We sat sipping and sweating and talking in the dark, strangers stopped here to sleep before continuing our way in the world. Night descended into the valleys of the Potomac and the Shenandoah.
The town is full of ghosts. John Brown's raid here in 1859 helped ignite the Civil War. He hoped to capture firearms manufactured and stored here, arm slaves, and start a revolt. He failed, and was hanged. Every private shop and National Park Service structure alludes to it. The town is like Gettysburg that way, unsettled by the past.
On our porch, a D.C. attorney spoke of the worst instincts of men. He spoke of genocide and war crimes -- the focus of his work. "Every living president," he said.
Beneath us, an interpreter of history, dressed in period clothing complete with boots, wide-brimmed hat, and chin whiskers, finished his talk, tucked his damp tips into his vest, and loaded his gear into his Sebring convertible.
Freight trains interrupted our conversation often, their rumble and shriek echoing off the stone cliffs of Maryland Heights.
"Night trains," said the attorney. "You don't want to know what's on them."
copyright 2010 J. O'Brien, all rights
