Will O Wisp

by Risner, Fay

  Sheriff Logan folded his arms over his chest and watched Gracie walk away. Melinda and Shana followed her.

  Melinda whispered, “What's a thinking tree?”

  “You will see. Aunt Gracie said I could pick me out me own thinkin' tree if I want one,” Shana said in Melinda's ear. “She will let you have one too if you ask her.”

  Gracie turned and backed into her thinking tree. She stood still with only her head turning slowly as she took in the scene before her. She studied the bramble bushes, clusters of burr oak tree sprouts and the ancient hickory nut trees that made up her timber.

  The forest floor was a carpet of dried leaves with sprigs of grass and flowers peeking through. Gracie's face wore a puzzled look. “Shana, what aren't we seeing here? Do you see anything different about what's up ahead from the way it was when we mushroom hunted?”

  Shana imitated Gracie. She put her back against the thinking tree and narrowed her eyes as she studied the same view Gracie had; trees, stringy grass, and gooseberry bushes. She pointed. “Aye, now I know. Aunt Gracie, that big pile of sticks wasn't there.”

  “You're right. Someone started a brush pile since we were here.” Gracie raised her voice. “Sheriff, we need to move the brush pile.”

  “Whatever you say, Miss Gracie. Men, over here,” Logan yelled as he waved them in.

  When all the men were assembled, the sheriff said, “We need to move this brush pile over. Miss Gracie says the grave might be under it.”

  The men pulled sticks out of the pile and put them in another pile. As the men carried away the last of the sticks, two small, stick crosses set side by side. One small area had the mashed down wild flower bed and the other was freshly dug earth.

  “There be two graves now, Aunt Gracie,” Shana said in surprise.

  Melinda's hushed voice answered, “It looks like someone decided to start their own family cemetery in your woods, Gracie.”

  Sheriff Logan said, “Men, start digging in these two places and be very careful with the shovels. We don't know what we might run into until we get to it.”

  The dirt was already broken up so it was easy to move. Orie and Millard stuck a foot on their shovels and pushed down. Each took of a shovel of dirt and piled it off to the side to be put back in the holes later on.

  Outside of bird chatter, the only sounds were the sharp slicing of earth by Millard and Orie. Gracie kept her eyes on the trees in the distance. She had the crawly feeling someone was watching them.

  Shana had the same sinking feeling, but in her mind, the eyes were those of a will o wisp.

  When Orie was down a couple of feet, his shovel made a thudding sound. “I've hit something, Sheriff,” he said excitedly. He knelt down to remove dirt with his hands. Junior Singleton was down beside him in an instant to help.

  “There it is,” Orie said. “Wood.”

  He brushed the dirt off until he made out a small wooden box. Now he knew where to dig. He took some dirt out along the sides of the box. “Now, Junior, maybe we can get a finger hold.”

  Junior helped him lift the box out of the hole and set it off to the side. The box was made crudely from old barn boards which were all Neff had to work with. The homemade coffin matched Lettie's story.

  Now Millard was down on his knees brushing at loose dirt.

  “You find something, Millard?” The sheriff asked.

  “I've got something, but I'm not sure what,” Millard replied.

  Orie got down beside him and helped take out hand fulls of dirt. “What the heck?”

  Millard shook his head in agreement. “It looks to me like some sort of woven basket. Never seen such a thing before in the ground.”

  “Can you get it out of there without breaking it up?” The sheriff asked.

  Millard pushed on the woven sticks he could see. “I think so. Actually, this basket hasn't been in the ground too long. At least, not long enough to start decaying. It's just a little brittle.”

  Orie helped Millard work by hand, removing the soil until they could lift the basket out of the hole. They sat it down by the wooden box.

  “Is that an Indian coffin?” Melinda asked.

  “I don't think so,” Gracie said. “I'm not sure, but I don't think they make coffins that way. Besides, if an Indian baby died while they were here, I think the tribe would take the body back to the settlement to be buried in their happy hunting grounds.”

  “So what nationality makes coffins that look like a woven basket?” Shana asked.

  “Sheriff, you got any ideas?” Gracie asked.

  “Nope, not a clue. I'm going to ease the top off the stick basket enough to look in. I want to know for sure we have a body in there,” the sheriff said.

  Logan pulled back on the end of a stick, and it snapped as it came loose from the side of the basket. He did that several times. When he had a big enough hole, he peered under the lid. “There's something in the basket, bundled in a white shroud. Smells like decaying flesh. That does it for me right now. I'm going on the assumption that it's a human body. No one would go to that much trouble for an animal.” He stood up and dusted his knees off. “I'm not going to take the lid off the coffin. I figure what Mrs. Graves told me is so. Men, take turns carrying these two coffins out of here. We have to get them to the undertaker. I want him to go over the bodies and tell us all he can about them. Then I got to figure out now why we have two dead babies instead of one.”

  When they reached the house, Sheriff Logan said to Gracie, “I'll get back to you when we know something.”

  “Sheriff, after the undertaker is done, tell him I want both babies back here to bury in my cemetery. We'll need two small headstones for them,” Gracie said.

  “That's mighty nice of you, Miss Gracie,” Logan said.

  Gracie eyed the makeshift coffins in the back of Orie's buckboard. “Them poor little souls don't deserve to be put back in the ground in the timber and forgotten.”

  After the men left, Gracie said, “We got a funeral to plan for them little babies. Each of us should think of something to say over them. We need to ask Preacher Whiteside to preach. If need be, I'll pay for it to get him out here.”

  That evening, Gracie and Melinda sit in the swing, pushing it gently back and forth in what little warm breeze there was. Shana sat on the porch steps with her elbows on her knees and her hands holding her face up.

  “Girl, why don't you come over here and squeeze in beside Melinda and me?” Gracie invited.

  Melinda said, “I think that would be nice. You look awful lonesome over there.”

  Shana scuffled over and eased down between them.

  “What's bothering you?” Gracie asked.

  “I'm thinking about the wee babes. They didn't have a chance to live. How awful that is,” Shana said with a sad sigh.

  “We know, but life works that way sometimes,” Gracie said.

  They swayed back and forth for a while. Finally, Melinda broke the silence. “Gracie, Shana says you gave her a thinking tree. Can I have one?”

  Gracie shrugged. “Reckon that would only be fair since me and Shana have one.” When Shana looked up at her, Gracie winked. “So, Melinda, have you a tree in mind?”

  “Yes, I want to pick this tree the swing is attached to as my thinking tree,” Melinda answered.

  “Why, Aunt Melinda?”

  “Well, I did some thinking while I've sat here,” she said.

  Shana giggled.

  “No pun intended, you understand,” Melinda said. “My thought was that I wouldn't have so far to walk to get to my thinking tree since it's in the house yard. I wouldn't have to stand with my back rubbing the rough bark of this tree, I'd be able to sit on this swing to do my thinking.”

  “Now why didn't I think of all that?” Gracie asked dryly.

  “You can share my thinking tree if you want,” Melinda said.

  “Nope, I cain't do that. Only one person to a thinking tree, and I got my own out in my timber where it's peaceful,” Gracie said.
“It's all right with me that you pick this tree if you think you're going to be able to use it.”

  “Oh, I can use it,” Melinda said with determination. “I love it out here, Gracie. I see why you like to come back when you can. I want to come with you any time you want to invite me. That way I can use my thinking tree.”

  “Me, too,” Shana agreed.

  “I didn't hear you say. Where is your thinking tree, dear?” Melinda asked.

  “I just decided this morning. I want the one at the end of the line of evergreens by Aunt Gracie's cemetery. It's the closest one to where she will be by her folks some day,” Shana said.

  Tears formed in Gracie's eyes. She had to clear her throat before she spoke. “Now why would you want to pick that tree?”

  “I figure when I have a problem I can come out here and talk to you about it any old time if I had a thinking tree near you, Aunt Gracie,” Shana reasoned.

  “I think that's a very good idea, dear,” Melinda agreed.

  Gracie cleared her throat before she mumbled, “Reckon so.”

  Sheriff Logan showed back up a couple of mornings later. He came in when invited and sat at the kitchen table. Melinda placed a cup of coffee in front of him.

  “Sheriff, the cook stove is still hot. Would you like some breakfast?” Melinda asked.

  “Much obliged, Miss Melinda, but I stopped at Irene's Cafe in Van Horne on the way here from the county seat this morning,” he shared.

  “Well, start talking about what the undertaker said,” Gracie insisted, full of curiosity.

  “We took in two baby boys. The one in the wooden box had a dent in his head from something Neff hit him with. The undertaker couldn't say what. Neff put him in the coffin he made still dressed in his bloody baby robe.”

  “And what about the baby in the woven basket?” Melinda asked.

  “For a shroud, that baby was wrapped in a white flour sack dish towel with Wednesday embroidered on one end. No clothes on that little baby. Best the undertaker could tell after he brought in the doctor to make sure, he thinks the baby was stillborn. He wasn't washed off before he was wrapped in the dish towel and buried.” Logan stopped to take a sip of his hot coffee.

  Gracie asked, “Could the undertaker tell how long the baby in the basket was buried before the other baby died?”

  “Maybe three months longer is all,” Logan said.

  “So no chance that both babies could belong to Lettie Graves when she just had the baby Neff killed,” Gracie reasoned.

  “If that baby isn't Lettie's then who does he belong to?” Melinda asked.

  “That's what I'd like to know out of curiosity, but it's not a crime to have a stillborn baby. No law again where it's buried. Someone around here hid the grave in that timber so no one would know about the baby, thinking the flowers would grow over it fast,” Logan said.

  “You're right. There wasn't a cross on it when we saw the grave the first time, was there, Shana?” Gracie asked.

  “No, and we would have noticed such as that since we were lookin' at the flowers,” Shana said.

  “But the crosses looked alike. The same person made both of them recently. If the babies aren't brothers, how is it that someone knew to bury the wooden box next to the wicker basket?” Melinda puzzled.

  “I wondered that myself, Miss Melinda. I stopped at the jail on the way out here,” Sheriff Logan said. “I asked Neff if he moved the wooden box out of Miss Gracie's cemetery, before we could dig it up. He said he didn't know what I was talking about.

  I told him to stop playing innocent. Lettie told us he killed his baby son and buried him in Miss Gracie's cemetery. Caught dead to rights, he admitted he did that, but he didn't dig the body back up.

  I asked what he knew about the woven basket buried in the Evans timber with a dead baby in it. I told him his baby was buried right beside that one. He said he didn't know a thing.”

  “You believe a drunken bum that lies like him?” Gracie barked.

  “Might not if Neff was two sheets to the wind, but he is sober now. The surprise look on his face made me think he really didn't know about his baby getting dug up or the grave with the basket in it,” the sheriff defended.

  “Maybe we should go ask Lettie if she knows more than she's telling?” Gracie suggested.

  “That was where I was headed next,” the sheriff said.

  “As long as we're talking to Lettie, we need to know her baby's name for the marker,” Melinda said.

  “What about the other babe?” Shana said.

  “Reckon that marker will be blank until we find out who the baby belongs to if we ever do,” Gracie said. “When will the bodies be released, Sheriff?”

  “They can be brought out when you're ready for them, Miss Gracie,” Sheriff Logan confirmed.

  “We have to talk to Preacher Whiteside about the graveside service. We'll have the funeral the day he can come,” Melinda said.

  “Better have another plan instead,” Logan said. “Preacher Whiteside moved out of town at the first of the week.”

  “Mercy Sakes! We didn't know he was leaving,” Melinda said with a gasp.

  “Neither did anyone else if I got my information right from Earl. The preacher and his wife was packing their belongings into a wagon when one of the neighbors came out to ask what was going on,” the sheriff said. “The preacher said he had accepted a new calling.”

  “Maybe he's close enough we could get him to come back for this one quick funeral,” Gracie said.

  “Doubt it. The preacher said he was headed to Oregon.”

  “Guess the service is all up to us, Gracie,” Melinda said.

  “Reckon so. Give us until Monday, Sheriff. That will give us time to get Orie and Millard to dig two small graves. This time the holes are going to be dug deeper than that lazy Neff dug his,” Gracie said.

  “You ladies wanting to ride over to Neff's place to talk to his wife with me?” Logan asked before he drained his cup.

  “We are,” Gracie said. “Shana, while we have the family in the parlor, I have work for you. Slip into the kitchen and take a peek in the dish towel drawer.”

  “What be I lookin' for?” Shana asked.

  “See if the dish towels have a week day embroidered on them. Then look to see if Wednesday is missing,” Gracie said.

  “Sounds like a plan to me,” the sheriff said.

  “But ….,” Shana began and paused when they all looked at her.

  “Spit it out, girl,” Gracie ordered.

  “What about the will o wisp? Is that spirit goin' to show up at the cemetery now that the babes will be there?”

  “I think a youngun dressed as a spirit was to scare us away from the timber until the grave was hidden by the wild flower growth. While you're snooping for us, you just might do some more looking,” Gracie said.

  “Where?” Shana asked.

  “Go upstairs and look in the closets. If Lettie had a fancy white dress and hat, one of the girls in her family may have a white outfit, too. It might be you would find it in May Jean's closet?”

  Shana's face scrunched up. “You think? They don't have closets. Just pegs on the wall.” She paused a minute then she shared, “When me and her were in the timber, May Jean did seem nervous when we were close to where we found the graves. She didn't want to spend any time there.”

  “Gracie, what would May Jean have to do with the dead babies. She's too young to have had the stillborn baby,” Melinda said.

  “Watch the faces of Lettie's older girls when the sheriff is talking to them. May Jean might just be protecting one of them,” Gracie said with confidence that she was right.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The sheriff knocked forcefully on the front door of the Graves house and opened the door. When the sheriff led the ladies and Shana inside, Lettie rushed to meet them. He said brusquely, “Ma'am, it's time we had another talk. I want you to get your younguns together and bring them into the parlor. Miss Gracie and Miss Melinda will be waiting t
here with me.”

  Shana noticed May Jean was missing. She rushed past Lettie as the woman clapped her hands and called, “Everyone to the parlor right now.”

  That was all it took to get the children assembled.

  Gracie said to Lettie, “Your younguns sure mind good.”

  Lettie said sadly, “They know the drill, having heard it so much from Neff. Only when Neff yelled at the younguns, he was drunk and waving a gun at them. They did as they were told since they had plenty to fear. They didn't know if their daddy was going to kill all of them as he threatened or not. Especially after he killed the baby.” Lettie sat down in a broken down, faded overstuffed chair. A spring popped up beside her hip, causing her to scoot over. Her three boys and four girl lined up behind her. They whispered among themselves and shuffled their feet nervously.

  “Shhhh! The sheriff is here to talk to us so everyone be quiet,” Lettie admonished.

  Shana appeared with May Jean. She stopped to lean up against the wall by the door while May Jean joined the others. Now that all the Graves family was in the parlor, Shana slipped out and went to the kitchen.

  May Jean stood between her two older sisters, Frieda and Joanne. She studied the floor so she didn't have to look at any of them.

  Gracie had a notion the young girl was the one to watch for a reaction.

  “Mrs. Graves, your dead baby was dug up yesterday and taken to the funeral parlor. The undertaker has confirmed he was hit on the head by something. A piece of the baby's skull caved in on his brain, causing his death,” the sheriff explained.

  Lettie put her hand over her mouth as tears came to her eyes. The children, shaking their heads, looked sorrowfully at the floor. They tried to imagine what the torture was like for that little baby. So defenseless and tiny, the baby didn't stand a chance against their monster father. At least, they were always able to scatter out of his reach if he was in a mood to beat up on them.

  “Now we can be pretty sure from what you told me that your husband, Neff, built the wooden box for the baby and buried him in Gracie Evans's cemetery,” the sheriff said.