by Green, Jeri
A car drove up. Hadley recognized it. It was a familiar sedan with a sheriff’s star on the side. Bill cut the motor and switched off the lights. He didn’t get out. He just sat in his car nearby. The orange glow from the torches’ light reflected off the side of his car. Hadley breathed easier.
She couldn’t put her finger on it, but it was just a feeling, a very uneasy feeling, that something or someone was watching the small group from the edge of the woods.
Nerves, she thought. Just nerves. How often had she gotten up in the middle of the night and dressed for a funeral. Not once. Ever. And those torches made her wonder if they weren’t all in a dream right out of the Middle Ages. Creepy. The whole scene was surreal.Why was she standing here, with the ghouls and the spirits, freezing her patoot off?
She didn’t really know Button Dudley. He wasn’t a dear friend. More like an acquaintance. He wasn’t a relation. Not even distant.
She glanced over at Beanie.
That was why.
Beanie was standing by a large tree. His shovel was by his side. He looked like one of the Queen’s guards, minus the big fuzzy hat and the fancy red and black uniform. But he stood ramrod straight.
The shovel might have been a long gun the way Beanie held it close to his body. There wasn’t any chance of Beanie falling asleep tonight and tumbling down into the black hole he’d dug earlier in the day. His eyes were round, white orbs. Hadley could just make them out in the light cast by the torches.
Beanie was present and accounted for, but it was obvious he was scared to death.
He glanced her way. Hadley smiled and hoped she looked calm. That was the feeling she wanted to covey to her friend. She wanted him to feel like he’d be all right. All right. All right.
“Hadley,” Lou Edna said, jolting Hadley from her almost trancelike state.
Maybe it was the late hour or the flicker from the torches, but Hadley’s mind had been drifting somewhere else. Now, her senses were on high alert.
“What,” she whispered.
It felt like she journeyed through a dense fog. What had she missed? Nothing, she hoped.
“Do you think Button Dudley’s body is really in that box?” Lou Edna asked.
“What! Well, that’s something I hadn’t thought about. I don’t know,” whispered Hadley. “But Harvey’s a good man. I’m sure he put Button in the box.”
“Why was Button buried in the cemetery and not on some special place on his land?” Lou Edna asked. “I thought all the old ones still did that. I drive by some old house and there’s a headstone on display out in the front yard.”
“I don’t know, Lou Edna,” Hadley said. “What I know about Button Dudley you could fit on the head of a pin.”
It was a mystery. Why hadn’t Button Dudley been buried in the woods, on some favorite spot on his land at the top of a ridge overlooking a valley. Why had not one of this small circle of remaining Ancients insisted his body be washed by the mountain folk and planted in the family cemetery?
Had Button outlived all his family?
Probably.
There didn’t seem to be anyone here that Hadley didn’t recognize. Just the elders and the Elanor twin.
Hadley was sure Button was related to one or two of the Ancients. This area of the country had remained isolated longer than other parts. And the rumors of inbreeding were certainly true. Hadley knew from her own family history. There were instances of double-first cousins and who knew what else.
Was there no family cemetery on his land?
Unlikely, Hadley pondered.
But the younger generations might not know exactly where it was located. Some of the oldest family burial grounds were merely marked by “spar grass,” or asparagus. Some by small field stones. Perhaps, she thought, memorizing the faces present, this was the easiest way to handle the whole situation.
The way Button died was a mystery. Bill said that it would be weeks before the toxicology reports came back from Bowey Hill. The old ways were dying. Modern burial customs had taken over here just as they had everywhere else. The funeral home did, for a fee, what the family members used to handle for free.
Convenient. Quick. No muss. No fuss for the rest of us.
But still, Hadley had never attended a burying quite like this.
Had something in the way Button died cursed him?
Not that she believed in the old ways all that much. But having been born here, they were as much a part of your childhood as crackling cornbread and buttermilk biscuits. Even if she didn’t put much stock in the traditional beliefs of the Ancients, many around here still did.
Superhuman feats had been accomplished because of adrenaline and the belief that one could accomplish a task. Just look at Lou Edna. She had been terrified when she visited Hadley that morning in her kitchen.
The “toby” she’d found on her door went to the dump, too. Good thing Lou Edna had all those rubber gloves at her home. She was forever bringing a pair home in her pink uniform pocket. She’d pull the pair out of her uniform at night in her laundry room and toss the gloves into a cardboard box she kept by the washing machine.
She’d handled that conjure bag with gloves, and the brick, too.
Hadley looked at Beanie again. He seemed to have calmed a little. Perhaps both the signals of peace and calm she was sending him were working somehow. She wondered how Beanie would see to fill the grave after the service.
Not so long ago, graves and coffins and matters surrounding the death of a loved one were handled by the family members. It could be a hard task to bury a body.
The rocky soil was often frozen in the winter. It was impossible to simply take a shovel and dig a hole in the ground. Hadley remembered hearing stories when she was younger about men taking TNT and blowing holes in the frozen dirt to help the men get started on a grave.
Of course, there was always the danger that too much explosive was used, blowing not only a fair-sized hole in the ground, but also disturbing the bodies in the graves near where they were working.
Dynamite was no longer used, and modern grave diggers could rely on equipment. Beanie was able to operate the small back hoe used at Memorial Gardens to dig the holes for the coffin. Harvey had made sure that his employee was well-trained. And for some reason, Beanie had taken to the machine like it was a third arm.
But Hadley knew that her friend always liked to fill the graves by hand. To Beanie, this was a final act of respect that he performed for the deceased. Nothing like a shovel, Beanie would say. And Harvey didn’t mind. It wasn’t like there was a backlog of bodies awaiting burial.
The system seemed to work for both Harvey, who had owned and operated Memorial Gardens for over 40 years, and Beanie. Beanie did all the summertime mowing and caretaking that the cemetery needed. Harvey handled the bookwork end and was the mortician, too.
One of the old one’s coughed. It brought Hadley back. Why was her mind drifting so? Must be the magic of the hour. More like the lateness of it. Hadley was usually in bed and snoring by ten.
Dilcie Pickle stepped forward.
“We come hyar to pay our respects to you ’n’ yer mem’ry, Button Angus Dudley. You lived a long, long life on these mountains. Like the leaves we spring out, green up, and now it’s your turn to drop back to the ground.
“Like ever’thin’ else in this old world, we pine fer yer awhile, then we’ll fergit. ’N’ soon, we’ll teke our places ’long side ya somewheres on this ridge where we too may be mourned fer a season, then forgotten.
“Ash ta’ ash ‘n dust ta’ dust. Rest in peace, Button Dudley. Rest in peace,” Granny Dilcie said.
Each member of the Ancients sprinkled a small handful of dust atop Button Dudley’ coffin, a pine box tapered to fit his body.
Hadley heard the hollow sounds as the clods hit the top of the pine box.
Is he in there? She wondered.
Silly thoughts. Of course he was. She’d seen him when he dropped dead at her feet at the festival.
&n
bsp; Hadley soon had her answer as to how Beanie was going to see to fill Button’s grave. The Ancients took a few steps back from around the site, enlarging their circle. Granny Dilcie nodded her head in Beanie’s direction. Solemnly, Beanie took his place beside the pile of dirt and began to fill the hole. He worked quickly, one shovel full at a time.
When it was over, Granny Dilcie pulled a small bottle from her coat. Dilcie’s chant echoed over the lonesome cemetery. Hadley was sure the Ancients understood every word that Dilcie said. It was a foreign tongue, an aged language that only the wise ones could decipher. Granny poured the bottle’s contents over the fresh dirt. The service was over.
As if they’d been instructed aloud, the Ancients, along with the Elanor twin, turned silently in unison and walked toward an old pickup. It was a very old truck and looked like it had rolled right out the Great Depression.
The tailgate was dropped and a crate was placed on the ground for Granny Dilcie to step up on. She was assisted to her place in the back of the truck. She whispered something to the Elanor twin, who immediately descended from the bed of the truck and walked over to Hadley.
“Granny says to give you this,” the girl said.
Hadley took the small cloth bag.
“Give Granny Dilcie my thanks, please,” Hadley said.
“I will,” said the girl.
She was beautiful, even in the dim light thrown by the torches. She ran lightly back to the truck, running with the light-footed gracefulness of a doe in the forest. The starter ground several times, and the engine backfired. Finally, it caught, and the truck and the Ancients disappeared into the night.
“What did she give you, Hadley?” Lou Edna asked.
“Get in the car,” Hadley said.
Hadley inspected the small, red, cloth bag under the courtesy light inside her car.
“It’s a good luck mojo,” Lou Edna said.
Hadley had emptied the bag into her hand and three things fell out. The first was a hag stone. This was a stone with a natural hole in it. A small leather string was strung inside the hole of the stone.
“That’s a hag stone, Hadley,” Lou Edna said. “You wear it. They say it lets you see spirits from the Other World. It will bring you good luck.”
“How do you know this stuff, Lou?” Hadley asked.
“You’d be surprised what them old ladies talk about in the shop. Plus, a lot of it comes nat’ral. Like breathin’ the air. I grew up ’round it back in the hills when I was a little girl.”
“A sweet gum ball,” Hadley said, fingering the pointed brown ball in her fingers. “Maury and I used to pick these up off the ground as kids and use them to decorate our pretend Christmas trees.”
“Sweet gum balls are also called Witches’ Burrs, Hadley,” Lou Edna said. “They are good things. They ward off evil.”
“And last but not least,” Hadley said, “star anise.”
“Star anise will bring you good luck,” said Lou Edna. “You can burn them, you know, like incense, to boost your psychic powers. Wear them around your neck, if you want to. Works the same.”
“Hey, Bean,” Hadley yelled from her car window. “You want me to shine my headlights over there so you can see to finish up.”
“That’s all right, Hadley,” Beanie said. “Harvey gave me a battery-operated lantern.”
“I’m heading home,” Lou Edna said. “I got a busy day. Booked solid at the shop.”
“You go ahead,” said Hadley. “I think I’ll hang around until Beanie finishes and then give him a lift home. I know how he is about spooks and ghosts, and he hates being out after dark. Besides, I’d just sleep better knowing he’s home safe.”
“I’ll call you,” said Lou Edna.
Lou Edna got out of Hadley’s car and shut the door. She walked down the little stretch to where she had parked her car. She cranked it and turned on her high beams.
Lou Edna drove away.
Hadley yelled to Beanie that she’d wait for him to finish and drop him off at his house. She could hear the relief in his voice as he thanked her. No sense trying to be a gentleman at this late hour. She smiled. Not one word of protest trying to get her to go on home.
The hour was late. It was scary out here in this old cemetery. And besides, Hadley thought, Beanie would be exhausted. A ride home beat a walk in the dark, any time.
But especially when you were bone tired.
Chapter Fourteen
“You’re awfully quiet, Bean,” Hadley said, after Beanie had buckled up. “I’ll bet you’re more tired than a dung beetle at the Chicago stock yards.”
“I’m pretty tired,” said Beanie. “I ain’t used to stayin’ up this late. But Harvey gave me tomorrow off.”
“That’s good,” said Hadley. “Sleep in late. I plan to. How’s your finger?”
“It’s real good,” said Beanie. “Granny fixed me right up. I ain’t seen no signs of it even beginnin’ to want to rot off. Ain’t itched ‘er turned black ‘er nuthin’.”
“I’m glad,” said Hadley. “Granny Dilcie gave me something. Tonight after the service, she had one of the Elanor twins bring it to me.”
Hadley pointed to the mojo bag she had laid in the cup holder in the console of the car.
“Them twins sure do look alike, Hadley,” Beanie said. “I swear I can’t tell one from the t’other. What did she give you?”
“Me, neither,” said Hadley. “I guess Granny’s grooming one of them to take over after she’s gone. Lou Edna says it’s a good luck conjure bag.”
“Good for you. I wish she’d give me one. Do me a world of good to keep one in my pocket out here amongst all these dead people all the time.”
“These people aren’t going to bother you, Bean,” Hadley said.
“Umm,” Beanie answered without commitment.
“Well,” said Hadley, “think of it this way. Harry’s out here, isn’t he?”
“Yeah,” Beanie said.
“Do you honestly think my Harry would ever let anything happen to you in the same cemetery where he’s resting?”
“I hadn’t thought of that, Hadley,” Beanie said. “Harry’s watching over me out here.”
“Always,” said Hadley.
Beanie was quiet.
“What is it?” Hadley said.
“I was just thinkin’ ’bout them Elanor twins. It was sad ’bout what happened to their mama,” said Beanie.
“Yeah,” said Hadley. “Swept away like that. It was such a tragic accident. But Granny Dilcie’s done a mighty fine job raising those two girls. I don’t know how she’s done it, but she has. It couldn’t have been easy at her age.”
* * *
Alswyth had not wanted to drive a school bus. They were big, cumbersome creatures that were hard to manage on the curvy mountain roads. But she’d gotten her license, passed the tests, and the family needed the money. She had to do something.
Since her husband, Cordell, had run off, she didn’t have much choice. Alswyth was between a rock and a hard place, and she had only herself to blame. She knew Cordell was unreliable. He had gone out of his way to show her often enough.
The twins needed food. God help her, if one of them got sick. There was no money for a doctor, and Alswyth, though she loved her mother and the old ways, did not want to put her daughters’ lives in her mother’s hands.
So, Alswyth did the only thing she could. She begrudgingly accepted the offer and became a bus driver or the Hope Rock County school system. She drove bus 15 all over the small county. It wasn’t what she wanted to do, but you didn’t get your wants much in these hills. Alswyth knew that much.
She was glad when school was called off. She didn’t get paid, but she always looked at those days of no school as gifts. Her nerves could use the rest, even if her pocketbook could not.
And it wasn’t like it was all bad. There were a few upsides to being regularly employed. The job had afforded Alswyth the opportunity to move to town. She had indoor plumbing, electricity, and a tele
phone. The telephone was a must because school officials would call her throughout the school year to delay or cancel school because of inclement weather. Snow or ice was a problem. But rain, too much rain, could be just as bad in the mountains.
And boy, had they had their share of rain, lately.
It had rained for five days straight, not a gentle, soaking, misty rain but the kind of rain that pours in heavy, drenching deluges. Every creek and stream around had overflowed its banks.
Alswyth turned off the alarm clock. She looked out the window. Nothing but darkness and torrential downpours. She looked longingly at the telephone. It refused to ring and to give her the message that school had been called off. Alswyth took a shower and got dressed.
There was something laying as heavily on her as the low clouds outside, but she could not put it into words. She would let the girls sleep. They could afford to miss one day of school. It was Friday. Everybody needed a day off once in a while. Besides, it was just too nasty outside.
Dara Elanor and Chandra Elanor were almost 12. Saturday was their birthday. Alswyth looked in on the two girls. They were both making love to the Sand Man. She smiled.
She liked the fact that her twins had the same middle names. It tied them together, somehow, she thought. As if the act of spending nine months in her womb had not.Time to go, she thought.
Alswyth got on the bus and cranked it. The wipers did not want to swish away all that water. It was just too much. Dara Elanor and Chandra Elanor had not seen the air kiss their mother had blown to both of them. They slept soundly as the taillights of bus 15 rocked down the driveway and out of sight. Alswyth did not know it, but it would be the last time she saw her twin daughters in this life.
Chapter Fifteen
Alswyth cursed softly under her breath. It was okay. There were no kids on the bus. The first two stops she had pulled her stop sign, flashed her red lights, and blown the horn.
Nothing.
It was a ragged day for anyone to be out and about, she thought. She should be home and snuggled between the blankets, but she needed the cash.