The Last Patriot - Brad Thor [111]
Ferguson suddenly interrupted him. “No, Paul. You’re right. This motif wasn’t designed for Monticello.”
The docent was surprised by her certitude. “It wasn’t?”
“No, Jefferson designed it for his other plantation, Poplar Forest.”
“How do you know?”
“Several of the entablatures there were also based upon an ancient frieze from Diocletian’s Roman Baths. They had human faces interspersed with three vertical bars, but Jefferson decided to add some whimsy and directed his craftsmen to include ox skulls.”
“And the mantelpieces?” asked Harvath.
“Poplar Forest has fifteen,” offered Ferguson.
Harvath smiled. “That’s got to be it.”
“The only problem with that,” said Gilbertson, “is that Poplar Forest was gutted by fire in 1845. Only the walls, columns, chimneys, and fireplaces are still original.”
CHAPTER 80
Poplar Forest was located in Bedford County just southwest of the city of Lynchburg, Virginia. Even with a heavy foot, it took Harvath nearly an hour in waning rush-hour traffic to make the eighty-mile drive.
As they drove, Nichols filled them in on the big picture points he knew about Poplar Forest.
“Jefferson referred to Poplar Forest as his ‘most valuable possession’ and began building the house there in 1806, shortly after the First Barbary War.
“It was his retreat where he was free to carry on his favorite pursuits—thinking, studying, and reading. His parlor, which also doubled as his study, housed over six hundred books in multiple languages by authors such as Aesop, Homer, Plato, Virgil, Shakespeare, and Molière.
“The house at Poplar Forest was considered the pinnacle of Jefferson’s architectural genius. Based upon the design principles of Andrea Palladio, Jefferson constructed the all-brick home in the form of a perfect, equal-sided octagon, which appealed to his love of mathematics. Inside, the home was divided into four octagonal rooms surrounding a central dining room that was perfectly cubed.
“With triple-sash and floor-to-ceiling windows, as well as a sixteen-foot-long skylight in the center of the house, every space was flooded with light. And though the idea was to create a simple, informal country retreat, the entire home, right down to its kitchen, was a state of the art masterpiece.”
The fact that Poplar Forest was closed on Mondays wouldn’t have stopped Harvath from finding a way to get inside, but Susan Ferguson had called Poplar Forest’s director, Jonathan Moss, who agreed to drive over from Roanoke and meet the men there.
Turning right off Bateman Bridge Road at the entrance of Poplar Forest, Harvath followed the long driveway for a mile before it ended near the front of the house. Theirs was the only vehicle there.
“Looks like we’re here first,” stated Nichols. “Should we take a look around?”
The three men climbed out of the SUV, briefly stretched, and then began walking. As they circled the main house and the newly reconstructed service wing, the professor shared the handful of additional modern details he knew about Poplar Forest. In particular, he described how it had been rapidly degrading until 1983, when a nonprofit corporation was formed to buy it and the surrounding five hundred acres. Over the next twenty-five years the corporation painstakingly researched and restored the estate to its original condition.
After fifteen minutes of sightseeing, they heard a car door slam shut. Poplar Forest’s director had arrived. With Nichols and Ozbek right behind him, Harvath turned and headed back to where they had parked.
Jonathan Moss was the skinniest person Harvath had ever seen. Standing about five-foot-eleven, with dark hair and a pronounced Adams apple, the man looked to be about fifty and reminded Harvath of Washington Irving’s Ichabod Crane.
Moss gathered packets of information from the trunk of his car, slammed