimace, then pull forth a small notebook and pencil from a coat pocket. He would make notes of some kind, then return the little book to the pocket and give the order to disembark.

This went forward for several days before the party entered the deepest part of Van Buren County. The stream grew so confined they could no longer proceed with their craft, thus they took to their feet along a valley between two mountains. They had plodded their way more than half a day when Edward called for them to stop.

He stood in a small field, one of the few in the mountainous region, and looked from side to side. The valley continued ahead to the southeast, narrowing as it went deeper and deeper between the mountains. To Edward’s south was a hill covered in white oaks. To the east was a much steeper ridge, also layered with similar foliage.

Taking his time he walked from one side of the small field to the other, all the while looking up the hills and mountains that claimed the horizon in all directions. His notebook came out more than once and was put to use, as was his binoculars. Several times he would take a knee and study the ground beneath his feet, his interests striking upon the soil and the tall grass.

His comrades waited for him with patience, for they were patient men, paid for their patience. Eventually Edward came to the small camp the others had erected. The sun was beginning to slink away behind the mountains to the west while they enjoyed a meal of beans, cornbread and watered beer.

It was only after they had eaten that Edward stepped forward and pronounced, This will do splendid.

The other two men looked up from their seats on the ground.

Smitherson, Edward said, nodding toward the white man, say, do you know who holds the title to this property?

The white man glanced to his companion as if asking the same question. The dark fellow merely shrugged in return.

My apologies, sir, Smitherson said to Edward, but we are pretty far into Van Buren County. That we know of, no one owns this land.

Edward tutted. Quite unlikely in this day and age, gentlemen. Surely the government or one of the coal enterprises has a stake here.

The truth could not be ascertained on the site, so the next morning the party ventured back the way they had come, returning to the skiff and trailing the stream to more civilized territory.

Some weeks passed. The sun and moon rose as they did in their cycle. Being summer, the nights were pleasant and the days warm. A sprinkle of rain baptized the land one morning, and on a clear afternoon a small herd of deer trampled the grasses walked by Edward only recently. During this time no human eyes set their site upon the valley nor did a human foot set into it.

Eventually Edward returned. This time he had with him several horses, two other fellows, and a donkey weighted down with packs and packs of gear. The two newcomers looked nothing like Smitherson and the other man who had ventured here before with Edward. The two new men were more civilized, more modern, dressed in simple brown suits and low boots layered with broad leather spats. Their hair was short and combed to one side. Their faces were shaven. Both were young but not so young they seemed to have little purpose in life.

With them Edward brought a raft of official-looking papers which bore signatures by himself and several other august gentlemen. From the back of the donkey were procured a number of land sighting tools, mainly consisting of various measure rods and telescopes of one size or another. As before, Edward made use of his trusty notebook and pencil, and the two new men added to the paperwork with their own notes and pencils.

They wasted no time in getting to work. Chalk lines were drawn and wooden pegs were driven into the ground. Atop these pegs were tied small red flags.

At one point shovels and picks were brought forth and the group went around digging up small holes in various locations. When finished, sometimes they would stand over the holes and nod their heads. Other times they would stand over the holes and shake their heads. Either way, more notes were laid down in the little leather-bound books.

Three days of this type of work went on. The three men rarely spoke with one another unless it had to do with their labors. Their nights were spent in separate triangular canvas tents of a simple sort; as the weather was mild, their shelters proved adequate.

At the end of the three days, the three men climbed into their saddles and lead away the donkey. Behind them was the solitude of the valley and the flagged pegs the men had left in the ground.

Again, weeks passed. The heat of summer gave way to the easy chills of autumn nights, and the deer returned in droves, charging down from the hills, through the valley and down to the small waterways. Some few hunters came out, the local hill folk armed with their shotguns and lever action rifles. More than a few deer were laid down, mainly along the creeks and streams.

Finally, on a cold early October morning, Edward returned once again. Now came with him a small army of forty workers with pack mules and wagons and horses. They started at the edge of the county and went to work hacking through the forest on either side of the stream Edward had used before.

Trees were cut, their trunks and roots pulled up and burned to ash. Smaller plant life was hacked away. The land was cleared for a road, a proper road. Within a few days it became obvious this was a job that would take some while, especially considering the distance that had to be cleared. Nevertheless, the workers admitted to fine pay and went about their duties with diligence. Day by day, inch by inch, a path was made through the wilderness.

A tent town went up on the border of the county, and it naturally drew the attention of the locals. Hunters were the first to notice this disruption to their natural order, and word spread along the ridges and hollows that civilization was intruding upon their lands.

Toward the end of October, one of the Baptist ministers was sent by the hill folk to discover what was happening to their world.

Edward greeted the simple man in black with a handshake and an introduction to the foreman of the workers. Soon they were gathered around the largest of the tents, Edward’s temporary home, and folding camp chairs were presented. Hot tea and honey were provided along with dry biscuits. Edward apologized for the rustic fare, though there was little need.

Between bites of food and sips of tea, the minister asked his questions and brought forward his concerns.

Edward explained the situation truthfully and straight forward. He held a written and signed contract with the state government to build the first road into Van Buren County, to connect with a future road from Jackson County. The trees the workers were felling were all along land the state recognized as its own. The ultimate purpose of the road was to create a proper avenue connecting the rest of the world with the central portion of the county.

To what end? the Baptist minister asked. There is nothing here for anyone outside of the county, and none residing within wish to leave.

Exactly, Edward said, speaking further to explain.

Solitude was key. Edward himself was not the master here, but was in the employ of one Lord Abingdon who would be along once the road was further in its construction. Abingdon had plans to build a fine home for himself within these rarely-visited hills of Kentucky. Edward himself had selected the spot and Abingdon had trusted his judgment. The owner of said property where the house was to be located was the Tablet Coal Franchise out of Charleston, West Virginia. Edward admitted the chiefs of the company had at first balked at selling the land as they had future plans to expand their enterprise there, but Lord Abingdon was a man not to be denied and his offering price was well more than the company men could refuse. The road itself would lead up to the grounds of the estate that would be built in years to come.

Edward proved he had been busy while away from the mountainous region. He had traveled to Lexington and Frankfort, passing wire messages back and forth with his master who had recently arrived in New York City.

The minister was flummoxed. He had never heard such a tale in his life. A European gentleman was coming to build a mansion in the middle of Van Buren County? It was absurd.

My master wishes to ... retreat from polite society, Edward told the Baptist. Besides, I sense no spirits beneath these lands, so what better place than here?

Confusion did not leave the Baptist preacher. If anything, he was more abandoned in his thinking and more concerned.

Spirits? the little man with a Bible in his hands asked. Why do you speak of spirits?

Edward grinned. This land is free of the taint of ghosts. I can feel it. I dare say the Indians themselves rarely transported across these hills.

The minister nodded. In the old days there were Sioux to the north and some Cherokee to the south, but they rarely used this territory except for hunting. This does not explain your interest in the dead.

Edward found himself liking this newcomer. The fellow’s questions showed his intelligence. Though not classically educated it was obvious this preacher was at least a person of the Book and of words, a rare sight in the hinterlands. Likely ordained by some traveling cleric in days long past, it was obvious he took his work as a steward of the county and its people seriously.

In the end, Edward spoke no more of ghosts, yet he won over the minister with soothing words of employment and great pay for those locals willing to work come the next spring and summer and potentially for some few years beyond. The woods were thick and it would take much time and labor to clear the path and then to clear the lands where Lord Abingdon’s estate was to be located. Then the house itself must be built, wells dug, and any number of other jobs needing accomplished.

The minister left in high spirits.

By the first week of November, Edward and the workers had already spent a cold month beneath the heavy chill of the trees, and the weather was to grow no warmer. The camp was abandoned for the season, with plans and promises made for work to continue come the spring.

During the winter the ground became as hard as diamond and as cold as the moon. The snows were not heavy that year, though a few days they did blanket the land.

Come early April, Edward was back in Van Buren County, this time with a hundred workers, some who even brought their families. The tent town of the year before became a small tent city, with the sight of cooking women and playing children not uncommon. Along with the people came a brand new Ivel gas-powered tractor shipped all the way from England; with the tractor and the increased manpower work on cutting and uprooting the trees along the future road became a much easier task.

The Baptist minister returned and he brought with him two dozen residents of the county, all hardy mountain men offering to put in work for decent wages. All were excepted into the numbers of the workers with welcome smiles and handshakes. When Edward proved as good as his word and paid the locals in gold coin, word spread and another ten workers come down out of the hills and was added to the larger group.

On the other side of the border, a state crew was busy at work building the road that would connect with Edward’s road. Those men had a much easier time of it, being able to finish their road before the year was out. Edward’s group, however, faced a much more daunting task. Miles of forest had to be removed and then a hundred acres cleared within the valley between the hills and the ridge Edward had discovered upon his first trip. The Van Buren workmen could not hope to complete their ultimate task within a season, and the work stretched over the next three years.

By that time a full town had been built on the edge of the county. Many of those who were new to the region three years earlier now considered themselves at home, and soon they appointed several men to travel to the seat of the state government in Frankfort to petition for the right to become an official town. Knowledge of Edward and the potential of his wealth had traveled far, and the suited bureaucrats and politicians in Frankfort swiftly pushed through a measure to create the town. Edward was asked to be the first mayor, but declined on account he feared a direct service to the broader community would force him to split his time between that and working on his employer’s behalf. A popular election was held and one of the foremen was handed the position of mayor. The town name settled upon by the workers was Abingdon, after the great English lord for whom they toiled, though any of them had yet to see the man.

Lord Abingdon was a mystery to all but Edward himself. The Earl, as Edward sometimes called him, was confined to travels between New York and London in an attempt to settle and diminish his ties with the Old Country. Sometimes Edward would be gone for a few weeks at a time, often traveling by carriage to Lexington for business or to purchase necessary supplies. Upon his return Edward always spoke of messages back and forth along the wire that had been shared with his master.

Upon one such return the gentleman arrived in a new Oldsmobile Curved Dash vehicle, one of those fancy American automobiles which ran on an engine utilizing oils and gasoline instead of horsepower. Despite the dust of the trail, the Oldsmobile’s black finish and leather seats glinted beneath the sunlight. Edward quickly had a shelter constructed for the vehicle to ward off the elements when the car was stationary, as it was most times except for the occasional trip to Berea or sometimes even as