by J. D. Shaw
“There probably aren’t many living mourners alive anymore, but that doesn’t mean they should be forgotten.” Maggie spoke up. “There are quite a few union soldiers buried there, there’s even a cannon and a stack of cannonballs up there.”
“There is? I never noticed it.”
“That’s because the weeds and grass have taken over and hidden it from view.” Maggie looked toward Vivienne for a moment, as if she noticed her.
“What’s wrong, Maggie?” Harriet asked with a hint of concern in her voice.
“Nothing.” Maggie shook her head. “Just a trick of the light.”
“Just like in the library.” Harriet nodded back. “You were so right about that when things are quiet.”
“So, to make a long story short I asked this Mona Clarke to look into where the money for the perpetual care of the cemetery has gone to.”
“Who was the last caretaker?” Harriet wondered.
“John Pagano, he retired about ten years ago.”
“So he never had a replacement?”
Maggie shook her head. “The town took care of the lawn care for a year or two but then a mowing was missed, then another. Before too long, it was just forgotten and no one ever complained.”
“That’s a shame.” Harriet agreed.
“Those folks buried out there deserve to be remembered.” Maggie spoke softly. “I can’t think of a worse fate than to simply be forgotten.”
The room slowly faded away as Vivienne gently pulled away from Harriet’s memory. There was a slight moment of dizziness as the spell effects diminished. Vivienne quickly worked to cover it before Harriet could ask questions. “You certainly snagged quite a bargain with that bracelet.” She released Harriet’s hand.
“I’m sorry.” She blinked. “What did you say?”
“I said you sure snagged a bargain over at Meeker’s.” Vivienne smiled. “I never have luck like that with sales.”
“Neither do I.” Harriet took a deep breath and pulled her arm back down. “Oh, I hate that feeling.”
“What feeling?” Vivienne felt a moment of panic build inside her.
“That feeling when someone walks over your grave.” Harriet smiled. “I know it’s just a silly superstition, but I can’t help but think that whenever I get goose bumps.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t dismiss everything magical in the world.” Vivienne played along. “There’s a little truth to everything.”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t be more help to you.” Harriet replied as she started scanning books again.
“Oh, don’t worry about it. You gave me more help than I could have hoped for.” Vivienne waved goodbye and stepped out of the library.
She retrieved her smart phone and activated the telephone directory app she had installed a few months ago on a lark. She typed in the name Pagano and found five residents in various locations around Cayuga Cove. John Pagano was listed as residing at 1435 Miller’s Hollow Road.
She held the phone to her ear and activated the voice assist program. “Directions to 1435 Miller’s Hollow Road.”
“Getting directions to 1435 Miller’s Hollow Road.” The digitized voice replied and displayed a map. Vivienne was pleased to see it was just on the northern outskirts of town, just off Route Ninety. She climbed into her Toyota and set the phone in a cradle on the dashboard to keep the map at eye level.
CHAPTER 17
John Pagano’s two-story farmhouse seemed lonely sitting atop a small hill that was framed by a fee pine trees that swayed in the cold wind coming off the shoreline of Cayuga Lake. A small flower garden was barren, with pockets of snow scattered here and there between brown husks of hardy mums that had at last given up the fight against the coming freeze of winter. As Vivienne parked her car in the gravel driveway, she hoped that John would be feeling more hospitable than the residents of town.
The front door creaked open as a white-bearded face poked out to get a better look at his visitor. “Route Ninety is back the way you came. Take a left at the farm stand down the road.”
“I’m not lost, Mister Pagano.” Vivienne put on her friendliest smile and approached the front porch which had seen better days. The entire structure was slanted to the right. The roof was a canvas of moss-covered broken boards, some pulled apart to create openings where birds and squirrels made nests for their young. “I was hoping to talk to you about the Cayuga Union Cemetery.”
John Pagano squinted and put his hand up to his eyes against the afternoon sunlight that broke through the clouds overhead. “The mayor’s office finally decided to come around to that have they?”
Vivienne carefully walked up the wooden steps, the wooden boards bowing slightly with each movement. “I’m not working for the Mayor’s office. My name is Vivienne Finch and I run the Sweet Dreams Bakery on Main Street.”
“You came all the way up here to drum up business?” He asked suspiciously.
“No sir.” She reached the front door. “I’m a friend of Harriet Nettles and Maggie Sandro.”
John’s face was lined with deep-set wrinkles, a testament to all his years working outside under the sun. He would have been an inch or two taller than Vivienne, were it not for his hunched back. “Well, in that case I suppose it’d be rude not to invite you inside.”
Vivienne nodded. “It’s a little cold out here, for sure.”
John opened the door fully and motioned for her to come into his home. “I’m afraid I don’t entertain company much here anymore.”
Vivienne stepped into the living room area of the home and her nose was assaulted with the unmistakable smell of a kerosene heater. “I won’t take too much of your time Mister Pagano. I only have a few questions I hope you can answer for me.”
John shut the door and kicked a draft blocker against the bottom. “Please have a seat and by all means call me John.” He smiled, revealing a full set of yellow-stained teeth.
Vivienne quickly looked around the room. Like most older homes, the living areas were divided up quite small. There was a simple tan sofa with a multi-colored quilt draped over the upper edge of the cushions planted against the wall opposite the front door. The walls were covered with faux wood grain brown paneling that screamed vintage 1970’s. She took a seat on the sofa. “Thank you.”
John walked slowly over to her and sat down with a little bit of effort that revealed he most likely battled some form of arthritis in his back. “So what’s a pretty young baker doing asking questions about an old cemetery?”
“Well, my research revealed that you were the last caretaker and I was wondering if you could shed some light as to why a replacement was never found.” Vivienne asked.
John shrugged his shoulders. “The town never got around to it, I suppose.”
“I thought the Cayuga Union Cemetery had perpetual care?”
“It’s supposed to.” John nodded. “Back when I took care of the grounds I used to go to town hall to get money for equipment and such.”
“When did the town assume control of the cemetery?” Vivienne asked.
John paused for a moment in thought. “That would have been back in 1976. The town council wanted to load the cannons onto a float for the Bicentennial parade that July and they asked me to get it cleaned up as best I could.”
“Did they do that?”
John shook his head. “No, they gave it a good try but that darn things were heavier than anyone thought. Snapped a few cables when the tractors tried to haul the first one out of the cemetery.”
Vivienne hoped that her mind would be as sharp as John’s when she reached his age. Despite his aged appearance, his recall was most impressive. “So, they abandoned the plans and left them alone?”
“Sure did.” He chuckled. “I always thought it kind of odd how Union soldiers moved the cannons so easily back during the civil war, but all that modern equipment couldn’t budge it an inch. Must be the ghosts didn’t want it to leave.”
Vivienne leaned forward. “Ghosts?”
He
stared at her for a moment and scratched his chin. “I can tell from the look on your face that you believe in them too.”
“Yes, actually.”
“Well, working in that cemetery all those years I’ve seen and heard some things I can’t explain.” John revealed. “Does that scare you?”
Vivienne shook her head. “No. In fact, that was one of the questions I was going to ask you.”
John let out a hearty laugh which turned into a coughing fit. He reached into the front pocket of his shirt and pulled out a handkerchief which he placed over his mouth.
“Are you ill?”
John waved her question off and recovered. “Just a tickle in my throat.”
“I don’t want to take your time if you’re not feeling up to it.”
“I’m fine, young lady.” John straightened his posture a bit. “Now, do you want to hear about the ghosts up there or not?”
“Please continue.” Vivienne said apologetically.
“Well, since we were talking about the cannons, I suppose I should start with the black widow.”
“The spider?” Vivienne asked.
“No.” John cleared his throat. “That’s just the name I gave her. Late nights, usually around the beginning of fall I used to see her standing over by the civil war monument. She was dressed all in black, her head lowered as if she were mourning someone.”
“Did she say anything?”
“She just walked real slow back and forth, looking at the cannons. I don’t know why, but I always felt like she was real sad about something.”
“How did you know she was sad?”
“She just kept doing this, over and over and then I heard sobbing.” John acted out with his hand how he saw her caressing the cannons gently with her hands.
“That’s amazing.” Vivienne reached into her purse and pulled out her little note pad and a pen. She scribbled down John’s story. “Did you get a good look at her ever?”
“Nope.” John shook his head. “The few times I would walk closer to get a better view she would see me coming and then just disappear into thin air.”
“Did you ever check the graves around the cannons to see if any women were laid to rest there?”
“I knew the names of most of the headstones like my own family.” John explained. “When I’d be out there mowing, I’d be able to gauge my time by passing by certain markers.”
“Are there any women around the cannons?”
“No.” John replied. “It’s all union soldiers.”
Vivienne wanted to check it out on her own regardless and made a note to do so later. “So this black widow, what did she look like?”
“She was short and thin.” John searched his memory. “It looked like her hair was pulled up into a bun in the back and she was dressed in this long black dress that looked real old-fashioned.”
“So you think she was dressed in clothing from the civil war period?”
“Could be, but I’m no fashion expert.” John chuckled. “So, why the big interest in ghosts?”
Vivienne felt her face flush warm at the question. “Well, I’m a bit of a ghost hunter in my spare time.”
“Ghost hunter?” He smiled. “Like those fancy boys on the television shows?”
“Hardly.” Vivienne smiled back at him. “It’s just a hobby I like to engage in from time to time.”
“I never talked to Harriet or Maggie about the black widow.” John continued. “I never thought they’d believe me.”
“I’ve got quite an open mind.” Vivienne replied.
“Of that I have no doubt, young lady.” John agreed. “So, are you going to go look for her in the cemetery?”
“I’m going to try.”
“Well, you best watch where you step when you do.” John warned her. “There are plenty of old graves that never had burial vaults put in them. When the wooden casket rots away, it leaves a big gap in the earth. You step on one of those and you could end up six feet under.”
Vivienne shuddered at the gruesome thought. “Thanks for the warning.”
“Happened back in the early eighties once. A young couple went to the cemetery to make mischief. The boyfriend decided he wanted to try and load a cannon ball into one of the cannons and pried the protective cap off the end with a crow bar. When he went to get a cannon ball from the pile, he got pulled into the ground and I had to rescue him.” John recalled. “He damn near suffocated but we got to him in time.”
“John, you said earlier that you know most of the headstone names in the cemetery.” Vivienne interrupted.
“Sure do.”
“Can you recall seeing the name Natalie Burdick anywhere there?”
John paused again in thought. “Burdick.” He glanced upwards toward the ceiling in thought. “Burdick.”
“She would have died sometime in the late 1800’s, maybe the early twentieth century.” Vivienne tried to help him out.
“I don’t think that name is in there.” John replied. “But, it could be one of the stones that is so far eroded you can’t read it anymore.”
“I checked the records at the library and I didn’t find any mention of her.” Vivienne sighed.
“Well, those records aren’t complete. The city hall fire of 1932 destroyed some of them.”
“I didn’t know that.” Vivienne perked up. “So it’s possible she is buried there.”
“Do you think she’s the black widow?” John asked.
“What makes you say that?”
“You ask me about the ghost, give me a name.” John smiled. “I may only have an eighth grade education, but even I can figure that out.”
“I think it’s a possibility.” Vivienne conceded.
“Well, if you find out will you promise to come back and let me know.” John asked.
“Sure.” Vivienne agreed and pulled herself up from the sofa. “Thank you again for being so kind and sharing your stories.”
John nodded. “Before you leave, would you go over to the hutch and open the right drawer?”
Vivienne glanced at the simple hutch that was covered with dust and piles of junk mail. “Did you need something?”
He nodded. “In the drawer there’s a cigar box. Could you bring it over? My back gets a little testy when I sit for any length of time.”
“Of course.” She did as he asked and found a small vintage Cuban cigar box right where he said it would be. She picked it up and brought it over to him. “Would you like me to help you stand before I leave?”
“No need to trouble yourself.” He smiled as she handed him the box. “I just wanted to give you this.” He flipped the top of the box open and revealed a silver brooch. With a shaky hand, he gave it to her. “It was something I found years ago mowing the lawn near the cannons.”
Vivienne shook her head. “Oh, I couldn’t accept this.”
“I thought it might help you find the black widow.” John spoke up with a glimmer of excitement in his tired eyes. “Those boys on television always say having an object usually gets the ghost’s attention.”
“Do you think it came from a grave?”
“No, if I did I never would have taken it with me.” John replied. “I think someone wanted me to find it.”
“The black widow?” Vivienne raised an eyebrow.
“You said it, not me.” John chuckled. “You’re a brave soul, I’ll give you that.”
“Thank you.” Vivienne slipped the silver brooch into her purse and glanced at her wristwatch. “I really must be going now, but it was a pleasure talking with you.”
“The pleasure was all mine, young lady.” John smiled back. “Don’t forget to let me know what you find out.”
“I promise.” Vivienne smiled back.
CHAPTER 18
As she was driving out to the Cayuga Union Cemetery, she decided against her better judgment to just go to Natalie’s trailer and look for some answers directly. After all, she was practically there by the time she reached the cemetery anyway.
As she pulled into the trailer court she was relieved to see no patrol cars parked anywhere. She carefully navigated the road, avoiding some new potholes that opened up, pulling alongside the trailer where she had watched the entire saga unfold not too long ago.
Natalie’s trailer looked dark inside, and there were no footprints in the snow to indicate anyone had been there for quite some time. Vivienne stepped out of her car and charged forward toward the front door. As her feet crunched in the snow, she heard a voice call out.
“She’s not home. Why don’t you vultures go chase another story?”
Vivienne turned toward the voice and saw a man dressed in a puffy blue winter jacket with an orange hunter’s cap on his head. “I’m not with the media.”
The man tipped his head to the side. “Then what are you doing poking around this trailer court?”
Vivienne pointed to Natalie’s trailer. “I was hoping to visit with my friend. She’s had a rough time of things here lately.”
The man walked toward her, his boots crunching the snow with his heavy steps. “I know that. I’m here neighbor.”
Vivienne searched her memory quickly. Sally Rollins had mentioned a neighbor that had heard a gunshot the day Eddie was attacked. His name was on the tip of her tongue. “Of course, Sally Rollins mentioned you.” She stalled for time.
“I don’t associate with her kind.” The man stopped in front of her and wiped his red nose with his gloved hand. “Always sticking her nose in other people’s business.”
“You’re Gus Holt.” Vivienne snapped her fingers.
“I am.” He eyed her suspiciously. “And you are?”
“Vivienne Finch. I own a bakery down on Main Street in town.”
Gus nodded. “I’ve heard about you. You were part of that whole Mona Clarke murder mess a while back.”