Sue Ann Jaffarian - [Granny Apples 01]

by Sue Ann Jaffarian

  “Not sure, ma’am. I was sitting here like I always do when you came and sat down yerself. Lots of city folks come up here, but you’re the first talking to me.”

  Emma brushed off the seat of her trousers, knowing it would take more than her hands to get the dirt out of the good weave. She gave up on cleaning herself and studied the image. Once past her initial start, she wondered if she should ask Billy if he knew Granny or her family when he was alive. Believing she wouldn’t know until she tried, she started phrasing her question when her peripheral vision caught sight of something flitting by her. She looked away from Billy Winslow and glanced around the graveyard.

  “Oh … my … God!”

  “Milo, we have a problem,” Emma snapped into her cell phone. “A big problem.”

  She was still in the Pioneer Cemetery. Across from her, the ghost of Billy Winslow kept his vigil on the bench.

  “There are ghosts everywhere,” she continued, without waiting for Milo to speak. “I feel like I’m on the Haunted Mansion ride at Disneyland. All I need is the spooky music and mouse ears.”

  “What do you mean by ‘everywhere,’ Emma? Where are you?

  In Julian?”

  “Yes, in Julian. At the cemetery.”

  “And you can see them?”

  “Yes! Why do you think I’m so upset? I mean, one or two, here and there, maybe I could absorb that idea. But this—this is like a ghost convention.”

  She looked out across the uneven land that comprised the graveyard. Even though it was daylight, she could make out numerous images, some more distinct than others. Some were moving, some stationary, but all were obviously spirits of the dead. Except for Billy Winslow, none had spoken to her or even looked in her direction. She started counting.

  “There’s about a dozen that I can make out,” she said into the phone. “Various ages, both men and women.” On the other end of the phone there was a long silence. “Milo, you still there?”

  “This is incredible, Emma.” Milo’s voice was filled with excitement. “The most I’ve seen at any one time is three.”

  “What? You think this is a contest?”

  Milo laughed. “No, of course not.” Another pause. “Emma, is Granny there?”

  “Not at this moment. At least not that I can see. Of course, she could be lost in the crowd.”

  “Emma, listen to me.” Milo’s voice was stable and comforting. “These spirits are not going to hurt you. Just go about your business. What’s up with the cemetery, anyway?”

  “I wanted to see if Granny and her husband were buried here. Not sure why. It was just a whim.”

  “Well, your whim answered our question of whether or not you’d be able to see other spirits besides Granny and your aunt. Did any of them speak to you?”

  “Just one. A young man. He introduced himself and apologized for giving me a fright.”

  Milo laughed again. “A well-mannered ghost.”

  “This isn’t funny, Milo. I about had a heart attack.”

  “Just relax, Emma. Apparently, these spirits feel very comfortable around you. They trust you.”

  “What about my comfort level?”

  “You’ll get used to it.”

  “I don’t want to get used to it, Milo. I want to help Granny Apples, then be done with this.”

  Milo paused before speaking, taking a minute to weigh his next words. Emma again thought the call had been dropped.

  “You there, Milo?”

  “Emma, you may not have a choice in the matter. Now that you’ve opened yourself to the other side, it may be difficult to shut the door. Not impossible, but difficult.”

  “You mean, I’m stuck with this for the rest of my life?”

  “I’m not sure. I’ve never met someone like you before. But for now, why don’t you just go forward with your research for Granny, and ignore the others. Pretend they’re not there. When you get back home, you and I can try to figure this out.”

  “I don’t have much choice, do I?”

  “Emma, these spirits allowing you to see them is a privilege and an honor. It’s not a curse.”

  “Depends on your point of view.”

  After her call with Milo, Emma gave Billy Winslow a nod goodbye. He gave her a cordial wave in return.

  Even though there was a narrow roadway winding through the cemetery, Emma took a deep breath and started making her way among the graves, scrub grass, and spirits lingering in the graveyard. None of them paid attention to her. The roadway circled a knoll that contained most of the graves. On the far side of the road, facing the town, the land sloped, forming natural graded levels that contained more graves. She decided to explore the central area first.

  She noted that some of the graves were arranged in obvious family plots. Others were scattered helter-skelter throughout the place. It was almost as if someone had decided to dig a grave wherever the coffin was dropped, with no eye to order and placement. The dates on the tombstones covered a wide range of years. She spotted some beginning in the mid-1800s and some that were as late as the 1930s. The tombstones marking the graves were just as diverse. Some graves were marked with solid and stately headstones, others with large chunks of weathered wood or large rocks, but most were marked with roughly hewn blocks of stone or concrete the size of a large shoebox. Names on the headstones were either primitively carved into the stone or etched on a small metal plate attached to the stone. Some of the names and dates were easily discernible, while most were difficult to read. Many featured only the name of the deceased.

  At the top of the mound of graves was a redwood gazebo with a short, white picket fence surrounding the inside area. Just to the right of the gazebo, the ghost of a young pioneer woman sat under a tree and rocked a baby. As Emma approached, she noted that the woman was cradling nothing in her arms. She rocked back and forth, her empty arms comforting air.

  Turning her gaze away from the rocking spirit, Emma stepped toward the gravesite. In the middle was a modern headstone with fine etching. Scattered around it were a few broken and weathered wooden crosses, some little more than dried kindling. The headstone explained that the plot was where babies were buried in the late 1870s. Emma was deeply touched. Over the years, the people of Julian had not forgotten the children of the early settlers and had erected a fitting memorial.

  Emma glanced over at the rocking mother with new understanding.

  “Three of my children are buried here,” a familiar voice whispered from behind Emma.

  Emma turned to her left, not surprised to see the ghost of Ish Reynolds. “Three?”

  Granny nodded. “Two came before their time. Never had a chance to make it. Another, a girl, died of pneumonia during her first winter.”

  “I’m sorry, Granny.”

  Granny looked at the memorial. “That time, this place, was unkind to the weak.”

  Emma turned back toward the childless rocking mother, but the spirit had vanished.

  She moved away from the children’s gravesite and started again to wander among the scattered graves. Granny followed and didn’t seem either bothered or excited that they were not alone. She took no particular note of any of the other spirits.

  “Granny, are you and Jacob buried here?”

  In response, the ghost of Granny Apples drifted through the cemetery. Emma followed, dodging scattered headstones and being careful of the uneven terrain and the spirits around her. Granny paused on the side of a small rise, several yards from the top. Emma looked down, scanning the various weather-worn headstones for a familiar name. It took her a couple of minutes before she spotted what Granny wanted to show her.

  Two small hewn blocks were set side by side. Emma knelt beside them in an attempt to better read the metal nameplates. Neither displayed a date of death, only names. Close up, Reynolds was fairly c
lear on both. Touching the warm metal with her fingers, she traced out Jacob on the grave to the left. She did the same with the plate on the grave to the right.

  She glanced up at Granny with a puzzled look. “It says Elizabeth.”

  “Elizabeth is my Christian name. When I was a girl, my younger brother had trouble saying it. It came out as Ish and stayed Ish.”

  “Elizabeth is my mother’s name.” Emma looked back down at the graves. “In looking up our family history, we found a lot of women named Elizabeth over the years.” She looked back up at Granny. “Starting with Winston’s daughter.”

  “My son did not forget me.” Granny raised her head in pride.

  Emma stood up. Spotting a nearby bench empty of both the living and the dead, she made her way for it and sat down. The day had been a great drain. With the long drive and now the graveyard, Emma was downright spent, both physically and emotionally. She was glad she’d made her way to Julian during the week, when visitors were scarce. She would not have liked sharing her finds at the cemetery with the usual tourists.

  “Granny,” she said, once she collected her thoughts, “if you never had any grandchildren while you were alive, why were you called Granny Apples?”

  “It had to do with the pies,” Granny explained with a slight smile. “Jacob always said I looked like an old, bent granny when I rolled out the dough. He’d tease me, calling me Granny Apples. A lot of other folks in town picked it up, especially after I won my first pie contest.”

  At the mention of pie, Emma realized that she was getting hungry. Looking at her watch, she saw it had been nearly two hours since she’d had the pie and coffee. She needed dinner—a good, solid dinner.

  In spite of her hunger, Emma remained on the bench a little longer. Granny had disappeared and so had some of the other spirits. After reflecting on her day and what she’d learned, Emma got up from the bench and returned to Jacob and Ish’s graves. Taking her cell phone out of her bag, she used the camera feature to take a couple of photographs of the graves and the surrounding area. Then she took out a small pad of paper and a pencil and made a rubbing of the nameplates. The etching on the metal plate wasn’t very deep, but she was able to get a fair imprint of the names. After, she followed the paved access road down to the town and made her way to the Julian Grille, where she dined alone, without the company of ghosts.

  “Are you sure this is where you lived?” Emma asked Granny.

  Following Granny’s directions, Emma had driven a couple of miles out of town. They’d left the main road and followed another paved road lined with trees before Granny pointed to a small lane branching off to the left and dipping into a shallow valley. There was a white fence around the property but no gate blocking the road.

  “The trees are bigger, and we didn’t have no fancy fence like this, but this is our road. I’m sure of it.”

  “It’s probably private property, Granny. We could be trespassing.”

  “I’ve never come to it this way since I passed, but it’s our property, I tell ya.” Granny looked at her. “You being a fraidy cat again?”

  Emma let out a big sigh. She hadn’t been brought up to invade other people’s property, but what harm could it do? There wasn’t a gate, just fencing on either side of the road. And Granny was probably wrong. How could she be so sure after all this time? Especially since for the past hundred years, she’d been traveling by popping in and out of places and not over physical roads.

  Nosing the car down the narrow road, Emma followed it through a large meadow with cattle grazing on either side. Soon the fence opened to another lane on the left. Over it was a large arch that proclaimed it to be the Bowers ranch. Down this small road, Emma could see a large house with matching barn, stables, and assorted outbuildings, all beautifully built and maintained.

  “Bowers ranch. Does that name mean anything to you, Granny?”

  “There was a Buck Bowers, but I don’t recall him having a ranch, especially not out this way. It was just our place at the end of this road.”

  Emma drove a little farther until the road dead-ended at a clearing. Granny was gone when the car stopped. Emma climbed out of the car. With Granny gone, she wasn’t sure what she should be looking for.

  Just to the right of the road was a large clearing. A few massive, solitary trees were scattered about the area, with a large bank of trees a couple hundred yards away.

  After maneuvering through a small opening in the fence, Emma made her way toward the clearing. The cattle seemed content to stay at the far end, closer to the main road.

  Here and there in the grass, Emma discovered large pieces of decaying wood. She nudged some of it with her foot, only to discover it had become embedded into the ground over time. A little farther, she came upon a circular pile of carefully set stones: an old well. Someone had taken the precaution of securing a metal lid over the opening and padlocking it. Emma noted that the lid was rusty, but the lock looked fairly new. Continuing, she found odd bits of rusty metal and more chunks of wood. The wood was ragged in shape, but it was clear to see that at one time the pieces had been shaped with smooth, straight edges.

  Emma continued to scrutinize the area, locating another spot of interest. This time, stones had been set into the ground in a rectangular pattern. She followed it, using her foot to trace the lines, guessing it could have been a hearth.

  “Granny, you going to help me out here?” Emma called gently.

  “That’s where I was hung,” came a voice behind her.

  Startled, Emma gave a little jump. Turning around, she saw Granny staring at a large tree not far from where they stood. Emma turned her gaze upon the innocent-looking tree and studied it. It was an old oak, sturdy, with many branches that could have done the job. She shuddered.

  “Was your house here?” she asked the ghost. She traced again the barely noticeable rectangle of stones in the ground.

  Granny nodded. “Our cabin was there. The barn there, beyond the tree.” She pointed.

  Emma kicked another small pile of rocks, and a snake slithered out from under them. She gasped and jumped back.

  “Not a rattler,” Granny announced. “Won’t hurt you.”

  “There are rattlesnakes out here?” Emma looked at Granny in horror.

  “ ’Course there are. Lots of ’em.”

  Emma turned and headed for the car, slipping in her haste but regaining her balance before falling.

  Granny followed. “They won’t hurt you none if you leave them be.”

  “Rattlesnakes were not part of the bargain, Granny.” In squeezing back through the fence, Emma’s shirt got hung up.

  “They mostly stay in the woods. Don’t like people none.”

  Emma yanked her arm and heard a rip as she freed her shoulder. When she reached the car, Granny wedged herself between Emma and the car door.

  “This ain’t the city. Lots of critters out here.”

  It crossed Emma’s mind to simply reach through Granny’s hazy torso, open the car door, and hop in. But she’d done it before and knew Granny didn’t like it. Snakes or not, Emma felt she should honor Granny’s boundaries.

  “What did you expect, Emma?” The ghost tapped her booted foot with impatience.

  “I’m not sure what I expected, Granny.”

  Emma looked around, noticing for the first time how solitary the area was. She could see the Bowers house in the distance, but if a snake, or even something more menacing, attacked her, who’d hear? She was used to urban threats, not ones that came from nature. She wished she’d given it some thought and had come better prepared, especially in the clothing department. Her silk camp shirt was torn, and her floral capri pants looked ridiculous. She wished she’d worn her pants from last night, but they were dirty from her stumble in the graveyard. Still, better dirty than absurd. She looked down and swore softly.
Open-toed, expensive canvas wedge shoes were hardly suitable for kicking around in the dirt and scrub brush, no matter how comfy and cute they were in the city. And they certainly weren’t appropriate for walking in cow dung. If something did try to chase her, even an annoyed cow, she’d be dead meat.

  Emma sighed deeply as she wiped the manure on her foot off on the grass. Granny was counting on her. Aunt Kitty was counting on her. Even her mother was expecting her to get to the bottom of things. She wished she had told Tracy about Granny. Tracy was a resourceful woman. She’d probably know what to do.

  “Pull yourself together, Emma,” she said to herself out loud. “You can do this.”

  “Of course you can.”

  Emma looked down into the weathered and expectant face of the ghost of Granny Apples—a woman who’d been wrongfully hung for the death of her husband. She’d waited over a hundred years for someone to help her.

  After a moment, Emma lifted her eyes from Granny’s face and scanned the area, taking in the brush, trees, nearby meadow, and last remnants of what had been a life once upon a time. It was a beautiful area. As she looked around at the peaceful countryside, Emma wondered what it would be like to wake up every morning to such natural beauty and quiet. It was probably heaven on earth.

  When she turned her attention back to Granny, the ghost had disappeared. Emma opened the car door and retrieved the pad of paper from her bag. She sketched the area, noting where the house and barn had been, following the description Granny had given her earlier. Being no artist, the buildings were merely boxes. She added a few dismal stick trees, including the hanging tree and the road, for perspective. Once again, she took out her cell phone and took a couple of photos, including a couple of the Bowers ranch. Then she made a quick call to Tracy, hoping her reception would be clear.

  After exchanging pleasantries, Emma cut to the reason she called. “What do you know about tracing a piece of property?”

  “Not much. Why? And where are you?”