Mary Jane's Grave

by Stacy Dittrich

  Madeline’s obituary read that she was preceded in death by her father, mother and infant brother. I couldn’t find anything on the brother. That was the only time I ever saw him mentioned.

  Madeline also had a daughter, Maryanne, who’d been born in 1899. I lost track from there. There was no mention of a husband of Madeline; her obituary said “Hendrickson” only.

  Who was Maryanne’s father? I made a note to go to the county health department the next day to get the whole family’s birth and death certificates. And I was curious to learn more about this new character, the mysterious baby Maryanne.

  CHAPTER TEN

  I had gone long past the hour that I’d promised to be home, and I couldn’t wait to get there. I needed to be with Michael and the kids. Unfortunately, they’d had a long day and, according to Michael, were pooped. He’d put them all to bed shortly before I came home, and then we’d talked for almost half an hour before climbing the stairs to bed.

  As I passed Sean’s room, I was surprised to find him awake and sitting up in bed in the dark.

  I walked into his room and sat down beside him on the bed. “Sean? What’s wrong, buddy?”

  At first, he just looked at me with his huge green eyes—his father’s. I noticed that his chubby little cheeks were puffing in and out, and I realized he was about to start crying.

  “Honey, what is it?” I patted his leg reassuringly. “CeeCee’s here. Tell me what’s going on.”

  And then he did, and what he told me sent shock waves rippling throughout every part of my body. He said he wanted to ask me a question since he’d arrived here, but he’d been too scared.

  Apparently, before Michael had picked him up to bring him here, Sean’s mother had told him that she and his daddy were getting back together. She knew that Michael would be moving back in soon and that Sean wouldn’t be coming here anymore.

  As his tears began to fall, Sean moved into my arms, the saddest little guy I’d ever seen. My heart broke as I listened helplessly to his sobs.

  “I won’t ever see Selina or Isabelle or you again, will I?” he asked me, wiping his eyes.

  I pulled Sean closer, and then I felt another presence behind me. Michael was standing in the doorway, and he looked as shocked as I felt.

  “Sean, what exactly did Mommy tell you the other day?” he asked, sitting down on the other side of the bed.

  I wasn’t only confused and shaken—I was fuming. Maybe Michael had had enough of my conflicting feelings about Eric and had begun seeing Vanessa, his ex-wife, behind my back. This can’t be happening, I thought. I refuse to go through all this again!

  Sean rubbed his eyes. “Mommy said that you’re leaving CeeCee because you don’t love her anymore, and that you still love Mommy, and that we’re gonna be a family again.” He sniffed and grabbed my hand. “But, Daddy, I don’t want to leave CeeCee!”

  I stood, trying to sort out my feelings. There have been very few people in my life whom I’ve allowed myself to trust, and Michael was one of them. It had taken me a long time to begin to heal after Eric’s betrayal.

  I had to admit that I was probably jumping to conclusions, but the thought of reliving another four- way relationship nightmare hammered my sense of logic. I felt a lump in my throat begin to swell, and the tears reached the corners of my eyes. Michael saw my distress, but he stayed focused on Sean.

  “Sean, remember when we talked earlier about Mommy? Honey, I think this has something to do with that. Mommy and I are not getting back together, and I am not leaving CeeCee, okay? Mommy might want that, but I don’t.”

  Still unsure where Sean’s announcement had come from, I gave him a kiss good night and walked toward our bedroom, dazed. Michael was behind me a few seconds later and closed the door behind us. I turned to face him, my chest heaving, and I felt short of breath. I struggled to keep my voice down.

  “What the fuck, Michael?” I was trembling. “How can you accuse me of wanting to go back to Eric when you and your ex are in discussion about getting back together?” Despite my good intentions, I heard my voice rise.

  “Please calm down and lower your voice,” he said, a frown beginning to appear on his usually calm face. He went to the bed and sat down, then fixed a steely gaze on me,

  “Sean told me about this when I picked him up the other day, but I didn’t give it much thought. I figured his mother was just fantasizing again.”

  “Told you what?” I crossed my arms in front of me and tried to calm down.

  “He said his mom has been crying a lot. I know she hasn’t dated anyone seriously since our divorce, but I figured she just wasn’t ready.” He ran his fingers through his hair, and when he looked up, his face was drawn. Despite myself, I began to feel sorry for him.

  “When I took Sean home the last weekend we had him, Vanessa acted odd. She was all dressed up as if she was going out, but she clearly wasn’t because she invited me to stay for dinner.” He paused. “Which of course, you know I didn’t.” He went on, “Before I left, she asked me if I regretted getting the divorce.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I told her I felt bad that Sean had to grow up without both parents in the same house, but she looked so fragile, I didn’t want to hurt her by going any further. She must’ve taken my answer and created a whole scenario—a faulty one—around it.”

  “I’d say your answer left all kinds of room for interpretation,” I pointed out flatly.

  “Maybe you’re right,” he sighed. “I had told her a couple of weeks ago that you and I were planning to get married, and she got really upset. She said when she left me, she thought she was losing me to you and hoped I’d get you out of my system and run back to her. When I called her bluff and filed, she decided to go along with it. Obviously, when I said I regretted that Sean wouldn’t grow up with both parents, she misinterpreted and thought I was implying that we might get back together for his sake.”

  I stood there staring at him, trying to decide whether he was telling me the truth. Actually, it was pretty clear that he was. But I was still pissed off.

  “May I ask why you never told me any of this until now?”

  “Honestly, CeeCee, I never gave it much thought! Why this is coming from Vanessa now, I don’t understand. I mean, there was almost a year when I was on my own without you, and she never said a word.”

  “If she had said something last year, would you have gone back?” I was almost afraid to hear the answer.

  “Come on! You know I wasn’t in love with Vanessa for the last two years of my marriage, even before I even met you. The answer is no.” He held his hand out to me. I hesitated, then took it and sat next to him.

  “I trust you, Michael,” I said softly. “You’ve never given me a reason not to. But when Sean told me what Vanessa had said, I got scared. The thought of going through the same garbage I did with Eric was too much. I’m sorry I blew up.” Hugging him fiercely, I let all the bad feelings evaporate. He felt good, and I was safe in his arms once again.

  Michael nuzzled my neck. “Boy, the Irish in you really comes flying out when you’re pissed off, doesn’t it?”

  I giggled as he brought his lips to mine, and when his hand moved to my hip, I moved closer and touched him where I knew he loved to be touched. Our lovemaking was different this time, and something inside me welcomed him in a whole new way. Afterward, we fell asleep holding each other, knowing that we were home together—and each other’s home.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The next morning, I got the girls off to school before heading to work. Sean, who usually went to kindergarten in Cleveland, was staying with us for a few days while Vanessa went out of town. We’d hired a babysitter to watch him while the rest of us were out during the day.

  I decided to call the county health department rather than drive over there because I knew what I needed from them would take some time. In addition to the birth and death certificates, I wanted them to give me a list of the oldest living people in the county,
preferably those who remembered their own names.

  I was pleasantly surprised when the fax came in less than twenty minutes later. Evidently, the health department folks kept a list pretty close at hand. The employee I had spoken to had written a brief note on the title sheet of the fax, explaining that the list helped the county know when residents hit their magical nintieth and hundreth birthdays. Having survived so long, these super-seniors were rewarded with a card. Personally, I’d rather get a nice check in the mail, but hey, at least it was something.

  I immediately faxed the list to our Communications Center to check and update all the addresses. To my amazement, I was faxed the list back within forty- five minutes. This might turn out to be a good day after all.

  Scanning the list, I highlighted the top five. The list showed which residents had been born in Richland County. I wanted to start with those who lived in the southern part of the county first, as older people tend to stay with familiar surroundings, and I was hoping to catch a break.

  I crossed out three of the top five and found another two who lived south. I grabbed the list and headed out the door. The first three stops were useless; one person was in a nursing home, one had died five days ago and the other had Alzheimer’s. It was at my fourth stop that I detected a shred of hope.

  Eighty-seven-year-old Walter Morris lived just south of the town of Bellville, about two miles from Mary Jane’s Grave. He lived in an old, battered farmhouse that sat a couple of hundred yards back from the road. A large red barn that appeared to have survived a century of storms stood directly behind the house. Surprisingly, the lawn was well manicured. Someone was obviously taking care of it.

  An old Lincoln with a white hardtop sat in the driveway. I ran a check on the license plate and was somewhat surprised when the dispatcher told me the car was registered to good old Walter, who still had a valid driver’s license. Eighty-seven and still driving—God, I found that scary. On the flip side, though, at least I knew he’d be coherent.

  I knocked loudly on the front door several times before I heard signs of life from within the house. As I heard the slow shuffling of feet moving toward the door, I tried to peer through the front windows. It was pretty hard to see anything through the inch of dirt on them. Finally, I heard the door rattle and a moment later it was opened by the oldest man I’d ever seen.

  Walter Morris, I presumed. The man looked as if he were two-hundred years old. This isn’t going to work, I thought. I’d be lucky if this guy could tell me his birth date. He might’ve been tall once, but I couldn’t tell since he was bent in half over his walker. He was completely bald except for a light covering of gray fuzz. He reminded me of an ancient baby chick. He squinted at me over the frames of his two-inch- thick glasses.

  “Walter Morris?” I asked the obvious question.

  “Yes. And who are you?” His voice was surprisingly deep.

  “I’m Sergeant Gallagher of the Richland Metropolitan Police Department, and I was wondering if I could talk to you for a few minutes.” I held out my badge, which he peered at over his glasses.

  “They lettin’ you gals carry guns now?” he asked affectionately. When he smiled, he revealed a gleaming pair of white dentures.

  “Yes, sir, for a while now,” I joked back, and immediately found myself liking him.

  “Well, I’ll let you in since you’re so pretty.” He reached over to the door to push it open, but I grabbed it quickly to prevent him from falling over.

  “Have a seat over there, young ‘un.” He pointed to a couch in the living room, but I kept standing close to him to make sure he’d make it into the room without any help.

  “I know what you’re thinking, but sit, young lady! I’ve been gittin’ around on my own for twenty years now, and I don’t need any help.” He was still smiling, clearly proud of his dental work.

  I sat and waited as he made his way over to an old lounge chair in front of a window. It took a few minutes for him to turn himself around, put the walker to the side and sit down.

  “There now, I ain’t the quickest draw in the West, but I’ll get there eventually. Now what can I do for you?”

  Despite his physical deterioration, his mind appeared quite sharp for his age. I got the impression that he didn’t receive many visitors, since he seemed thrilled to have someone to talk to.

  “Mr. Morris, I—”

  “You can call me Walt. No need to be formal.”

  “Okay, Walt. How long have you lived here?”

  “My whole life. I grew up in this here house,” he said, a touch of nostalgia in his voice.

  This was exactly what I’d hoped for. Maybe Walter Morris could answer my questions after all.

  “Now, what’s this all about?” he asked, his gaze turning sharp.

  “Mr. Mor—Walt, I wanted to know if you remember any of the Hendricksons, some folks who once lived around here. This would have been close to sixty, seventy years ago, so I can understand if you don’t.”

  Walter’s shiny dentures disappeared as his mouth tightened when he’d heard the Hendricksons’s name. I hoped I hadn’t hit a nerve. By the look on his face, I knew he remembered his former neighbors very well.

  “Listen, young lady, I know what you’re getting at, but take some advice from an old fart like myself. Some things are best left alone.”

  “Walt, I was just asking if you knew them, that’s all.”

  He leaned forward. “Again, I know what you’re getting at. I know all about the witch crap. I know what happened a couple of days ago, too. I still read the papers. Far as I’m concerned, the place has been and always will be evil.”

  “Now, Walt, you don’t believe in ghosts, do you?” I prodded. I couldn’t take my eyes off him as I waited for his answer.

  “Wouldn’t know. I only know what happened when I was a child and that was enough for me to believe in that place. I never went back again.” He let out a loud, gassy burp. “Sorry ‘bout that. These kids nowadays don’t know what their messin’ with. They think it’s fun and all, but look what just happened.”

  “What do you think they’re messing with, Walt? Please tell me whatever you can. A seventeen-year-old girl was brutally murdered, and the killer is still walking around. I was hoping you might be able to help me.”

  “That girl is dead because she disrespected sacred grounds.”

  I silently groaned. I wondered if Walter was one of those superstitious people who never walked under ladders or used the number thirteen.

  “I ain’t superstitious, if that’s what you’re thinking,” he said, startling me a little. Was the man a mind reader, too?

  “I wasn’t implying that you were,” I said defensively.

  “You had that look on your face, like you think I’m some fruit loop or something. I’m fine and I know what I know, and that’s it,” he grunted.

  “Okay, Walt. Can you just tell me what you know?” I leaned back against the couch, trying to curb my growing impatience.

  “I’ll tell you what I remember,” he began reluctantly. “But I was just a boy, maybe nine or ten, so my dates are kind of fuzzy. Me and the nigger kid…Oh!” He looked surprised. “I forgot you don’t call them that anymore. One day, me and the colored kid that lived down the road was out catching crawfish and frogs down at the river. He asked me if I heard about the witch, and I told him I didn’t know what he was talking about. Well, he told me that a witch had been buried at the cemetery, and he dared me to walk back there with him.”

  I sat forward. “I’m assuming you went?”

  “Yup. Worst mistake I ever made in my life. It was near dark when we made it down there. I knew I’d be gettin’ the board on my bare ass when I got home, but I didn’t care. I remember standing there and looking at that tree when I heard the crying. The colored kid, don’t remember his name, maybe Eddie? Edgar? I saw him get a scared look on his face like I’d never seen before. I turned my head to see what he was looking at, and there was the woman. She was standing at the edg
e of the woods. I even remember what she said.”

  My heartbeat went into overdrive. “She spoke to you?”

  “Sure did. She was quiet enough, but I heard it. She said, ‘I forbid violence.’” He stared off into nowhere as if he were reliving it. “She was crying when she said it. Normally, I wouldn’t have been so scared, but she just didn’t look like she was real or alive…. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  “Not really.” I wasn’t too convinced, and I asked what he meant to avoid hearing another ghost story.

  “I’m not gonna explain it to you, then,” he growled, his eyebrows furrowed. “All I know is we ran home as fast as we could. I was so scared that I even told my folks. The kicker was that they weren’t surprised. All they said was to never go back, and to tell no one who or what I saw there.”

  I wasn’t following him. “What do you mean, ‘who’? Did you know the woman?”

  “Oh, I know who she was all right. I found out years later. Don’t expect me to tell you, though,” he grumbled. “I’m eighty-seven, and I’d like to make it to eighty- eight.”

  “Walt, no offense, but what does all this have to do with the Hendricksons?” I was more lost than when I’d arrived.

  “You’re not listening. The Hendrickson house stood inside the cemetery—it was a small family plot back then. What they didn’t know then, and this is mapped on county documents, is that the ground directly behind the cemetery was used by the Mohawk Indians as a burial ground.”

  I couldn’t help snorting. “My goodness, that’s quite a busy place. Not only was a witch buried there, but an Indian burial ground? I bet if we kept digging, we’d find the first aliens buried next to Jimmy Hoffa.”

  Walt wasn’t amused. “This wasn’t meant for your entertainment, missy. You asked and I’m telling you.”

  I put my hands up in apology. “I’m sorry, Walt. Please continue with your story.”

  “All I know is the original Hendrickson place burnt down, and Mary Jane’s daughter, Madeline, lived with the Secrists until they died. She stayed on after they left her the house.” He took a deep breath. “She was a strange woman, a recluse according to people around here. It wasn’t until I was a teenager that I found out Madeline had a daughter, Maryanne, living there with her. No one knew anything about her, and there was no mention of a father. Maryanne died in the late 1980s, I believe. That house has been empty ever since. However, there was talk that Maryanne had had a child, but no one has ever seen him or her. I do know I saw the girl around the Second World War and she looked so pregnant I thought she was gonna bust.”