Lum was a few feet away, watching the gabbling crowd, snorting and chuckling with a look of delight on his florid face. Catching Cap’s eye, he grinned and quickly winked one eye before he turned his back and walked away, whistling.
The mayor scratched at the mark on his head and eventually wandered off. Little by little, the crowd melted away after thanking Parsons for his Christian kindness. Grinning broadly, the skinny old man left, while people continued to pat him on the back as he walked. Delphia caught Cap’s eye and waved, smiling broadly. Then she and her mother descended the steps and headed down the street with the tall preacher.
Cap swore his blood was bubbling like soup in a pot. Of all the nerve! With his mocking wink, Lum had let the cat out of the bag. Parsons was setting himself up to be a hero, pretending to watch over the town’s dead, but he just happened to work for the doctor Cap was certain was behind the body-snatching business. All he was doing was making sure a real guard wouldn’t be there.
I’ve got to tell somebody what’s going on, he decided. No matter what Father thinks, we can’t do this to our friends and neighbors. We shouldn’t do this to anyone.
TWENTY-THREE
“AH, THE WANDERER has returned,” Mrs. Hardy said briskly as she swept inside and spied Cap slumped at the table. “I’d nearly forgotten what you looked like.” The housekeeper tweaked his ear and began to rummage about in the cupboard, looking for something.
“Is Father here?” Cap asked. “I need to speak to him.”
“No,” Mrs. Hardy said. “And Mina is feeling poorly, again. I sent for the doctor, but your mother’s friend came instead.” The woman paused to glance down at the open newspaper in front of Cap. Wiping her hands on her apron, she read for a moment, then sniffed. “It says some of those folks plan to leave town. Good riddance, I say.”
She slammed a floppy chicken down onto the table. At that moment, Jardine entered the kitchen. Her face was placid, so Cap thought perhaps she’d not overheard. Then, he saw the hurt in her eyes.
“Do you have any more ginger for tea…ma’am?” Jardine asked Mrs. Hardy in a controlled voice. Cap couldn’t help noticing the slight pause before the word “ma’am.” His heart leapt painfully inside.
Mrs. Hardy didn’t turn around, but tore at the dead chicken while she spoke. “No, I do not have any more, you took it all. I could have used some when I visited Polly yesterday. That poor child couldn’t even hold down a sip of water!” The woman continued to pluck the chicken. Feathers flew.
Jardine closed her eyes for a moment. Her lips were compressed.
“I am sorry,” she said. “But you know how sick Mina has been.”
Mrs. Hardy whirled around. “Do you think I don’t know that?” She shook the dead chicken in her hand. A few more feathers floated to the floor.
Jardine pivoted upon her heel and moved toward the door, muttering the words “be slow to anger” several times under her breath. At least, that’s what it sounded like to Cap.
“I need to go to the market,” Jardine said aloud when she reached the threshold. “Please tell your mamma, Cap, that I’ll be back.”
Guilt settled in the boy’s chest like a hard lump of iron. The woman looked more than tired, like weariness was soaked clean through to her bones.
“I’ll go to the market for ginger. Do you need anything else?” Cap said, leaping to his feet.
Jardine’s eyes took on a glow. She blinked rapidly several times before she reached out to squeeze Cap’s shoulders.
“Thank you,” she said. “Ginger root, a penny’s worth, is all I need.”
Without looking at Mrs. Hardy, Jardine turned in the direction of Mamma’s bedroom, her shoulders square and her head held high.
Cap didn’t dare look at the housekeeper as he pulled on his coat. Her freezing silence chased him from the house. He darted through the front garden and vaulted over the gate.
“Cap?” Jardine called from the front door. “Wait a moment.”
“Yes?” he called back.
“Could you stop by my house, too? It’s right behind the Front Street grocer’s, on Oak. Number 23.”
“Sure,” Cap said, pulling on his mittens. “But why?”
“I need more raspberry leaves. Philadelphia will fetch you some. You just tell her I sent you.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Cap answered.
Jardine’s smile lit her tired face.
Shopping accomplished, Cap turned the corner of Front Street and headed down Oak. This neighborhood was the one where old Nellie Jackson had lived. Cap glanced about guiltily, as though the woman’s husband might be somewhere nearby, staring at him.
Number 23 was a narrow, two-story house that had seen too few coats of paint in far too many years. When Cap knocked, the door squeaked open and Delphia appeared.
“Hello, Cap. You know, I still haven’t found anything about folks coming back to life. Is that why you’re here?” she asked with a grin. The girl wore a pair of tiny eyeglasses balanced on her nose.
“Your mother sent me for raspberry leaves,” he said.
“Come on in.”
Delphia ushered Cap inside a small front parlor. “I’ll be right back,” she said.
The boy tapped his feet as he waited. Timeworn furniture was scattered about the room and small framed photographs stood on the mantel. The very same newspaper Cap had just been reading was upon a chair. He glanced away.
Delphia returned and handed him a small packet wrapped in brown paper. Then she pointed to an open volume on a nearby table.
“You remember Dr. Ivins telling me there are ways to get bodies for medical schools besides grave robbing?” she asked.
Nodding, Cap busied himself with carefully tucking the packet of raspberry leaves into his pocket, while trying to ignore his stinging face.
“Dr. Ivins told me after his last anatomy lecture that all the subjects he dissected were legal. He gets them the right way.” Delphia said.
Cap cleared his throat. “The right way?” he asked.
Delphia tapped her finger on the thick book open upon the table. “Laws have been passed in other states that unclaimed bodies can be sent to medical schools,” she said. “No digging up folks at night on the sly. I think our state should have laws like that, don’t you?”
Certain his guilt had to be written all over his face, Cap answered. “Well, sure.”
“Why, Cap, your face is as pale as a cream cheese,” Delphia said, removing her tiny glasses and grinning impishly at him. “Don’t tell me all this talk of grave robbing gives you a fright.”
“’Course not,” the boy said, moving quickly to the door.
“Tell Mamma I’ll be at the library, will you?” Delphia asked him.
Cap nodded as he stepped out onto the front porch. Delphia’s eyes twinkled. “Land sakes, Cap, you look peaked,” she said as she closed the door. “You’d best go on home and lie down.”
Hurrying home, Cap prayed Father would be there. He couldn’t stand keeping quiet anymore.
Mrs. Hardy met him at the door. Her face was pinched with worry. “Run to town and find Dr. Ivins. Jardine’s baby is coming early.”
TWENTY-FOUR
MRS. HARDY’S HOME was filled with the smell of dried herbs. Jars that held everything the woman used for her teas and remedies lined the long shelves. It was a pleasant, homey place, much like Cap’s own kitchen, but he couldn’t keep his feet from tapping a nervous rhythm on the floor beneath his chair.
Mrs. Hardy set a plate in front of him, but he pushed it away. “I’m not hungry,” he mumbled.
“Moping will do you no good. Dr. Ivins will have everything sorted, you’ll see,” she said. “Eat.” She shoved the plate back beneath Cap’s nose. With a sigh, the boy lifted his spoon. The cornmeal mush with ham gravy stuck like glue to the roof of his mouth, and the hovering housekeeper made him even more jumpy than he already was.
“Mrs. Hardy, you help lots of ladie
s have babies. You could go help Dr. Ivins,” he said. “I’ll be fine here on my own.”
Mrs. Hardy whirled. Bits of rubbery dough clung to her hands, like small white mushrooms had taken root. Cap sank down in his chair.
“She didn’t want me there,” the Irishwoman said. Her mouth was drawn into a thin line, but her eyes were overly bright.
“Oh,” Cap said. The two gazed at each other for a moment, until the woman blinked and turned around. Mrs. Hardy pounded her dough again. Cap had barely forced in another mouthful when a sudden thought made him choke.
“Delphia! She doesn’t know!” he said, coughing.
“Who?” Mrs. Hardy asked, but Cap was already out the door. Mrs. Hardy’s shouted pleas faded away as he ran.
Jardine’s house was silent. Cap spent a few frantic seconds pounding on the door before he remembered. The library—Delphia had said she’d be there!
Cap sprinted through the darkness toward the building in the heart of the town, but by the time he arrived, sweating and panting, that place was dark and silent as well.
Double blast, and curse it! Cap swore to himself. Where is she?
Dejected, he headed back the way he’d come. Many people were still out on the streets despite the late hour, especially in the town center where the taverns and inns stood. Cap passed the saloon where he’d first spied Dr. Rusch. Loud laughter burst out of the open doors. The boy glanced that way and then skidded to a stop.
There in the doorway was Jessamyn’s mother. Instead of a plain nightgown, Tillie wore a peacock-blue dress covered with ruffles and ribbons. A patch covered her swollen eye, and she wasn’t alone. She supported the weight of a man with a red, sweaty face, who draped an arm about her shoulders.
As the pair stepped over the threshold, Cap darted into the shadows of the empty lot next door.
“You make a fine pirate, my lady,” the man slurred, as he lifted a cup in a toast while they stumbled along the uneven boards of the sidewalk, passing within a few feet of Cap. Tillie smiled up at the man.
The wind stirred and flung a cloud of dried leaves into the boy’s face, but he hardly felt it. A thought began to crystallize inside him, cold and sharp like splinters of ice. He shivered. This was why Jessamyn didn’t tell anyone about her mother. Whatever Tillie was doing, it sure didn’t look respectable.
As the pair passed by Cap’s hiding place, the man stumbled and nearly fell.
“Steady, Jeb! Hold on to me, I’ll help you get home,” Tillie said.
“Thank you kindly,” the man said, “But my wife would likely object.” He laughed.
“I object as well,” another voice added. A short, wide form marched up to the staggering couple, illuminated by the light coming from the windows of the Court Street Hotel.
“Sister Mariah!” Tillie gasped.
“You go on home to your wife, sir, and may the Lord forgive you,” Sister Mariah said, “as your wife likely will not.” With surprising strength, the tiny woman seized the man’s arm and propelled him into the street.
Mumbling to himself, the man melted into the shadows.
“Come, Tillie,” Sister Mariah said.
“I was only out for a drink, Sister Mariah,” Tillie said. She stood tall with her arms crossed, defiant in stance before the other woman, though her voice was soft.
“A drink?” the other woman answered. “For shame, Matilda! With your illness and all, to go out in the cold and return to this establishment, like a dog turning to its vomit. For shame!” Sister Mariah thundered.
“Please understand, Sister,” Tillie said in a tight voice. She stepped closer with her hands outstretched. “My daughter and I must leave this place. I nearly lost her, but by some miracle Jessamyn was returned to me. The sickness is spreading. We must leave! How else can I earn what we need to get away from here?”
“You say this is for your daughter? That child deserves much more than this.” Sister Mariah said.
Tillie stopped short. Her blue dress was bright, and her tawny hair gleamed in the light of the single streetlamp that glowed at the corner.
“Yes, she does, Sister Mariah,” she said in a ragged voice. “She deserves a father, but God took him, didn’t He? I couldn’t even give my Jessie a roof over her head with the few dollars a month I earned sewing day after day until the light was gone and my head ached. No one would even have me as a servant in their home with a child of my own to care for, especially when they knew who her father was. So, I went out and did what I could to put food in my baby’s mouth. If God will punish me for it, so be it. At least my child didn’t starve!”
Cap’s heart ached in his chest as he watched the two women. Father felt the same way about his work with Lum. He was doing something most folks would say was bad because he thought it was the best way to help his family.
Tillie stood with her head in her hands. Her shoulders heaved and her slight form shook like a leaf in the wind. Sister Mariah was still as one of the statues inside the chapel at St. Joseph’s. Stone-like and unyielding, she stood with her hands planted on her hips, looking for all the world like a figure carved of granite. A few seconds ticked by until, suddenly, the statue moved.
“God forgive me,” Sister Mariah said in a hoarse voice as she closed the distance between her and Tillie. She folded her arms about the trembling woman and, together, they wept.
“‘First remove the beam from thine own eye,’” Sister Mariah sobbed. The two women moved together toward the old church.
Cap’s throat grew tight, and he jammed his hands into his pockets as he walked away. He turned down Oak and headed for number 23. He’d try once more. This time, Delphia was home. Her eyes grew wide with fear as she listened, and she grabbed his arm. Together they ran.
Dr. Ivins was inside Cap’s kitchen when they burst through the door. His face was a mask of weariness.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
Delphia pushed past him and ran to find her mother. Cap sank into a kitchen chair. “Please, God,” he whispered. But after that, he found no more words inside his heart.
TWENTY-FIVE
THE NEXT EVENING, bells rang inside the tower of a small church on Front Street. Mourners filed in and sat on narrow wooden benches.
Jardine and her husband had invited the Coopers to the memorial service for their tiny son. Mamma was too tired out to go anywhere, and Mrs. Hardy stayed with her. But Cap and Father had washed and combed, and sat stiffly in their Sunday best on the hard seats.
A tiny wooden box had been placed on the altar, decorated with a single sprig of holly tied with a blue ribbon. Cap squirmed and loosened his collar. His newly scrubbed skin itched.
I’ll make certain that little box stays in the ground, he swore to himself. Besides, surely this baby was too small. Nobody could possibly want him for a subject.
“Shove over, boy,” growled a harsh voice. Lum scooted into the pew next to Father. His matted hair hung down in his eyes, and his jacket was crumpled and looked as if it had never been washed.
Cap’s limbs grew suddenly heavy. “What’s he doing here?” he whispered to Father, while a chilling dread began to seep into his chest.
“Tell your boy to keep his trap shut,” Lum whispered to Father. He threw a furious glance at Cap before he bowed his head as they were asked to pray.
“Hold your peace, Cap,” Father whispered from the corner of his mouth as they listened to the prayer.
“No,” Cap muttered, anger rising and smoldering within. Not a soul was safe in this town. Not with Dr. Rusch buying the flesh of the dead. Blast it, Cap should have told somebody already. But he’d been so caught up in what had happened to Jardine, the thoughts had flown away.
The congregation began to sing.
Rock of ages, cleft for me
Let me hide myself in thee…
The voices filled the church from floor to rafters. Cap trembled. He was in a fix now, that was all-fired certain. But he would not al
low Lum to take Jardine’s baby. He’d kept his mouth shut too many times, and lots of innocent folks had suffered for it.
“I won’t do it,” he whispered. He elbowed his father. “We can’t take him.”
Father stared straight ahead, with his jaw set.
Could my tears forever flow
Could my zeal no respite know…
All around them, the voices swelled louder, reaching a crescendo and drowning all other sound. Father leaned toward Lum and muttered something in the man’s ear, but Cap didn’t catch a word.
Rage caused the words to burst from his mouth: “Damnation! What did you say to him?” Cap yelled.
The song had ended. Someone coughed. Cap turned to find all eyes on him, the heads of most in the church swiveling around to see what the commotion was.
“Let us pray,” Reverend Cole said, his voice echoing in the chapel. With a rustle of clothing, and more than one disapproving look, the congregation turned back around.
The boy sank lower in his seat. He tried to ignore the men sitting next to him. Father kept his eyes ahead.
The service was quiet and simple. Reverend Cole spoke of the goodness of God. “He loves each person and creature, even the tiniest sparrow,” he said.
Cap could have sworn a knife was splitting his chest open. He had to stop this. If he could somehow get to that tiny coffin, well, then what? What in tarnation could he do?
“Let us pray that God will speak peace unto our souls,” Reverend Cole said. “Let us seek to hear His voice in our hearts, that we may know His Grace.”
Please, God! I never knew how to hear your voice, but I need to hear it, now. Where are you?
But God was silent.
The congregation stood at the end of the service. Lum hurried from his seat after the final “amen” and disappeared. Father kept a firm grip on Cap’s arm. The boy was forced to join the crowd that moved toward the front doors, inching along slower than molasses on a frigid day in January.
The Grave Digger Page 10