© May / 2026 Levite
http://themediadesk
1.
I was in the office, sitting at my desk, reading the notes and summaries from the weekend, minding my own business, when a procession of First Peoples, what some still call Indians, came in through the front, complete with a girl holding a handfuls of tree branches and flowers, and with a guy with a drum and a tambourine.
And then I saw, walking along, slowly, on the Sheriff's arm, the oldest woman I'd ever seen in my life.
I stood up, along with everybody else in the office, because we could all sense that whatever this was about was not only unusual, it was important.
And, as luck would have it, the Sheriff escorted the ancient woman to my cube, and one of the guys following them moved a chair over for her.
There was a bit of drumming and the shaking of the tambourine, and the girl with the flowers and tree branches put them here and there around the old woman. Then, incongruously, the guy that had moved the chair handed her an open plastic bottle of water, from which she took a sip, and then relaxed for a moment.
"Yes, may I help you?" I said as the tambourine sounds faded away.
"Our spirits are not at ease," the old woman said.
"I'm sorry. I don't know what I can do about that."
The Sheriff began to introduce her with "This is Stella Arch of the Poosepatuck, Unkechaug, and Shinnecock and ...." then he coasted to a stop.
"And the Nesquake Peoples." The water bottle and chair man said.
"Yes, thank you, she is one hundred and two years old, and is the Wise Woman for most of the tribes on the Island." The Sheriff finished.
"I'm honored to meet you," I said with a slight bow, "but how can I help you, and your spirits?"
The Wise Woman smiled at me, "The spirits said you have already helped others, you can help us."
Her voice was soft, but clear. As were her eyes. And when she spoke I made a special effort to listen to every word.
"There is one from outside. He is not Montauk, or Secotoag, or any other of us. He is a White Man, but not from here. He is from Europe. He comes, and speaks, but I cannot understand his words. Nor can the others."
She paused for a second, but then continued.
"He sounds German. But he does not speak German, I do not know what language he uses. And the others do not as well. He needs something. We do not know what." Then she looked at me. "You can find out what he needs, and maybe if you do, you, or we, can put his spirit to rest."
"The others?" I asked, and the man holding her water bottle answered.
"Nokomis is referring to the spirits. To her, at times they are more real than we are."
The old woman nodded, "They are. My Grandson does not see them like I do, but he can hear them from time to time."
Her grandson nodded, "I've heard the voice she is talking about. It did sound German, but it wasn't. If you know what I mean."
"I think so. Where do you hear him the best?" I asked them.
"Here and there." She answered, "but the spirits hear the European best on the old lands. On the river. He can show you." She nodded to her Grandson.
I looked up at the young man. "Yes, I know the spot. It is a hike, but I know it."
"In that case, I'll do my best for you. And the spirits."
She reached out with both hands and grasped both of my hands in a grip that was surprisingly warm, strong, and firm with no trembling or shaking at all. Then she looked at me with those eyes of hers, "I know you will. For my people, I thank you."
In a few moments, they escorted the old woman out, while her grandson stayed back to tell me about where the spirits spoke about the European.
According to Mr. Cuffee, if I could meet him at the parking area for the Wertheim Wildlife Refuge parking area in Shirley the next morning, he's take me to it.
"It's not far from the spot called 'Indian Landing', but if you don't know it's there, you may never find it." He smiled, "I know where it is, and I have trouble finding it sometimes." His smile got even bigger, "And please, Detective, call me Jeff."
"My name is Elaine, it's nice to meet you Jeff."
"Thank you, and I need to run to catch up, she may be over a hundred years old, but she has no patience for waiting on anybody else."
"Understandable."
Early the next morning I pulled into the parking area, and met a Federal Ranger from the Wildlife Refuge who wondered why the Suffolk County Sheriff's Department had any interest at all in their facility.
I told him about the Wise Woman and he began nodding. "They are all the time finding artifacts and evidence of occupation all along the river. And I think I know which spot you're talking about. There's some evidence that they used it for their sky burials, like Sugar Loaf Hill, over by the Shinnecock Reservation."
"I've heard about that, but I've never been there."
Ranger Clark nodded, "It's interesting, as far as it goes. Are you planning on staying out there overnight or anything?"
"Maybe, if that's all right."
"Just check in before you go. If it's an official investigation, you're good as far as I'm concerned. You won't need a warrant or anything. I'll let the office know."
"Thank you.
In a few minutes, Mr. Cuffee... I mean, Jeff, pulled in. "Sorry I'm late, there was a snarl on Sunrise just before my exit."
"I got a notice about that," I gestured to my car, "a garbage truck dumped part of its load in the westbound lanes of the highway."
He laughed, "well, at least it was a real mess and not just somebody that can't drive."
"That'll be tomorrow's snarl." I patted my bag that was sitting on the fender of my car. "I've got what I think I'll need, do you need anything?"
"Just to change my shirt and shoes. I checked in at work and had to look the part." He tugged at the collar of his button down shirt. Then I looked down and saw his gleaming leather shoes.
In a few minutes he was wearing a heavy long sleeved shirt and hiking boots that looked similar to a pair I used to have but found too hot for my feet. I mentioned that as we set off and he said they could get warm, but he had found the perfect socks to wear and now they were fine.
"Did you spray for ticks?" Jeff asked me as he got out a spray can. I nodded, "Want a second dose, they can be bad out here," he asked.
"Sure, why not?" I said remembering what had been said about lyme disease on parts of the Island. He hosed down my pants and shoes, then put a shot across my back and down both arms. Then he turned around and I did the same for him. And we were off.
The Black Tupelo trail was well marked, and well used, and in places, covered with well maintained gravel, and in other places... it reminded you that you were in a wildlife refuge. But, overall, we made good time.
At an intersection Jeff pointed down the way that went straight, "That goes to the landing, do you want to see it or go this way to where we're going?"
"I can see it later, let's go find your hard to find spot."
"Yes, ma'am," he answered and headed off to the left.
Now the trail showed signed of being less well used, and, in places, far more interesting than the main trail as it dipped and wound along the edge of the marsh.
Then he stopped, "OK, let me look, but I don't think we've come far enough just yet." He walked off the trail and up a slight incline, "No, this isn't it, I think it's the next one. I'll know in a minute."
It was 'the next one' and he turned us off the trail and up a slight rise so we were walking between large trees and large sticker bushes. Finally we entered a small clearing.
"In the winter you can see down the river all the way out to the bay." He said pointing due south. Then he looked around, "it isn't much, but it is where we've found all sorts of relics, and, years and years ago, they found human remains here that they said were our people. But now, since it's a park, nobody else is allowed to do any digging, and we haven't done it yet."
"Well, I can do some background scans and see if there is anything here that isn't them."
"What do you want me to do?"
"Listen for the spirits. Let them know that I am here at your people's request to help them with that man who needs something."
"My grandmother will never believe it, but I do know about that side of things, and, the older I get, the more I see of it."
He went to the north end of the small clearing and took an old rug out of his backpack and put it on the ground. Then he settled onto it in a meditative pose. "I'll let you know when they speak."
"Thank you." Then I opened my bag, "Will it bother you if I put out my...."
"No, whatever you need to do is fine." He looked around with his eyes closed, "I can hear them coming, and, I think I can see them."
I put a digital recorder on each end of his rug, and then I got out my full spectrum camera and set it to work in daylight, and took several pictures.
Then as I checked for background EMF I felt something brush past me.
It didn't feel like a bug, or even one of those drifting spider webs that you run into out in the countryside. It felt more like a person moving by and accidentally bumping into me than anything else, but there was nothing there.
Jeff spoke as I was still looking around to see what it may have been.
"They know who you are, and that you respect the old ways. Like you did with the earth spirit in the white man's park on the north shore. You are one they can talk to."
"Thank you. Can they tell me what the European man is saying?"
"No. But they can bring him here. Tonight, at moonrise. He does not come in the daylight. But he will come with them to speak to you."
"Thank you." I said, then I took a couple more pictures.
In a moment Jeff opened his eyes and took a deep breath.
"I've never been through anything like that. I could hear them clearly in their language, our language. I had to think about what to say in Algonquian. And I even saw one of them, he was standing right in front of me. Between you and me, and he was looking at both of us at once."
"I guess spirits can do that. But that's a long time from now," I showed him the weather site on my phone. "Moon rise isn't until after nine O'clock tonight. Nine twenty three to be exact."
He got up off his rug, and handed me my recorders. I turned them off and put them in my bag. He picked up his rug and shook it off, "OK, I can meet you back here, say, around five, six? Get out here before dark and wait, then take our chances getting back to the cars in one piece."
"I'm game if you are."
On the hike back to the cars he asked me about the 'park on the north shore' and I told him about my outing to the golf course at Sunken Meadow State Park.
"I've never heard of it," he said.
"It's a nice place, it's worth the drive up there. Except their hiking trails aren't this flat and smooth."
"Good, I like a challenging hike."
"They've got a cross country course with two hill climbs that may make you reconsider that. One of them is called Cardiac Hill."
"Where is that place again? I'll run up there next weekend. I mean it, I like tough hikes and three or four black diamond ski slopes. And that sounds perfect."
He went back to his office, after changing his shirt and shoes. Then I went to find the ranger I talked to earlier to let him know that I'd be out there that evening with Jeff.
"Well, since you are a Detective, I suppose it would be all right. And I'll ask you now, do you want to walk back in the dark, or do you want to borrow one of our side-by-sides?" Ranger Clark said.
There was no debate, he showed me how to start and stop the thing, and where to park it when we got back. "I'll make sure it's got a full tank of fuel for you. Be here before five and pick up the key then drop the key in the mail slot when you get back," Ranger Clark pointed to the slot next to the door.
"Thank you." Then I went home for the afternoon.
I took a shower to get rid of the smell of bug spray and got a short nap. But then later, I was curious about the recorders that had been on Jeff's rug, so I got on my computer and checked the recordings.
Our conversation was clear and distinct.
But in the background I could hear what sounded like a low male voice chanting in what I recognized as the local Algonquian tongue. I had heard it many times at events around the area when the Shinnecock tribe would do something for the public. They had even been on the stage a couple of hours before the martial arts demonstration at the charity event I participated in not long ago. The cadence and tone were unmistakable.
Then I remembered that I'd taken some photos with the full spectrum, so I checked them.
At first, it was just the clearing, and Jeff sitting on his rug. But then later in the sequence there was a light gray mist that could just be seen coming from one side, and then it appeared to get closer to the camera. If I was any judge of mists in the woods, it was between me and him. Right where he said the spirit had been looking at both of us at the same time.
I saved the files and labeled them to have Jeff listen to the audio and see if he could get any more from it.
After that I looked up some basic phrases in German and hoped that whoever it was that spoke a language that sounded like German, but wasn't, which I suspected to be Prussian, could understand me, because I couldn't find anything that looked reliable on Prussian.
Then about four I got dressed in what I hoped was tick proof clothing and headed back to the refuge, and I made a couple of stops along the way for some essential supplies.
The lady in the office was very polite, almost too polite, and wanted to see my badge and ID to make sure I was who the Ranger had said I was before she gave me the key to the ATV.
I took the machine for a test drive around the parking lot and the very beginning of the trail just to make sure I knew how to operate it. And so I was still sitting in it, with my bag and other supplies in the back bed of the thing, when Jeff pulled in. He was already wearing his hiking shirt and boots and walked over toward me with his backpack.
"I stopped and picked up a fresh can of bug spray." I said and showed it to him.
"Good, they're worse at night."
"I also got some supper, how do you feel about pizza and bottled water?"
He got something out of his own bag, "how you you feel about chicken sandwiches and lemon lime soda?"
"Well, we won't starve. Ready to take a ride?" I said. He pointed forward and laughed and I started the ATV.
I took the trail slow just in case there was anybody walking along, but the path was all but deserted.
While I was driving along I asked Jeff about the tambourine that the other man had in his grandmother's entourage. "I didn't think that was a traditional Native American instrument."
He chuckled for a moment, "It's not. Not at all. But she likes it. The same for the flowers my daughter had for her. She says it calms her. So we do it."
"Good enough for me."
"That's the Tribal Counsel's view on it as well. If it makes her happy, why worry about it. My daughter Eliza, the one with the flowers, thinks it's funny, but she keeps it to herself."
As we were ahead of schedule with our new form of transportation I went the long way and we stopped for a look at the Indian Landing. It was a standard waterfowl viewing platform like you see all over New England, but I had a subject matter expert with me who told me about the canoes his ancestors used to fish and hunt in the area, and how big some of them, including the 'hollow tree dugouts' could be.
"The smaller ones may have even been covered with deerskin. But the really big trading canoes that would go to the mainland were dugouts. Stronger and heavier on the open water."
"But still, to take a small open boat out across the Sound, even today, takes a special kind of crazy."
"Yes it does," he agreed with me.
Then we walked back to the ATV and headed down and around while I watched for my marker for where our spot was.
As we sat in the ATV I showed him the photos and he listened to the sound of the chant with my headphones.
"I can hear a soft drum. Sometimes when one of the spirit talkers is in a tent in a trance, they'll have somebody outside with a drum just lightly doing," he lightly tapped the dashboard with one finger in a slow rhythm, "I could hear that under the voice."
We ate a supper of chicken sandwiches, saving the pizza for a late snack on the way back. Then we sprayed each other, and Jeff's rug, loaded up our gear, and headed up into the woods.
"One time, when I was younger than Eliza, my grandfather, who was her husband, brought several of us out here camping. I think it may have been right here. He built a fire in the old style," Jeff made a cone shape with his fingers, "and sat there and told us stories that we all thought were just stories. I didn't find out until later that almost every thing he said was true. ... ... I wish I could remember more of the stories. He told us what happened to the Lenni Lenape to the south, and the others to the north. I wish I could remember his words."
It got quiet.
"That's the way it is isn't it?" I said softly, "We don't realize how precious things like that are until it's too late. And, I suppose, that's the way it was when they were young as well. They'd think the old man was just talking to fill the silence and only half listen."
Jeff nodded, "maybe that's why they told the same stories over and over."
"Yeah." I put my bag down. "I'm going to get my stuff out and check it before it gets dark."
That morning when I took my background readings, there was nothing. The clearing was free of any electrical activity at all. Now, here and there, and apparently at random, I was getting low but distinct spikes of energy.
"Well, something is here. Or rather, somebody is here."
"Yes," Jeff said and got his rug out and spread it where it had been earlier. Then he got out a somewhat child-like painting on a cloth and hung it on a tree branch nearby, and spoke rather slowly in the Algonquian tongue. Then he glanced at me and spoke some more while he looked at the painted cloth and smoothed it on its branch.
Then still looking at what could be a flag he spoke to me, "I told them that this is something my youngest daughter painted last year, of our people's symbol. The turtle, the deer, the whale in the sea, and the great bird, and the homes of the people. That we are keeping the memory alive." Then he turned to me, "And then I told them that my beautiful friend was here to help them, and to trust her."
"Thank you, I will do my best."
"They know you will. We must wait on the European man." Then Jeff looked off to his left and smiled, "I just heard the one from earlier say, in our language, that you are very pretty, and he thanked me for bringing you here."
"Thank you," then I looked at the clearing,"And thank you for the compliment at well," I said and bowed my head slightly.
Then Jeff took several pieces of fresh fruit out of his bag and laid them on the ground, then he followed that by dumping some tobacco on the ground out of a plastic bag, and finally, he opened a can of grape soda and sat it next to the fruit.
I didn't even have to ask, I knew it was an offering to the spirits to show them that we were peaceful and understood their ways.
And we waited.
Jeff was sitting on his rug. I took turns sitting on a log on the edge of the clearing, and walking around with the EMF detector, which had now gone totally to background readings, and taking pictures, and walking down to check on the ATV, and so on.
Slowly the woods around us darkened, and the night sounds began.
I did another background sweep, and took some full spectrum photos. But there was nothing there. Then, just on a whim, I turned on the spare digital recorder and did a slow sweep while watching the screen to see if it was picking anything up.
"nothing" I whispered under my breath.
We were still about an hour from the rising of the moon. Jeff got up and stretched his legs and we talked about what was on our pizza that was saved for later. Then we went back to waiting.
I sat on the log and looked at the weather and news headlines on my phone.
"They're coming. And they said that he will be here," Jeff said softly.
I started the recorders that were on his rug, and set the full spectrum that was on the tripod to take a photo every fifteen seconds. The one around my neck I left on manual and tried to remind myself to take random pictures every so often.
And then I waited.
I had recorded several of the German phrases on my phone because I didn't trust my own pronunciation of them beyond asking their name.
"Wie heissen sie," I had repeated almost a dozen times, but I was still convinced I was emphasizing the wrong syllables. So I got on the language site and downloaded several phrases with a woman speaker who didn't sound overly angry. Now I got out my phone and checked that its speaker was active.
And waited.
I could feel the air in the clearing changing. I could hear rustling around us even though there was no wind, and it felt as if the trees around us were closing in around the clearing. If I held my breath and half closed my eyes I could almost hear a low chanting.
"Some of them are here. And he is coming from the north. He would not cross the moving water."
I'd heard and read that several times. That some spirits were either unable, or unwilling, to cross what was considered living water, water that was moving. My suspicion was that that involved either the electrical properties of the water, or perhaps the ionization of the air over it, or both. But here and now, none of that mattered.
"I'm ready for him. And honored that your people are bringing him here."
"They appreciate that," Jeff answered. He opened his eyes and looked at me, "there's more of them here than they said would be. They came to see you, and watch you work. You're famous."
"Thanks, I think."
He smiled and nodded and went back into his meditative state.
Then there was a noticeable change in the atmosphere of the clearing. It got quieter, but it felt tense and apprehensive.
"It'll be OK. I've got the recorders out, and I've got some phrases he might understand to play for him. If he does understand what is said, and answers, I might be able to help him." I said softly. "Let's just wait and see."
I don't know if I said it more to the spirits of Jeff's people, or to myself.
"Elaine," Jeff said, "He is nearby. Speak to him, and he may come closer."
I picked up the recorder I had sitting on the log next to me and turned it on, then I said "Wie heissen sie," and gestured with it in what I hoped he would understand as meaning I wanted him to answer into it, "Wie heissen sie."
Then I waited for a full minute.
"OK, now this," I picked up my phone with my other hand and went through to the screen of downloaded German audio files with brief English names, and I picked, "what looking for" and played it twice while holding out the recorder.
Then I waited for another minute.
I did the same thing with "what you need" and even "can I help you" and one whose English tag didn't make any sense to me, but I hoped there was a reason I got it, and that it wasn't anything bad in German.
"Danke schon. Thank you." I said and turned off the recorder. Then I took several pictures, and paused for a moment to catch my breath. "Let me see if it recorded you."
I put in my earbuds and pulled it into the recorder, then I pushed play.
I heard my rather bad German phrase, and then heard it again.
But then, " ..... klaus .... klaus sch ni ider .... ni ko laus...."
And it sounded like he was standing right in front of me.
I listened to it twice, and then there was more. I stopped it and put it carefully in my pocket. "Thank you. Danke schon. Thank you. I will go through this carefully and get the information, and if I can help. I will. We will come back in a few days.... At moon rise, again. I'll have Jeff let you know."
On the ride back to the cars we ate pizza and talked about what I might be able to do with what I had.
"Oh, yeah. We went up to Sunken Meadow and did your trail. And it was the toughest hike I've ever taken on Long Island."
I smiled as I slowed down for a narrow spot on the trail, "So it was worth the trip."
"It was well worth the trip, and we're going back as soon as we can."
"You're welcome."
The next morning I found out that there was more on the recorders that had been on Jeff's rug.
Klaus had a lot to say, and he wanted to say it all that night.
Then I went through the photos. I was hoping for a vague image of a European man. But other than a few wisps, a shadow that shouldn't be there, and a couple of odd lights that might have been either some sort of orb or an overachieving insect, there wasn't anything spectacular in any of the images.
I took my recordings to the European Language department at one of the Universities on the Island. There a professor listened carefully, while a graduate assistant who happened to be from Eastern Europe nodded at every phrase Klaus had said, then she would write something down and occasionally ask me to play it again.
Finally, she had heard all of it.
"It is Prussian, some German words, but he's speaking Prussian." She looked at her notes, "His name is Klaus, and his full name is Nikolaus Schnieider."
"OK, I got that. What's he want?"
"It's a bit hard to decipher, there's not a lot of record of that language, but from what I can tell, he wants to know where his people are. That he's been gone a long time, and now he can't find them. It might be family he's looking for, it might not."
"OK, that is some help."
Then she laughed, "And when your recording asked him what he liked to eat, he said, anything but army rations."
The professor finally had something to add, "If he was a Prussian, in the army, that means he may have been fighting for the British in their Hessian units. There were a lot of them stationed out here to hold the Island for the Brits."
"There's a German Cemetery on Manhattan," I said.
"There's some Germans buried in a couple of them out here. We might be able to find somebody from that family," the graduate student said, "it's a shot."
"Right now I'll take what I can get. Did he say anything else that might help?" I asked her.
"The other recordings are a lot of the same sort of thing. He said he was badly wounded, but it's really hard to make out. And there's some other cross talk, that I don't understand. If you can leave me a copy of it I'll go back through it and see if I can pick up any more."
"Sure, I'll send you all of it."
The cross talk that she didn't understand was more chanting and some distant drumming.
Of course there was no record of a Hessian soldier named Nicholas or Klaus Schneider.... of any variation of the either of his first or last name that I could find, from the period of the Revolution.
I spent the next couple of days traipsing through burial records online, and in some very old cemeteries all over the Island. And I added three more spellings of the same basic surname to my collection.
The I got a call from the graduate student.
"I got something from the other recording, he identifies his unit. He was with a Grenadier Battalion with a commander that might be von Linsbeck, maybe von Lintzbock. I'm trying to find that name, but it's really hard to pick it out. But that does confirm that he was here during the Revolution and not the war of 1812. There were Hessians over here fighting for the Brits in 1812, but not in great numbers in a dedicated Battalion, most of those were in Canada and out west, and I don't think there were ever any in southern New York or out here on the Island."
"OK, good. That narrows it down. Thank you."
"But there's one thing I was wondering, is he talking about his relatives, or the others from his army unit?"
"That's a good point. And that might be easier to solve. I was wondering, are you free any evening later this week? I need an interpreter. And that is one of the questions we need to ask."
After some more looking for his family, I was finally able to call Jeff and have him....
yeah, ok. I'll say it
.... and have him set up a meeting with the spirits of his people and the European man.
One feature on the larger of the directional digital recorders was a live monitoring jack that would feed whatever it picked up out to a headset. With a 'Y' plug I was able to split the feed to two sets of headphones. So I could sit next to the graduate student who, while she wasn't fluent in Prussian, we had evidence that, Klaus, understood, and perhaps spoke, a bit of German, and, perhaps as well, she could understand him enough to let me know what he needed.
So I talked to Ranger Clark at the Reserve and lined up two ATVs.
"Would you mind if I came along? This sort of thing is fascinating to me. I do have some Indian blood in me. My grandmother was from the Mohegan Tribe in Connecticut."
"You're more than welcome, my boss wants to come along as well, so it will be quite the party."
"I haven't seen him in years, we'll have some catching up to do."
The following evening I drove out to the Reserve with the Sheriff and we checked out the ATVs and he and Ranger Clark swapped stories about what they'd been doing since they had a couple of professional classes together some time ago.
Tonight we had two four seat ATVs, so I loaded my bag into the first one, and then checked to make sure I'd remembered to put my spare batteries in it. Which I had done, and then done again. So now I had three sets of backup batteries in my bag, and that explained why it kept getting heavier.
The graduate student was next, and Jeff and his oldest daughter weren't far behind her.
"Eliza hears them before I can. My Grandmother says that is the way of our spirits, that many times they will talk to a woman before they do a man, and she speaks the language better than I do."
And so I changed my plans. I now had two interpreters to listen to the feed from the digital recorder, one that spoke German, and one that spoke Algonquian, they agreed to listen and relay to me what was said in English.
"Well, everybody's here, and it's starting to get dark," I said after we'd all checked everything we were taking, twice, and then hosed each other down with bug spray, twice. "Shall we?" There was no objection, "We'll follow you." I said to Ranger Clark.
"Try to keep up, I don't want to lose another load of tourists," he said with a laugh.
I still don't know if he was serious or not. But he did drive faster than I had going down there. A lot faster.
And he didn't have to slow down to look for the marker along the trail.
As we unloaded the ATV Eliza looked up into the woods and let out a long slow breath that was almost a low whistle.
"They are there, waiting on us." She blinked several times, "But he is not."
"They said he doesn't come out until after dark," I said softly.
"I see. One of them is looking at us with concern."
I didn't know what else to say, "tell them, we come in peace. To help. We have answers for the European man."
She stepped off the trail and spread her hands and bowed her head. In a moment Jeff did the same as he took a step forward. I stayed next to the ATV and spread my hands and lowered my head. And then later I found out that the Sheriff and the Ranger did as well, and then, finally, the graduate student who had been doing something else followed suit, while Eliza and Jeff both spoke in Algonquian.
As soon as they did we could all hear a rustling in the woods around us.
Jeff turned toward us, "They're making sure the strangers are speaking the truth." He looked around, "they seem satisfied, but try to not alarm them."
The Sheriff nodded, "that's one thing I've learned from Detective Elaine, don't alarm the spirits."
Up in the clearing, Eliza and Jeff unrolled their rugs, and put out some items as an offering, then Jeff hung his daughter's flag on the tree while Eliza put some flowers around her rug.
The rest of us tried to not act threatening and waited for dark.
I checked the weather on my phone for about the ninth time. "It should be moon rise about now. But it's so cloudy we may never see it, but I'm sure the spirits can."
It seemed like forever before Jeff said, "the one from the other day just told me that the European is coming. We will have to convince him that you all are not a threat."
"We'll wait over here," the Ranger said and the Sheriff nodded in agreement. Then they stepped to the far side of the clearing and tried to make themselves smaller.
It took me a minute to realize that Eliza was whispering in their language. Hopefully she was telling them that we meant no harm and everybody respected the old ways and were there to make sure it went well.
I turned on the digital recorder and the graduate student and Eliza put their headphones on. Then I spoke softly and they said they could hear me just fine.
"OK, we're live and ready when he shows up."
Jeff was looking around with his eyes closed, "there is a powerful medicine chief here. From long ago."
Eliza whispered a name in the old tongue, then said, "Freeheart Swimming Bear from the West. He is watching. He knows of the son of the Mohegan who is here. He approves."
Then in a few moments she added, "the European is in the woods, looking at us."
"Elaine," Jeff said, "He knows you, speak to him."
"Klaus Schnieider," I said, then I asked the grad student to translate, "we have heard you." She repeated it in German. "We can help. We found some of your family, and your army group from Germany." Then I waited while she spoke, "Is that what you wanted? Talk to these ladies, they can hear you."
But it was Eliza who answered, "One of our people just told him to trust us and speak."
"Klaus," I said, "we are here to help you be at peace." And in a moment the grad student repeated it softly in German.
Then in a minute she said, "He just said 'very well'. And it sounded close to you."
"We are listening. All of us. We want to help you. Even the Native Spirits that are here, we all want to help you."
"My people just said they wish him to be at peace," Eliza said.
In a moment, and I will still swear that I felt somebody standing right next to me, then the graduate student said "He is asking if you are sure you found his unit. And now he is mostly speaking in German. With an accent."
"We don't know for certain, but we did find some Hessian units that were here during that war." I paused for the translation, "I have the locations of where the ones killed were buried. And some of the graves have names on them."
"He said he has been all over this Island, but he didn't know where to look."
"There's a memorial Christmas tree in the cemetery in Glen Head, East Hillside Cemetery, it used to be called Adrianen's Cemetery. Many of the Hessians who fought with you are buried there." And I waited for a moment. "And I found that some Schnieiders are buried in the old cemetery in what used to be called Germantown, in Manhattan, maybe some of them are related to you."
"He said he cannot go to Manhattan," the grad student said.
Eliza spoke softly, "One of our people know the place on the hillside, they could take him there tonight," and the grad student translated it.
I could feel the presence that had been right THERE next to me move away slightly.
"Klaus." I said softly, "Is that what you were looking for?"
The translation came, and then there was rustling around us, and, "He said yes. He just didn't want to be alone any longer. He will follow whoever leads him to them."
And then silence.
In a few moments Jeff spoke up, "They thank you, Elaine. They hope he has peace, and they wish the same for you."
"And I them. And him." I said as I felt the night around me get less intense.
You could hear the rustling in the trees go silent, and the clearing even seemed to get lighter.
"Is it over, and if it is, we can go, right?" I said. Then I looked over at Jeff, "Somebody needs to tell your Grandmother what happened."
He looked at me and shook his head, "You still have things to learn. She already knows. She was listening to the spirits that were here. They told her."
That took a minute to sink in, but it did, "I believe that."
"They are gone, and this is over," Eliza said as she stood up, "Although one is still curious and is watching them." She said and looked over at the Ranger and the Sheriff.
"Us?" The Sheriff said, "we're going to help carry everything back to the ATVs."
"Yes." Ranger Clark added, "and buy pizza when we get back to the cars. I know just the place not far from the office, and they're open late."
"I'm in favor of that." I said.
We closed the place.
And while I have had better pizza, I don't think any was ever more welcome than that was that night.
The next day I was a bit late getting into the office, but I was assured it was OK. I spent some time listening to the recording on the digital that had been feeding to the two interpreters, and was amazed that when anybody spoke that the almost constant sound of low level drumming and chanting vanished. But when nobody was speaking, you could hear it clearly.
And while the photos from the full spectrum showed us doing what we were doing, once again, all I had for evidence of anybody else was some mists and shadows in the woods.
After lunch the Sheriff stopped by.
"Yessir?" I said as he stood there and looked at me.
"OK, tell me. Really. Did you send a Hessian soldier from the Revolution, the war that ended almost two hundred and fifty years ago...."
"Yeah, I've heard of it."
He chuckled and continued, "you sent that Hessian to a cemetery on the other end of the island, with an Indian as a guide."
"You've always said that this department is as full service as we can be within the charter of the county."
He nodded.
I smiled, "So, we just expanded the definition of 'full service' by a little bit."
"Just a little bit." He repeated.
"Yes, sir."
The next weekend I picked Derek up when we both had a day off.
I had suggested that I wanted to take a bit of a road trip.
"I'm game, where we going?"
"Glen Head."
"Where's that?"
"Almost to Queens, along the Sound."
"Well, OK. Why are we going over there?"
I hesitated, then said, "I want to go see a special Christmas tree."
Epilogue
The following week Eliza called me early one morning.
"There is a female spirit that will not talk to a man, and doesn't usually talk about men. She came to me last night. Actually, it was early this morning, with an important message for you."
"What did she say?"
"It was about a case of yours that you've been worried about." Eliza paused for a second, "She said that she knows about the great dark evil that the one white man called up. But that it is gone, and will not return unless another calls it back."
The chill I felt ran down from my neck until it got to my toes. There was no way Eliza could have known that specific of information about that case, the message had to have come from somebody, or some thing, that could know about it.
It took me a moment to answer, "I know the case she was talking about, and yes, I was worried about it. Thank you, that is good news."
"She said that since you helped our spirits, she wanted to help you."
"Thank you so much, Eliza. How is your great-grandmother?"
"She's fine, and she hasn't seen the one called Klaus since then."
"That too is good news, thank you."
And that call closed two cases.
-end 33-
[NOTE: The above story were written as adventure fiction, and is to be taken as such. While most of the features of Long Island exist, including known Native American sites, as well as Colonial Era burial grounds, the rest of the setting is fictional.
Thank you, Dr. Leftover, TheMediaDesk.com]
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