by Blaire Edens
Tomorrow, she’d talk to Campbell about the sex. Whether he wanted to or not.
She’d hurt him once and she didn’t want to hurt him again. She hadn’t know, not until she’d seen the look in his eyes, he hadn’t gotten over her. If she were honest with herself, she hadn’t gotten over him either. Not completely.
Maeve stared at the ceiling and tried to allow the sound of the rain to lull her to sleep.
*****
Campbell was wide-awake.
He had too much on his mind to sleep.
He’d spent ten years insulating his heart from Maeve and the first time he’d been alone with her, he’d had sex with her. She’d ridden in his Explorer with no panties. Just the thought made him hard.
The years had done nothing but make her more attractive. The coltish, willowy figure had been replace by curves and angles that were all woman.
Campbell couldn’t figure out what happened between him and Maeve up there. He knew better. Knew that she’d only break his heart. Again. But he hadn’t been able to help himself. She was like a heady drug that made him powerless.
From here on out, he was observing a strict, hands-off policy.
Sex with Maeve, no matter how amazing, just wasn’t worth the risk.
*****
When everyone got sick, they blamed me. Bessie made sure of that.
I understand why she did it. She was a scorned woman. Everyone in town saw the way I looked at Jenks and the way he looked at me. It wasn’t something either of us could hide. She knew his heart belonged to me and mine belonged to him.
When Jenks came back from The War, he was nothing but a bag of bones. His eyes were sunken back in head and his cheeks were hollow. Regardless of how he looked, my heart skipped when I saw him walk into the yard.
Two days after he’d come home, he’d married Bessie.
A week after that, Hoke was dead. Frozen in the last of the spring snows, along with whatever had been left of my heart.
When the weather cleared, Jenks came to the cabin. He brought me part of a smoked ham, more precious than gold in the mountains.
He followed me into the cabin and sat at the table. I put some biscuits I’d made for breakfast on the table and pushed the honey and butter toward him. “Need to eat all you can,” I said. “You’ve wasted away to nothing.”
He looked up at me, his eyes a fevered, blurry blue. “I aim to change that.” He grinned and it was as if I was looking at the same boy I’d known before the war, the boy I’d intended to marry.
I was never the same after I looked at him. Something deep inside me stirred to life, like a butterfly freeing herself from a chrysalis.
I took his hand in mine. It was rough and callused but it felt wonderful. Our fingers laced together as if they were cogs on two perfectly matched gears.
I was powerless to stop what happened next.
An hour later, lying beside each other in my bed, the yellow-white spring sun washing over the quilt that covered us, Jenks said, “There was never any woman save you in my heart.” He placed my hand on his chest and underneath the frail bones of his ribs, I felt his heart beating a slow, steady rhythm. It matched my own.
“I’m sorry about Hoke,” he said. “I know it will be hard on you without a man.”
He was right in one way, wrong in another.
“I didn’t want to marry Hoke.”
He leaned back against the wall and looked up at the beams on the ceiling. “I know you didn’t.”
All of a sudden, all the emotion I’d been carrying for so long, since well before The War, washed over me and tears ran down my face. “I never wanted anything but you.”
Jenks pulled me into his arms. “You’ll always have my heart.”
It was wrong. We both knew it and we were both powerless to stop it.
Even now, a hundred and fifty years after the first time we shared a bed, I still smiled at the memory, ached to feel his skin next to mine once more. I doubted that would ever happen. I wasn’t sure if either of us would get into heaven after what we’d done but I still dreamed that wherever I went when I finally took my rest, he’d be there to meet me.
I was ready to rest. I’d wandered these mountains long enough. I just needed a little more help from Maeve.
I floated up the holler toward Granny Holcombe’s cabin. I knew the place well. Very well. I stood in front of the rough-hewn door until I slipped through it and into the main room. A fire was burning in the hearth and Maeve was asleep on the sofa.
I saw the notebook and knew this might be my chance.
My handwriting never was the best. I only went through the fourth grade. With Mama dead, Daddy said he needed me at home more than they needed me at school. I only had the one good hand and so the only things I ever wrote were recipes on scraps of paper. I only signed my name a few times in my life.
When I realized Maeve was missing part of the story, I knew I had to call my letters to mind. I had to write in her notebook, point her in the right direction.
It took all my energy to pick up the pencil. I had to concentrate on every single loop, every stroke.
It was more difficult that climbing to the highest peak in these mountains.
I wrote only one sentence.
I am innocent of murder.
*****
“This shit isn’t funny, Campbell,” Maeve said. She’d gotten his cell number from dispatch. When she’d grabbed the notebook off the hearth and seen the spidery handwriting next to the notes she’d taken at the cemetery, she knew he was responsible. He was the only one who knew about Delphine and the notebook. She still hadn’t told Granny. Maeve wasn’t sure why she was keeping it from her. “If you thought you could scare me that easily, you’ve got another thing coming.”
“What are you talking about?”
Maeve huffed. “You know good and well what I’m talking about. Don’t play dumb with me.”
“I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.” Something in his voice made him believable. “Really, I don’t.”
“Oh, no.” Maeve whispered.
If it wasn’t Campbell then who wrote it?
A cold shiver ran up her spine and make her scalp tingle. “You didn’t write anything in my notebook?”
“Of course not. It was sopping wet the only time I ever saw it.”
“Oh, no,” she repeated, hating the fear in her own voice. “I’m really scared.”
“You at the cabin?” He spoke quickly, slipped into cop mode.
“Yeah,” she said.
“I’ll be there in ten minutes. Wait for me.”
Like she had another choice. Her car was still at the top of Sugar Mountain and while the rain had blown out overnight, the ground wouldn’t be dry enough to reclaim her Volvo until tomorrow at the earliest.
She was stuck. Waiting on Campbell to save her. Again.
Maeve looked around the cabin. Everything looked the same. Nothing had been moved, shifted. She could swear no one had been inside the cabin but her in days, yet there was something different in the air this morning. She’d thought it was the changing weather, the nip of fall in the air, but now, when she took a deep breath, she knew it was more than the changing seasons.
Delphine had been here.
There was an unusual smell, earthy and misty, like the smell of fog.
When had Delphine come? The thought of being asleep on the sofa while a ghost prowled through the house made the hair on the back of Maeve’s neck stand up. She had to get out of here. She had to get to the bottom of this.
Maeve grabbed the notebook, her jacket and purse and ran out onto the porch. She closed and locked the door behind her. She wasn’t going back inside, not until she had some answers.
In a rocking chair on the front porch, Maeve opened the notebook and ran her finger across the sentence. She shook her head. Maeve didn’t know much about what made a woman a witch in the 1870s. From what she remembered about her American History class at Clemson, it didn�
�t usually involve a specific crime and the 1870s seemed kind of late for witchcraft.
There was something she didn’t know. Something she hadn’t figured out yet.
The lawyer deep inside her clawed to the surface. It climbed over the fear she’d felt since she’d figured out that no living hand had written those words in her notebook. She was going to get to the bottom of Delphine’s case, treat her just like she could any other client.
By the time Campbell pulled into the yard, Maeve had a plan.
She hopped into his cruiser and slammed the door. “Can you take me to the museum?”
The inside of the car smelled like Campbell. Fresh and clean, like the smell of rain filtering through the Balsams. Rain. She wished her brain hadn’t made that connection. Campbell didn’t even turn to look at her. He wore dark sunglasses, and he’d just shaved.
“Good morning to you, too, Maeve. I thought I was here for an emergency.”
“Morning. Sorry. And it was sort of an emergency but everything is okay now. Sort of okay.”
“Where was the fire?” Campbell asked.
He looked so delicious, she was tempted to turn his question into a double entendre but then she reminded herself that he wasn’t the kind of man who’d be okay with a fling. He’d always been an all or nothing kind of guy.
She tapped the notebook on her lap as she buckled her seatbelt. “Delphine wrote in this last night.”
Campbell pounded his fist on the steering wheel. “Will you stop saying that name?” He put the car in drive and steered toward the main road.
“I think she was wrongly accused of a crime. I think that’s why she’s still around.”
“Maeve, I’ve known you most of my life. You’re smart, too smart to get caught up in an old ghost story someone made up just to scare the kids. I know you didn’t leave Atlanta under the best circumstances and now with Granny in the hospital, I think maybe the stress is getting to you.”
“I left my job for doing the right thing, and Granny is going to be fine. It’s not terminal. It’s a broken leg and for the tenth time I’m not losing it.”
Campbell shook his head. “This ghost? She’s not real. It’s just in your head.”
“I’m so crazy that I’m writing in my own notebook and blaming it on Delphine?”
“Damn it. Stop. Saying. That. Name.”
“Just drop me off at the museum.”
“You do know that I’m a sheriff’s deputy, not a taxi, right?”
“I’ll walk to the hospital this afternoon to see Granny.”
“How are you going to get home?”
Maeve shrugged. “I’ll figure it out.”
Campbell shook his head. “I’ll pick you up at the hospital at five.” He pulled to the curb in front of the Avery County Museum and shifted the car into park. “Be there.”
“Yes, sir,” Maeve said, offering a mock salute. “Thanks for the ride.”
“Hey, Maeve,” he called though the passenger side window. His face softened and he said, “About yesterday?”
Oh, shit.
The last thing Maeve wanted to do was discuss that in the middle of Main Street. They needed to discuss it but she’d been so wrapped up in solving the mystery of Delphine, she’d put it off and decided not to bring it up until she had more time to think about the right approach.
“Yeah?” she asked.
“I’m glad you’re home.”
She stepped back to the car leaned inside. “Me, too.”
*****
The Avery County Museum was located next to the courthouse. Housed in the old jail, built in 1912, the collection included photographs, genealogy resources and books and newspapers. In high school, Maeve had used the collection to flesh out the family tree as a Christmas present for Granny.
Mrs. Hightower was still at the front counter.
“Hey, Maeve. I haven’t seen you in a coon’s age.” The older lady was small and weathered. Her gray hair was wound in a loose bun at the back of her head and her glasses looked like they hadn’t been cleaned in years. “What brings you to the museum?”
“I was wondering if you had any information on Delphine Whitson.”
Mrs. Hightower’s face froze. “Why are you interested in her?”
Maeve wasn’t sure how to answer. From the look on the woman’s face, it was obvious that Delphine wasn’t her favorite subject. “I was talking to Virgil the other day and he mentioned the story. I’d forgotten about it and just wanted to read a little about the legend.”
“That’s borrowing trouble.”
“I don’t believe in ghosts, Mrs. Hightower. I’m just interested in the legal part of the story, being a lawyer and all.”
There was a long silence. “I guess I can understand that. Follow me.”
Maeve followed her to a closet in the back of the building. Mrs. Hightower clicked on the light and shuffled through several boxes on the shelves. Finally she pulled one down and handed it to Maeve. “This is most of what we have. Mitchell County sent it over a few years ago when they were refurbishing the library. Since Delphine is buried in Avery County, they thought we should have this box.”
“Any idea where it came from?”
Mrs. Hightower shook her head. “Not really. I haven’t catalogued it so I don’t know much about what’s in there.”
“How could you resist?”
“Easy. I don’t like messing with anything that deals with witchcraft. Scares me.”
“Surely you don’t believe witchcraft is a real thing.”
“I hope it isn’t but I don’t want to bet on the wrong side of the question. Let me know if you need anything.”
“Thanks,” Maeve said. She blew the dust off the top of the box. “I can’t wait to dive into this treasure trove.”
After settling at a large table, she took the lid off the box and pulled out several albums. Made of tooled leather, they were scrapbooks. The materials inside were yellow and brittle with age. She sat down and flipped the pages slowly.
Filled with newspaper clippings, the first book seemed to be a chronicle of Delphine’s trial. Maeve opened her notebook and began taking notes. The articles were arranged in sequential order so Maeve was able to create a timeline.
In 1866, Delphine was arrested on suspicion of murder. According to the article, she’d shot and killed her lover, Jenks Harper, after he ended the affair and declared his intention to go back to his wife. His wife, Bessie, had witnessed the shooting and demanded the immediate arrest of Delphine.
When the sheriff went to Delphine’s cabin, he found a Springfield Rifle, the likely murder weapon, and charged her with murder.
Maeve flipped to a clean page in her notebook and copied all the information she could find about the weapon.
According to the article, the dead man’s wife, Bessie, testified against Delphine along with half of the county.
Along with the murder charge, there were also wild allegations of witchcraft and consorting with the devil. A story even older than the legend of Delphine.
As best as Maeve could tell by reading the article, she’d been a twenty-four year old widow with no children who lived in a small cabin. Jenks had been her childhood sweetheart but had married Bessie when he came home from the Civil War.
The questions were coming much faster than the answers.
She became so absorbed in the story, she had no idea most of the day had passed.
“Maeve?” Mrs. Hightower’s voice jarred her from the scrapbook. “Honey, it’s time for me to close up. We’ll reopen in the morning.”
Maeve reluctantly closed the book and placed it back inside the box. “Thanks for your help. I’ll be back.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Jenks, along with at least one of the other men who’d come home after serving with the 58th North Carolina and losing so many men at Chickamauga, had the French Pox. I didn’t know when I lay with him the first time. I don’t think it would’ve made any difference anyhow.
I
nstead of blaming it on The War, Bessie made sure it was blamed it on me.
From the first time he looked at me, I was lost.
I would’ve been with Jenks even if I’d know it was going to cost me my life. He was my life. Always had been. The first time I ever saw him he was standing in the dry goods store in town. A little boy, hair as black as soot and eyes that sparkled with mischief. I loved him instantly.
After that first day we lay together, he came to the cabin any time he could. When he couldn’t, we met in the woods, on the balds that looked out over the Blue Ridge, or in the sweet grass of the fields.
I never knew how Bessie found out about us but she did and she was intent on destroying both of us. She was a prideful woman, petty and small.
The first person who got sick was a widow, Kate Dillingham. She was a widow who lived in a shack and lived from hand to mouth. It was no secret that sometimes she gave the men in the community a favor or two. Never for money, always for a brace of rabbits to feed her children or a cup of salt, more precious in these mountains than gold, so that she could preserve food to last her family through the winter. All the wives knew about Kate but none of them ever stepped in to help her. They’d rather turn their religious cheeks and pretend they didn’t know their husbands visited her from time to time.
Others quickly followed Kate. By the Fall, less than six months after Jenks came home, eight people were sick. Not only did they have sores on their mouths and palms, they ran high fevers and lost weight until they were as slender as the soldiers who’d come home from the war the previous spring.
It spread faster than a fire in dry leaves.
*****
Campbell walked into the hospital at quarter past five. He’d had a slow shift, mostly filled with speeding tickets and welfare checks on some of the old-timers who lived deep in the hollers. After greeting the nurses, he opened the door to Granny’s room. Maeve was sitting in the recliner in the corner.
Her cheeks were rosy and her eyes were bright. He’d walked in just as she’d been explaining something to Granny and it was obviously something she was passionate about. He hadn’t seen that look on her face in so long. He smiled before he realized it.