The Grave Digger

by Rebecca Bischoff

  Sister Mariah continued to speak, muttering to herself. “He’d be surprised at what I know, that Dr. Rusch,” she said softly. “Oh, yes, he’d be surprised.”

  Cap barely had time to register the woman’s rather strange words, for at that moment she marched to the door. She opened it wide and stood waiting. The boy sighed in resignation.

  “Well, I suppose I must go,” he said, rising to his feet.

  He turned back for one more look at Jessamyn, wishing he could remember what he’d wanted to say to her. He stuffed his hands into his pockets. With Sister Mariah present, there’d have been no chance, anyway.

  Jessamyn waved. “I’ll see you at school,” she said. Her face lit with a sparkling smile.

  At the sight, Cap’s tongue glued itself to the roof of his mouth as though he’d eaten a large slice of Mrs. Hardy’s treacle tart. The best he could muster was a half-wave as the door closed behind him.

  “This has been quite a mystery,” Sister Mariah said, peering sideways at Cap as they descended the stairs. “I do wonder exactly what happened to our girl.”

  Shrugging, Cap mumbled a quick “Dunno,” while his face grew hot.

  They arrived at the front door, and Sister Mariah opened it, letting in a wicked breeze that caused her black skirts to billow about her. Cap stepped over the threshold in silence.

  “Well, you’d best run on home, child,” Sister Mariah told him. “I’m glad to see that you washed. You were a sight to behold last night—you and Jessamyn both, with leaves in your hair and mud streaked all over your faces.”

  With that, she gave Cap a gentle nudge and slowly shut the door, keeping her eyes on his until she was hidden from view. The door closed with a loud click.

  Cap flinched. The woman’s words were clear: She suspected that he wasn’t telling the entire story.

  TEN

  AS CAP WALKED, he fingered the heavy coin in his pocket. Lost in thought, he nearly stepped into the street in front of a brewer’s wagon. He jumped back as angry shouts beat against his ears, and the stocky draft horses jostled by only inches away.

  “Blast!” he cursed out loud. With a hammering heart, he shook his head to clear away the cobwebs. No sense getting himself squashed under horses’ hooves just because he wasn’t paying attention.

  Stomping his feet to keep them warm, Cap had hardly taken two steps when the door to a nearby saloon opened. A wave of warm and pungent air carried shouts of laughter. “Dr. Abe, don’t go! Buy us another round!” someone called.

  The boy stopped short. Dr. Abe? That sure sounds like—

  His thoughts were interrupted as a pale man with protruding teeth and a squashed nose burst outside and stumbled down the sidewalk. His face was flushed with drink.

  “Dr. Abe must be off to the hospital, fellows,” he bellowed. He passed by Cap without even a glance at the boy.

  Ignoring the cold that made his hands and feet ache, Cap followed. This drunken doctor had to be Dr. Rusch. He was the man who’d treated Jessamyn and declared her dead.

  The doctor never once glanced back. After a few minutes, the man veered left without warning and entered an alley between two crumbling buildings. Puzzled, Cap closed the distance. He peered around the wall where the man had disappeared. About ten feet away, Dr. Abe’s dark coattails were vanishing inside a dilapidated brick building. A splintered wooden door creaked shut behind him.

  Cap crept forward. Garbage was piled high at his feet, and he had to pick his way carefully to avoid slipping on the slimy remains of rotting vegetables. But before he reached the door, the doctor stepped outside and locked it behind him.

  He stopped short as he whirled and spied the boy.

  “Who are you?” he asked, gazing down at Cap and blinking as if his eyes couldn’t quite focus. He adjusted a pair of wire rim glasses perched on the end of a nose that looked like a miniature pumpkin. Several rings set with colorful stones sparkled on the man’s fingers.

  “Dr. Rusch?” Cap asked, ignoring the man’s own question.

  The man stared without a word.

  “I’m sorry to trouble you, but I wanted to ask about—”

  “Off with you! I’m busy!” Dr. Rusch roared. He flung his arm forward and caught Cap across the chest. The boy lost his balance and plopped onto the trash-strewn ground.

  Dr. Rusch reached the street and continued his unsteady march toward the hospital. Simmering like a kettle about to boil, Cap rose to his feet and followed again, picking bits of egg shell from his trousers.

  I don’t care beans if he doesn’t want to talk to me, he thought, gritting his teeth. I’m not through with him, no sir!

  The streets were busy with Sunday churchgoers. Keeping the doctor in sight, Cap dodged in and out of small knots of people dressed in their best. Soon, they arrived at the hospital. He watched as the doctor hurried inside and counted to ten before following.

  Once through the doors himself, Cap glanced about, but the man had somehow whisked himself away. A hallway stretched out ahead, and a steady stream of people moved about the place.

  “Well, hello, Cap. We meet again, don’t we?” someone said.

  Cap whirled and met the friendly gaze of Dr. Ivins. His tall form was dressed as usual in clothing that was clean but threadbare. The man’s tired face wore a quizzical expression.

  “Oh, hello, Dr. Ivins,” Cap said. Then, he added with a sudden burst of inspiration: “I’m looking for Dr. Rusch. I have a message for him.”

  The doctor’s eyes widened, and he blinked. Then, he motioned for Cap to follow. The boy hurried after him down the narrow hall. Cap’s mind whirled. He had to come up with a message, and fast! He wrinkled his nose as they picked their way around a small pile of bloody bandages on the floor.

  Dr. Ivins opened a door and led Cap to the grounds outside. He squinted in the bright fall sunshine as he hurried after the tall man. “Where’s Dr. Rusch?” Cap asked.

  “I suppose you’re wondering why I took you away from the hospital. I’m worried about the illness that has struck our town. We have seven new cases this morning,” the doctor said, rubbing a hand over his chin.

  “What illness?” Cap asked.

  The crease between the doctor’s eyebrows deepened. “It calls to mind the terrible yellow fever epidemic of last century. It’s a dreadful thing, Cap,” he said, gazing down at the boy. “And why I moved you out of the hospital so quickly. You would not want to catch this illness, nor would you wish to bring it home to your mother.”

  “No, sir,” Cap breathed. He gulped and jammed his hands into his pockets to keep them from trembling. Then, a new idea struck him.

  “Did Jessamyn have that illness?”

  The doctor blinked. “I don’t know,” he finally said, “as I did not treat her. Perhaps.” The man rubbed his tired eyes. “It is dreadful, Cap. Keep away from the hospital and from anyone who grows ill. Now, then,” he added, straightening his crumpled cravat and smoothing his hair, “Whatever message you have for Dr. Rusch, you may tell me,” he said in a lighter voice.

  Cap’s stomach flipped over like a flapjack on a hot skillet, since he’d had no time to create any story. He took a deep breath. “I, uh, sir, you see …” Words failed him, and he dropped his gaze to his scuffed boots, his heart sinking.

  But then a miracle happened. Dr. Ivins said, “Perhaps you bring Dr. Rusch news of his mother? She promised to send word when she arrived in town.”

  Wordlessly, Cap nodded.

  “Ah, good. I’ll tell him.”

  Cap’s heart stuttered in his chest. Oh, St. Mary, he thought. What’ll old Rusch think when he finds out his mother isn’t here? Cap resisted the urge to smack himself on the forehead.

  “Well, I must return to my work,” Dr. Ivins said, putting a hand on the hospital door. “Goodbye.” With that, the man disappeared inside the hospital.

  Cap headed home in the cold, purple-tinged twilight. He’d learned nothing from following Dr.
Rusch, though he did wonder about that strange brick building. What was in there?

  He sobered and slowed his steps as he neared his neighborhood. The tired face of Dr. Ivins came to mind. Seven new cases of that strange new illness. Cap wrapped his arms tightly about his body, while a jumble of fears made his head ache. If folks in Circleville kept falling ill from that deadly sickness, the town’s newest resurrectionists might end up with more work than they’d ever imagined.

  ELEVEN

  THE KITCHEN WAS empty. Mrs. Hardy had rushed off to care for a sick cousin and had left a simple meal of cold meat and boiled potatoes. Cap peeked into Mamma’s room but she was sleeping, so he closed the door softly. He and Father sat down to eat together. Father wolfed his food and moved into the front parlor to smoke his vile-smelling pipe that made the house reek.

  Left to himself, Cap munched on a heel of bread and paced the kitchen, trying to untangle his thoughts. New bunches of herbs hung from the ceiling near the iron stove, drying out for storage. Cap fingered a bundle of spiky leaves, and the pungent scent of rosemary filled the air.

  A pang of sadness filled him. Mrs. Hardy’s herbs helped plenty when one of the family had a cold or an upset stomach. The thing was, they didn’t help Mamma at all when she gave birth too early to the tiny babies who died within minutes of entering the world.

  Please, God, let this time be different, he prayed silently.

  A soft rap at the front door made him jump. Father’s quick footsteps sounded in the hall, and low voices rumbled like thunder heard over distant hills. Then, the front door closed and Father poked his head into the kitchen.

  “We’ve another job to do this evening,” he whispered. “We’ll leave now, as your mamma is asleep. Looks like a storm’s rolling in. Wear your wool coat.”

  Caught off guard, Cap surprised himself by nearly laughing aloud. He clapped a hand over his mouth, quickly turned the laugh into a cough, and pounded on his chest for good measure.

  “Yes, sir,” he managed to croak out. Without raising his head to look at his father, he squeezed past him and hurried upstairs, taking care to miss the step that always squealed like a mouse caught in a trap.

  We’ll just see what happens, Cap thought, yanking his coat from its nail inside his wardrobe and pulling on his scarf. Yes sirree, we will. If I have power to raise the dead, I should be able to do it again, tonight.

  Nearly afire with nervous energy, Cap hurried downstairs and out into the winter night. Father was right about the weather. An icy rainstorm doused them but good. Freezing needles of water dripped down the back of Cap’s neck as he dug, spurring him to work faster. Sweating and swearing, the two older men dug furiously as well. Finally, they reached the coffin and broke it open.

  Moving this body from its eternal rest took some effort, thanks to the man’s weight. The resurrectionists were forced to tie a rope about him and pull together to remove him from the deep hole. Finally, the stocky corpse emerged from the earth and slid to a stop in the thick mud beside the wagon.

  “Now I know how my mother felt when she birthed me into the world,” Lum said, wheezing. “Said I right near killed her ’cause I took a day and a half to come out. She could hardly stand the sight of me for a week.”

  “No surprise that, with your fat head,” Father muttered, softly so only Cap could hear. The boy pressed his lips together to keep from grinning as the men hurriedly stripped the corpse’s mud-filled clothing from his body.

  Cap squinted at the body in the dim lantern light. The corpse’s downy hair was white, and his pockmarked brown face bore the deep lines of a man who’d seen many years and many troubles.

  “What are you doing, lazybones?” Lum said. “Help us lift this man into the wagon. He weighs as much as an ox.”

  Squeezing his eyes shut, Cap tugged the gloves from his hands and tossed them to the ground.

  This is it, he thought. He reached down and grabbed the man’s ankles, while Noah and Lum lifted the man by his arms. Cap waited for the warm sensation he’d felt when he’d touched Jessamyn’s face. But with the man’s ankles coated in cold mud, he had no idea whether anything was happening.

  “One, two—” Father counted aloud.

  The man screamed.

  They dropped him, and the grown men screamed back.

  “What in the Sam Hill?” Lum shouted. He fell to his backside and scrabbled away in the mud. Father seized the lantern and opened the shutters wide as he held the light aloft to illuminate the form on the ground.

  The dirt-daubed man’s eyes were round as dinner plates. He stared about in a panic. Then he raised shaking hands to his face and felt along his naked, muddy body.

  “Where am I?” he croaked. “Where are my clothes? Where’s Mary? Find Mary, I want Mary!”

  Cap stared with his hands clapped over his mouth. Delighted shock and elation glowed inside. He could have hollered for joy, but he figured he’d best pretend to be as addled as the others.

  For a few moments, no one moved. The man blinked at the bright light, shivering and jabbering. Finally, Cap found his shovel and dug about in the grave to fish out the man’s clothing. Father helped the man don his filthy and sodden trousers and shirt. Lum was nowhere to be found as Father and Cap helped the man into the back of the wagon.

  “Where do you live?” Father asked.

  The man told them. It was not far from Cap’s own quiet neighborhood. The boy closed his eyes as they jostled along in the wagon, while his mind filled with wonder. Jessamyn had come to life at his touch, and now, so had this man.

  If I can do this, I can save Mamma’s baby, he thought, his heart chugging like a steam engine at full speed. I can save everyone!

  “Here we are,” Father announced, bringing the wagon to a halt. Cap snapped out of his reverie. He and Father helped the man to his front door. It was far past midnight. The tiny box of a house was dark, and all was quiet except for the continued patter of the freezing rain that fell in their eyes.

  They knocked repeatedly. Several long moments passed, but shuffling footsteps finally approached the door.

  “Blast! The shock must have addled my brain. What was I thinking?” Father said, turning to Cap with wide eyes. “We never should’ve—”

  The door swung open to reveal an elderly woman with a frizzled, gray-streaked braid that hung over one shoulder.

  “Jedediah!” she screamed. “Dear God Almighty!”

  She fainted and fell in a heap at their feet.

  TWELVE

  CIRCLEVILLE CHRONICLER,

  NOVEMBER 15, 1875

  Ghouls Do a Good Deed; Stiff Turns Out to Be Alive

  Our town’s mysterious gang of body snatchers is at it again, but this time the laugh was on the thieves. Jedediah Greeves, lately passed on to a better place, has returned from beyond. It seems he was removed last night from his so-called final resting place. The devilish snatchers were certainly startled to find their quarry alive!

  On Monday, Cap headed to school in a daze, his mind fogged with weariness. He yawned as he hung his coat and scarf in the cloakroom, wondering if he’d ever get enough sleep again. The only bright point was when Jessamyn turned around to smile at him from her desk.

  Cap didn’t remember any of his morning lessons. Twice he was called upon to answer Master Rankin’s questions, and twice he had to admit he hadn’t been listening. He was made to solve several difficult arithmetic problems at the board for his lack of attention.

  Finally, the dinner break came, and Cap bolted from his seat. After his dismal display all morning, he wasn’t about to face Jessamyn or anyone else. However, when he reached the door, the girl called his name.

  “Cap, wait!”

  He froze, one foot still a few inches off the floor, while the room filled with whispers.

  “Will you walk with me?” Jessamyn asked.

  “Yes,” Cap said in a loud voice. The whispers increased and someone giggled.

  “S
houldn’t you save your courting for after school?” Eli called out.

  Cap didn’t turn around, but simply followed Jessamyn as she headed to the cloakroom, while laughter floated in after them.

  “Pay them no mind,” he said as they put on their coats.

  “I don’t,” Jessamyn said in a quiet voice as they left the school. “At least, I try not to. Sister Mariah always says that we should only worry what God thinks of us, not what anyone else thinks. I try not to pay those boys any mind at all.”

  “Well, I mind,” Cap said, balling his hands into fists and shoving them into his pockets. “I’d like to smash my fist right into Eli’s smeller.”

  Jessamyn laughed, and Cap put his mind to think of something else clever to say. Unfortunately, he could not imagine a single thing. He kicked a pebble in disgust.

  They walked along Walnut Street. Cap pushed aside the thought that he was supposed to head home for his noontime meal. He wasn’t about to go there now.

  “I wanted to thank you again, Cap,” Jessamyn said. She brushed a stray hair from her eyes. The boy squelched the urge to reach out and touch the long, wavy strand. “I know you go home at dinnertime, so I won’t keep you, but I need your help. You see, I’m missing something very dear to me, and Sister Mariah said you might be able to help me find it.”

  “What is it?” Cap asked. They stood for a moment in the warmth that emanated from the open doorway of a druggist’s shop.

  “When I was buried, I wore a ruby ring on my finger. It belonged to my mother, and it’s all I own in the world.”

  “A ring?” Cap said. He hadn’t remembered a ring, but they wouldn’t have taken it even if they had seen it. Lum was strict in that regard. They were not thieves.

  “It was a ruby ring from my father,” Jessamyn said. “I always wore it on my right hand. When I felt well enough to think clearly, I realized it was gone.”

  “You think I took it?” Cap asked. He stopped in his tracks and turned to face the girl. “I swear to you, Jessamyn, I didn’t!”