Sunken Graves
Alan Lee
Sunken Graves
by Alan Lee
All rights reserved. No parts of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2021 Alan Janney
First Edition
Printed in USA
Cover by Damonza
Paperback ISBN: 9798731685344
Sparkle Press
Created with Vellum
Contents
Part I
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Part II
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Part I
“Though the mills of God grind slowly,
yet they grind exceeding small;
Though with patience He stands waiting,
With exactness grinds he all.”
-Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
1
A fleet of luxury cars snaked its way through Valley Academy, plucking students off the curb, all boys. The final bell had rung and afternoon activities were concluded. Valley Academy was a boarding school but not all students resided there—some returned home each day, those ducking into Lexus sedans and Mercedes SUVs.
Daniel Jennings, standing near the Academy’s exit, was on parking lot duty. One hand waving, the other shoved into the pocket of his red Academy windbreaker. A mid-November chill had blown into Virginia, tearing golden leaves off maple trees, and Jennings shivered and turned back toward the campus, the final car gone.
The inherent chaos of a boarding school was halved as the day concluded. Instructors and administrators relaxed, handing responsibility off to dorm proctors.
It takes a village.
Today Jennings was intercepted by his supervisor near Monty Hall. Angela Pierce was young for her position, Director of the Upper School. The faculty believed her inexperience ate at her and that she compensated with her sharp wardrobe and a glare.
“Mr. Jennings, you have a parent conference in your classroom.” The wind blew some brown hair into her mouth and she spat it out.
“Do I,” said Jennings. Parent conferences were rare.
“It’s unscheduled. I’m sorry to drop it on you.”
Jennings shrugged and walked by her. “I don’t mind. I’m free.”
“Wait.” She caught up. “Let’s talk first.”
“Yes ma’am.”
In front of him now, Ms. Pierce pivoted on her heel, looking all directions and guaranteeing their privacy. She was shorter than Jennings; her head tilted up and her cheeks reddened.
“It’s about Benjamin Lynch,” she said.
“Benji. Okay.”
“You haven’t met his father yet.”
“I did at orientation. Tall guy, noisy, big-shot attorney.”
Pierce nodded. “What else do you know?”
“Nothing.”
“You haven’t heard any rumors?”
“I haven’t. Why?”
“Good,” she said. “Good.”
She looked away and Jennings noted her anxiety. He’d known since meeting her in August that she was in over her head. A commanding officer overcome by events wasn’t hard to spot.
Jennings was only three months into his first year and already he bore the same signs of fatigue she did. Training in the Army was harder than the first year of teaching, he’d decided, but it was close. The effects were probably the same—a winnowing of those who couldn’t endure it.
“Ms. Pierce.”
She shook her head and came back. “Yes. I’ll fill you in, about Benjamin’s father. Peter Lynch. He’s a lot. He’s one reason you were hired.”
“Why’s that?”
“A couple things. One, because he had the history teacher before you fired, thus the vacancy. And two, we’re hoping he respects you. We put Benjamin into your class knowing this day would come.”
“Sounds scary, Ms. Pierce. Scarier than you?”
She smiled a little.
“We’re speaking in confidence, Mr. Jennings.”
“Sure,” he said.
“Yes? Because I shouldn’t have told you about the previous history teacher. I don’t know how that slipped out. I’d prefer you didn’t repeat it.”
He thought she could use a friendly pat on the shoulder. Hang in there, Pierce. We’re all in this together. But she’d resent it if he tried. His hands remained in his pockets.
She said, “He’s direct. Intense. And he’s wealthy, Mr. Jennings. He has new money and a lot of it. Mr. Lynch is one of our school’s primary benefactors and that provides him leverage. Leverage he’s not afraid to use. Do you understand?”
Jennings knew about the school’s benefactors. The faculty called them titans. “I follow.”
“I hate saying that but it’s true.”
“There should be some give and take.”
“He purchased the give and take in advance.”
“No big deal. That’s life,” said Jennings.
“I looked at your record book on PowerSchool. Benjamin’s grades are…”
“Suboptimal.”
“Yes, a good word, Mr. Jennings. They are suboptimal. What can be done?”
“He can turn in assignments. I don’t think Benji will ever ace a test put in front of him but if he turns in work he’ll pass.”
“Benjamin has to pass. You know what he means to the school,” said Pierce.
“He’s a good kid.”
“You don’t mind helping him?
“No.”
“And you can handle Mr. Lynch.”
“I can handle them both.”
“That’d be ideal, for all of us. I suppose you’re accustomed to being yelled at, from the Army.” Another small smile, a concession they were both human. “Although Mr. Lynch doesn’t really yell that I’ve heard.”
That was it. She’d named the source of Jennings’ confidence. Some inner conviction that parents couldn’t be as bad as a drill sergeant. Putting words to it released a small reservoir of anxiety in Jennings’ stomach.
“I’ve been yelled at. And I’m not the one missing assignments.”
“Wouldn’t it be nice if parents thought that way, Mr. Jennings. You better go.”
“Wish me luck.” He went for the door.
“You don’t need luck. You have…built in respectability. Just don’t squander it.”
Jennings stopped again. Grinned and restored an inner order. “You don’t have to be nervous, Ms. Pierce.”
“I’m not. Well, not really. But thank you.”
“What are the rumors?”
“What do you mean?” she said.
“You asked if I had heard rumors about
