It hangs at the southern tip of Cape Fear, where North Carolina ends. The narrow, curving rock seawall runs for six miles, separating the Atlantic Ocean (left) from the Cape Fear River (right). Before I set foot onto the rocks, I had no thought to using the wall itself as a setting in SILVER CROSS. I knew part of the story would be set on the Carolina coast, thanks to the historical event that drives the story. But the seawall itself played no part in it–until I saw it.
There is no substitute for being there, for walking the steps my characters walk. As I’ve blogged about before, it’s not always possible–kids, day jobs, budgets, etc. But my visit to North Carolina led directly to a critical scene early in the book, a scene that takes place at a setting I didn’t know existed prior to seeing it–the seawall.
I knew Fort Fisher (a few miles north of the seawall) would play a part the book, thanks to Rose Greenhow’s drowning within sight of it in 1864, setting the events of SILVER CROSS in motion. There isn’t much left of the fort as it would have appeared during the Civil War. But as I looked along the wooden fence toward the ocean in the distance, I imagined a Confederate soldier on guard, looking toward the place where the “Condor” ran aground, helpless to aid his countrymen and women.
Travel in researching novels is a study in careful planning, punctuated by bursts of the unexpected. (As a landlocked Oklahoman, this was my first view of the Atlantic…just be thankful I’m not posting the silly pictures of my bare feet in the ocean…) These two pictures tell two different stories, yet they merge into one: the view I expected and imagined from Fort Fisher, juxtaposed with the one I discovered from the seawall–the place where Meg Tolman’s friend Dana Cable is murdered, her body arranged in the center of the wall. That is the gift of travel, and the gift of on-site research.
When I have spoken to people who read SILVER CROSS, I am asked about the setting of the silver mine in the Texas Panhandle, and if I had a particular place in mind when writing the book.
Nope–I had to search for it. I knew I wanted to put my fictional silver mine on the high Panhandle plains, with its brutal, stark and dramatic landscape. With only the slightest notion of what I wanted, I spent a Sunday driving the back roads of the Panhandle, meandering aimlessly. I would know the spot when I saw it.
Indeed I did, and these two pictures are why the mine–setting of the climactic scene of SILVER CROSS–is set in Hall County, Texas. I didn’t realize what I was seeing until after I took the picture of the highway. The crumbling wall of the bridge, the play of the shadows, the look downward to the dry river bed–I knew I wanted Journey and Tolman and Sharp and Ann Gray to meet here. The other is a bit to the left o the bridge, encompassing more of the river bed. Look closely–there is a barbed wire fence running through it, which struck me as odd. That fence made its way into the book, though in a somewhat altered form: much higher and topped by razor wire.
The day I visited the Panhandle was in high summer, and anyone who has visited west Texas in July knows the heat is murderous. It was 101 degrees when I walked along the bridge and down to the river bed. You may recall from the book that it was a similarly hot day when Journey and Tolman discovered the location of the Silver Cross.
“But what about the mine?” readers have asked. “There are no silver mines in west Texas. How did you know…”
I got to have some fun here, by indulging in a bit of geographic (and geologic?) creativity. True, the closest working silver mines to my Oklahoma home are in Nevada. Couldn’t make it there, but my research told me that modern mining processes are very similar for gold and silver. So I struck gold–by visiting the Cripple Creek and Victor Gold Mine in Colorado…a much easier drive. Combining a vacation with my sons (“No really, guys, a gold mine will be much more fascinating than the arcade.”) with research was just what I needed. I simply transferred my mine from the Colorado mountains to the Texas plains. This is the pit into which Darrell Sharp fell during the climax of SILVER CROSS. I kept this picture open on my computer while writing the scene.
And finally, a few pictures of settings of COLD GLORY…”by popular demand,” as they say. (Well, a few people asked, not really demanding. They were much more polite than that.)
When I visited the Louisville, Kentucky area and the Falls of the Ohio, I knew I wanted to use the area in COLD GLORY. This was another case of the conditions at the setting on the day I visited winding up in the book. Falls of the Ohio is known for the fossil beds, which in the dry season are uncovered, allowing visitors to literally walk halfway across the Ohio River. But when I visited, the area was only a week out from devastating floods. The river was high and swift, almost spilling its banks on the Indiana side. These wooden stairs are where Nick Journey is chased by the Glory Warriors. He is shot and falls into the river from this platform. Note the debris at the bottom–in a “typical” year, this would have been sandy shoreline. Just as it was the day I visited, the river was up when Nick Journey raced down these steps, leading to one of the most dramatic and suspenseful scenes of COLD GLORY.
The railroad trestle above the Ohio River looks from the Indiana side to Louisville across the river. Before being shot and tumbling into the river, Journey warded off an attack by another assassin from this spot atop the trestle. Note how the sign is bent, a fact that is in the book.
Finally, Fort Washita, Oklahoma…I was raised 10 miles from here, but viewed the old fort with fresh eyes when researching the book. These are the ruins of the west barracks, just as they were when I was a boy.
But most powerful of all…
Of all the places in both books, I am asked most about the Chickasaw burial ground at Fort Washita. It is exactly as I described it in the book. The only marker is this one, and the powerful phrase “Known But To God” has a simple eloquence that I could not forget. The Chickasaws of earlier generations did not mark burial places–most were buried under their houses, according to the Chickasaw Nation’s tribal historian. But this small enclosure, with its unnamed and unknown Chickasaws forever at rest, is a place where I felt the physical and spiritual worlds keenly, at the same moment. The climactic scene of COLD GLORY takes place here.
I’m a writer, and words are my life. But these pictures show the intersection of fiction and real life. There is nothing compared to being there, to use all five senses to understand a place, to bring it to life, to make the fiction real. Thanks to the readers who requested that I post some photos. It helped me reconnect with the reasons I write, and I am happy to share.
