The Secret of the River: A Novel

By Charlotte Lewis

October 1911, the Condit Dam was completed, and the Northwestern Lake began to fill the canyons of the White Salmon River. October 2011, the dam was breached, and as the water receded, trees, small farmhouses, and other relics were slowly revealed.

Conan and Hillary Doyle purchased forty acres on the east bank of the White Salmon River when they married in 1907 and, with endless determination, created a farm that would sustain them for years to come. In the fall of 1910, they were notified the lake behind the newly built Condit Dam would flood their farm property. They ceded the farm to the State of Washington and vacated the property before Christmas 1910.

In 2011, when the waters of the lake behind the breached Condit Dam receded, human remains of two people were found in the farmhouse Conan and Hillary Doyle had built. In an effort to determine who these skeletal remains were, third-generation Conan Doyle investigates, and his findings evolve into a story about his grandparents. By the end of the story, the secret the river had hidden for a hundred years is revealed.




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• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jul 24, 2015
• ISBN: 9781503587878

Charlotte Lewis

Charlotte Lewis, a retired accountant, lives in Southeast Kansas. Charlotte graduated from University of Southern California with a major in elementary education and a minor in music. Since retirement, she has self-published several novels and has published in Reminisce Magazine, Chicken Soup for the Soul, Hackathon Short Stories, Readers Digest Online, and Mused – an online journal. There's more to learn at charlottelewisonline.com

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Copyright © 2015 by Charlotte Lewis.

ISBN:      Softcover      978-1-5035-8789-2

                eBook           978-1-5035-8787-8

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 07/23/2015

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CONTENTS

Chapter One

Chapter Two The Train May 1906

Chapter Three Prineville 1906

Chapter Four Hillary 1906

Chapter Five Conan 1907

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven Prineville, OR

Chapter Eight The Newlyweds

Chapter Nine Hillary

Chapter Ten The Farm

Chapter Eleven Christmas 1907

Chapter Twelve The Snow

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two August 5, 2013

Chapter Twenty-Three August 7, 2013

Acknowledgements & Author Notes

For Maureen Lefere

PORTLAND, OREGON

July 13, 2012

Yesterday’s Oregonian was still on the ottoman. The headline: "Bit by bit, dam turns into thing of the past."

Dr. Barry Richards leaned back in his chair. It seemed incredible that the hundred year-old Condit Dam had been breached. Already trees and tree stumps long hidden by the Northwestern Lake, created when the dam was built, were popping into view. In another month, Dr. Richards and a crew of archaeologists were scheduled to survey whatever was no longer under water. While not much was anticipated, he was still excited to see the canyon as it might have been in 1911. Would the White Salmon River stay true to its original course? Only time would tell.

Just as he considered rousing himself from his chair to rummage in the refrigerator the telephone rang. Looking at the clock he wondered, Who would be calling at this hour? He got up and answered the telephone.

Hello? ... Yes, this is Dr. Richards. ... Who? ... Oh, hello, Donna of the US Fish and Wildlife Service. How may I be of help to you this evening? ... Of course, I can come up tomorrow. What’s happening? I didn’t expect to hear from any of you for another few weeks. ... They what? Civilians? ... Are you sure? Are they sure? ... Both of them are archaeologists? What were they doing in the canyon? I didn’t realize the area had been opened yet to the public, even to archaeologists. ... Yes, I read yesterday’s paper but didn’t see anything about the area being open to the public. ... Well, it makes no difference why they were there, they were still trespassing. Unfortunately, if they’re archaeologists, they probably have a pretty good idea of what they believe they’ve found. Exactly where did they make this discovery? ... East bank, north end of the former lake. Hmmm. There are several level areas before the cliffs, aren’t there?… What makes them think the property was inhabited? ... Oh, shit. I’ll see you in the morning. I’ll meet your crew at your office – 8 a.m.

*** ***

Well, your two trespassers were right. This home was occupied when the river took over. How in the hell could that have happened? Barry Richards stood up and took off his latex gloves. From everything we know, everyone in the area was given at least a year’s notice to vacate. And I understand that every property owner had signed off and were paid before then. This doesn’t make any sense. None at all. We need to determine who owned this particular property and verify, whether or not, they were accounted for after the river rose.

He stepped over the yellow tape. The County Coroner stood with a clipboard in his hand. I suppose you expect me to tell you who these hundred year old bones were.

It would be nice, Doc. I’m sure you can do it.

Donna Gilliray, from Fish & Wildlife, was laughing behind her hands as the coroner bemoaned the impossibility of identification. Sure you can do it, Doc. We have someone back in the office right now going through old files to determine who the legal owner of this property was when the dam was started. It is most unlikely they are still alive but there may be surviving family.

A water truck with a light pressure hose had been brought to the ruins of a small 4-room house. Twenty minutes after the crew began to wash away the mud and lake debris, a shout went up, Second set of bones. The Coroner shook his head. Wow! My lucky day.

The cabin area was cleared of mud in the next hour. No further human remains were uncovered. There were a few artifacts in the muddy debris. A technician was photographing and cataloging the items that were found .

CHAPTER ONE

The search into old land records could take a great deal of time. Anything before 1975 was still on paper. With the original deed in hand, the clerk who had been assigned the job figured she would first check current day records for the same name. Or, at least, the same surname. Imagine her surprise when she found the same exact name in the Goldendale telephone directory issued in 2010, as well as on several property deeds throughout Klickitat County. PacifiCorp, the Yakima Nation, and Fish & Wildlife were all interested in anything learned from an interview with I. Conan Doyle - the exact name as on the original deed. Obviously, this person had to be second or third generation. What, if any, knowledge could he have regarding the property in 1911? Everyone decided it was worth the effort to contact and interview Mr. Doyle.

So, an interview was scheduled with Mr. I. Conan Doyle. Dr. Richards was especially intrigued and asked to be present during that interview. As he was lead archaeologist on the Condit Dam removal project, his request to be included in the small group assembled to talk to Mr. Doyle was granted.

Mr. Doyle was a tall, lanky man with fading red hair, bright blue eyes and a gift of gab. He looked about sixty but professed to be 77-years old. And he knew everything you could want to know about his grandparents’ buying, building and subsequent leaving their 40-acre farm on the White Salmon River. The story had been told many times. But, he could shed no light on the two people who had died in their former home. His grandparents and his father, who was barely a year old at the time, had totally relocated by the end of 1911, actually much sooner.

The interview was short and sweet. It was definitely established who the two skeletons were not. Dr. Richards expressed an interest in the how and why the senior Doyles had settled on the White Salmon River to begin with. The current Conan Doyle smiled. It’s a long story. You probably don’t have that much time.

Dr. Richards assured him that he did have the time and suggested they find a place where they could get some coffee and talk. Mr. Doyle seemed more than agreeable to leave the Fish & Wildlife offices. While he wasn’t sure this man really wanted to hear his family’s story, he led the way to a small cafe in the same block. He was greeted warmly by the staff. Maude, my friend and I are going to take up residency in my booth. We’d like some coffee, please.

Sure, Mr. Doyle. I’ll keep an eye on your cups.

Once the coffee had been poured, Dr. Richards asked, Just when did your grandparents come to Washington State? And from where?

Mr. Doyle added cream to his coffee and stirred gently. "Granddad used to say that if you understood where he came from, you’d understand why he left. And to make sure we really understood, he’d tell us the story of his home town - Medaryville, Indiana. He told us about Medaryville so frequently, I felt I knew the town. When I was twenty or so, my grandparents and I visited there. Many people remembered Granddad and were enchanted with my red-headed grandmother. It was an enjoyable visit. Granddad insisted Medaryville had not changed much in 48 years. And I agreed with him as it fit the stories he had told me all my life.

"But, as I started to say, Granddad used to tell us why he left Indiana. I was 57 when Granddad died and had probably heard this story forty or fifty times by then. Usually it came up at Thanksgiving - at least until Grandma died in 1988. Their best friends, after retiring, spent every November with my grandparents. By Thanksgiving they were all in a mellow, remembering mood. The family always gathered at my grandparents’ farm on Thanksgiving and the family story was served with the pumpkin pie and coffee. Every year.

So, if it’s okay with you, I’ll start where they always started and when you get tired of listening, just let me know.

Dr. Richards nodded. He had no idea what he had just agreed to, other than getting answers to his questions: When and why did the Doyles come to Washington? Mr. Doyle leaned back in the booth and began his story.

"Medaryville is a very small town in north central Indiana. It was laid out in 1852 just prior to the construction of the New Albany and Salem Railroad, which was later renamed Monon Railroad. The town was sited at the intersection of the railroad and the Rensselaer to Winamac Road. Two major landforms intersect at Medaryville – the Grand Prairie is just south of town and the Greater Kankakee River basin’s huge swampy outwash plains are to the north and west.

At one time a vast ‘Impassable Swamp was west of town. This was drained as part of the Swamplands Reclamation Act of the 1850s. It had been known to the earliest European explorers of North American. Early pioneer accounts tell of an abundance of game of every type in that swamp area. Many local residents made their living trapping and hunting in the early settlement days - until the Reclamations Act killed the swamp. After that, the game dwindled to almost nothing. Squirrels, rabbits, a few raccoons, a lot of skunks, that was about it. Those residents who hunted for a living either turned to farming or left the area.

"From 1852 to 1905, only two things of note had happened in Medaryville.

"First, after President Lincoln was assassinated, his body was returned to Illinois by rail. The funeral train stopped at every whistle stop and depot on its journey. Not knowing exactly when to expect the train, the citizens of Medaryville gathered early in the morning on the day the train was scheduled to pass through. Back in those days people were more swayed by the man than his political party and the whole town was there. By noon, a few enterprising vendors were selling food. The telegraph finally buzzed; the crowd was alerted. The train stopped for a few minutes then proceeded on mid afternoon. The overall factory, just beyond the tracks, even allowed its workers to join the crowd in paying respect to the deceased president. The crowd numbered in the mid-hundreds. A railroad official from the town of Monon speculated there were 400 stalwart souls waiting track side. Monon is the railway hub, approximately fourteen miles south of Medaryville. At that time, I understand that 400 would be about two-thirds of people living within ten miles of the Medaryville depot.

"The second item of note was an oil rush at the turn of the century. Many wells were put in just west of town and a refinery was built at the little town of Asphaltum. However, the oil pockets were of limited production and the oil was a poor quality. Needless to say, the enterprise was quickly abandoned. But it had brought in several outsiders and increased the population by perhaps fifty citizens… people who stayed on after the boon was over. Evidently they had no place else to go. Even though there sure wasn’t much to do in Medaryville.

"With this type of history, no one questioned why some residents left for what they hoped would be a better, more profitable life in the western part of the continent. Talk went around often about California and the Oregon Territory. There hadn’t been much interest in migration since the town was first founded although there was a small flurry in the 1870s. But, even then, recollections say that less than twenty people decided to venture out West.

"Then, around 1903, a few men decided to brave the unknown and head to Oregon. They reported back that there was a lot of work. And anyone with any type of railroad experience could find a job almost immediately in Prineville Junction, Oregon or Fallbridge, Washington. There were several small towns being built up and down the railroad and work was abundant. Additionally, there was going to be a railroad bridge built across the Columbia River. The sooner track was laid, the better.

"The railroads were a burgeoning force in the west. Towns were springing up everywhere and the railroad wanted to be there. Several men who worked on the Monon and New York Central Railroads back then were living in Medaryville and they decided, as a man, to pack up and go to Oregon. A few who had not worked the railway decided to throw in their lot with the others. The Monon would take them to Indianapolis where they would catch the New York Central as far as St. Louis, Illinois. They were sure they could buy passage there to continue westward on the Union Pacific Railway.

There were eight men going the week my grandfather left. Only two were married. They had an agreement with their wives; the wives would stay in Medaryville until the men were established somewhere in Oregon.

One couple became like aunt and uncle to me. My Dad even called them Aunt and Uncle. He said without them, we probably wouldn’t even be here. Every Thanksgiving they would add to Granddad’s story. So by the time I was old enough to understand things, I knew how my grandparents had met, married and bought the property on the White Salmon. My wife, after hearing the story several times, called it The Doyle version of Westward Ho. I guess it is kind of long but I lived it as they told it. No matter how old I was, it was a thrilling adventure to me every time I heard the story.

Mr. Doyle paused in his story as Maude refilled both coffee cups. He took his time adding cream and stirring the coffee. Dr. Richards was afraid he would decide not to tell the story. The old gentleman took several sips of coffee.

Dr. Richards asked, Do you mind if I make a few notes? I don’t know what might be useful later. He realized that the part of the family story he wanted to hear was coming next.

I can’t see how anything will be useful, but have at it. Mr. Doyle took a few more sips of coffee.

Dr. Richards leaned back in the booth - hands wrapped around his coffee mug. A small pad and his pen were to his right. Just in case.

So, what happened after your grandfather left Indiana? When did he come to the Northwest?

Granddad left Medaryville in Spring, 1905. Somehow I always thought that much of the story of leaving Medaryville was Aunt Merrilou’s. She died a couple years before Grandma. Actually, it was really her story up to the wedding. She told the story from her viewpoint and, to me, it was her personal story… everyone else just figured in somehow. She always started talking about the Burroughs and Uncle Jake and herself. It was an exciting adventure to me. I heard it first when I was five or six. But I recall it as vividly today as if I had been there.

"After Granddad’s geography lesson, Aunt Merrilou would