Krewe 11 - The Night Is Forever

by Heather Graham

“Of course. Anything in particular?”

  “I want to rent Marcus’s house from you.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay, you’ll talk? Or, okay, you’ll rent me the house?”

  “Both. I didn’t expect to get the house, Aaron. You know that.”

  “It’s okay, Liv. Marcus really loved you.”

  “And you, Aaron.”

  “He left me everything I need,” Aaron told her.

  As she began to leave, she was certain that she heard someone snicker behind her back.

  When she turned around, Sandra was watching her, arms crossed. When she noticed Olivia’s scrutiny, she acted as though she’d been waiting for Aaron, immediately asking him a question about schedules.

  Olivia hurried over to the stables and the paddocks. She could see that the boys were already there, talking with Drew, who held Trickster, ready to go out.

  Brent turned and saw her. “Livia!” he cried, coming toward her. The other boys looked her way and smiled, too, calling out to her.

  “Trickster! We’re taking Trickster today!” Brent said, giving her a hug.

  As she walked to join the group, Sean was telling Matt, “I told you it was Bruce Willis in that old movie.”

  “I wasn’t sure,” Drew told the boys apologetically. “I can look it up on the computer while you guys are on your ride.”

  “If Brent says so, then I believe it,” Matt said. He ruffled Brent’s hair. “He’s our resident expert.”

  Brent grinned at Olivia happily. He was shorter than the other boys, but he was on a good diet and in darned good shape.

  “I’m a resident expert!” he told Olivia.

  “So you are,” Olivia said, smiling at the other boys.

  She remembered why she loved what she did so much.

  * * *

  From the morgue Dustin drove out to the Horse Farm, but he didn’t pull into the drive.

  He passed the farm and parked along the side of the road. He was on adjoining land that bordered the trails; he assumed it belonged to a local farmer—he saw dairy cows behind fences, grazing and letting out a chorus of moos now and then.

  He walked around the far side of the fence, heading into the forest.

  Walking trails were plentiful and they were actually something of a maze. But once he reached the first riding trail, the path was cleaner and broader. He moved quickly, listening and watching all the while.

  It was a good brisk walk but eventually he reached the copse where they’d seen the deer and her fawn the day before. He searched through the trees, which was way more than a one-man job, but he wanted to get in at least a cursory inspection.

  That wasn’t the real reason he had come.

  He was convinced that he wasn’t going to find a stash of drugs or drug paraphernalia.

  There were no hollows in any of the trees he searched. He walked on, determined, looking harder.

  Something had whizzed through the trees.

  Joey had heard it. Olivia’s horse had reared.

  What?

  It sure as hell hadn’t been a bee. Or a bird.

  It was hard to remember exactly where they’d been, hard to imagine the exact trajectory. He calculated and recalculated. In the end he moved deeper into the woods, through the trees themselves, ignoring the trails.

  Still nothing.

  Tired, frustrated, he leaned against one of the trees.

  And then he saw it.

  It was tiny, so tiny it was barely visible. The little bit of feathering was what had caught his attention. When he went to retrieve it—carefully, using his handkerchief—the feathers detached and all he drew from the tree was the tiny point of something that looked like a needle.

  He studied the point, wrapped it and, trying not to move his feet, hunkered down.

  It took forever, sifting through the leaves and bracken on the forest floor. Then he found it—a delicate cluster of feathers.

  Though small, they would have helped direct the tiny needlelike object.

  It was a dart. It had been aimed at Olivia—or her horse.

  He began to leave, but hesitated, pulling out his knife to cut away the section of bark it had struck. He got out the handkerchief and very carefully rewrapped all the tiny pieces of his find.

  Then he started back through the forest.

  So a dart had come whistling through the woods.

  It was too small to be deadly...unless a toxin of some kind had been placed on the tip. He hurried back to his car and checked his watch. Still early; Olivia would be with her group.

  He drove back to the morgue. He would’ve preferred to send the specimen to the Krewe lab, but he didn’t want to take the time. And sometimes a man had to go on gut instinct.

  Wilson was surprised to see him again but listened earnestly. He promised results on lab tests as soon as humanly possible.

  To his extreme bad luck, he ran into Deputy Sheriff Frank Vine as he was leaving.

  “Agent Blake,” Vine said, eyes narrowing as he studied him.

  “Hello, Deputy.”

  “What kind of therapy are you having at the morgue?”

  “Oh, I just stopped by to ask about Marcus—how he’d injected the heroin.”

  “You think we don’t know what we’re doing out here?” Vine demanded.

  “I never suggested such a thing. You didn’t really give me an answer when I asked, that’s all.”

  “Well, you’ve got your answer now. And you have no jurisdiction out here. We really do know what we’re doing, Agent Blake.”

  “Yes, sir,” Dustin said.

  Vine stared at him, obviously still irritated. He walked past Dustin, stopped and came back, wagging a finger at him. “You stay out of our business, Blake. You’re not here to police my officers. I’ll call your superiors, do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir,” Dustin said again. “I’m on my way.” He smiled and strolled out to his car.

  He prayed that his gut had been right and Wilson wouldn’t betray him.

  Then he drove as quickly as he could—watching the speed limit—to the Horse Farm.

  God knew he didn’t want Vine arresting him for a traffic violation!

  9

  By five-thirty that evening, they were ready to start out on their camping trip.

  Olivia was, naturally, taking Shiloh and she was glad to see that Drew had chosen Chapparal for Dustin. The two seemed well-suited to each other. Dustin was obviously familiar with horses and had riding experience.

  The horses were all in use except for Martin, and he’d remain behind with Sydney. If for any reason someone needed to be reached quickly during the night, Sydney knew where they’d be and had Martin to get to them.

  Mariah led the way on Pixie as they rode out, not starting her spiel yet, since they were riding single file on the forest trail.

  They moved deep into the trees. Eventually they came to a clearing in the forest and Mariah reined in, allowing them all to break and dismount for a few minutes. She directed them to a little path that led deeper into the thickness of the woods, an area where the dying sunlight now brought about an eerie green darkness. Everyone had a penlight, while Drew, Aaron, Mason and Sandra carried lanterns.

  Mariah said, “In a few minutes, we’re going to visit one of our small Confederate graveyards. You have to remember that when you go to a national cemetery, you won’t find any Confederates, unless they were pardoned and joined the Union army after the war. Confederate dead have their own cemeteries, or else they were returned to their hometowns. And certainly many soldiers—North and South—remain in unmarked graves on the fields where they died. While it was incredibly important for both God-fearing men of the North and South to retrieve their dead, it wasn’t always possible. They died on bloody fields that had to be abandoned, or they were beyond recognition by the time they were found.

  “A side note of interest—what we celebrate now as Memorial Day was begun by Confederate women who decorated the graves of their l
oved ones. Many places lay claim to having the first true ‘Decoration Day,’ but most historians agree that the widows and other grieving women of the South began what became our national holiday before the end of the Civil War—or, as we were sometimes taught to call it, the War of Northern Aggression.” Mariah grinned. “No one get mad at me for getting my history wrong tonight, huh? Remember, Tennessee was always a divided state and we’re all darned glad we’re one Union now!” Mariah stopped speaking, reaching for the water bottle attached to her saddle. She looked at Olivia. “Want to take it for a minute?”

  “Sure,” Olivia said. “Mariah was preparing you for the first step in the ‘ghost’ tour part of this. We’ll tell more stories when we’ve made camp. But right now, we’re in a little graveyard begun by locals who found their own boys, and other dead soldiers, left behind after the Battle of Nashville. In some instances, those who lived in this area stumbled upon the dead and did their best to bury them in accordance with whatever identification they found on the bodies—you know, sometimes they got them back to their states or buried them here with others from their homes or regiments, Feds or Rebs. Sometimes the dead they found were their own. Some of them were brought out here for burial.

  “During the Civil War, the forest was different from the way it looks now. There’d been a farmhouse just up the ridge, and this had been land that belonged to a George C. Turner. George and one of his sons were killed in the battle, and when Mrs. Evelyn Turner discovered the bodies—and those of others—she got the local preacher and a stone carver to create a little cemetery. Actually, Evelyn Turner herself wound up in this little burial ground. It’s said that on a misty evening she can be seen walking through the trees, searching for more dead, determined that they be given a Christian burial. She’s buried just down that path with her husband and her son—and our area’s most famous ghost, General Rufus Cunningham. So we’ll take a walk down the path, pay our respects and then go on to the campsite. Once we’re there, we’ll set up our tents and start a fire, cook our dinner—and settle in for some good stories.”

  She glanced back at Mariah, a question in her eyes.

  “You want to lead them through with Mason? Drew, Aaron and I can watch the horses,” Mariah said.

  “Let’s go, then,” Olivia urged. She noticed that Brent looked frightened.

  “You don’t have to come,” she told him. “You can stay with Mariah and the guys and watch the horses.”

  Brent shook his head. “I—I want to go.”

  Dustin walked over and slipped an arm around his shoulders. “I’m a little scared, too,” he said. “We’ll go together.”

  Olivia smiled at Dustin. “Well, then, we forge ahead.”

  She accepted a lantern from Mariah and started through the pine-and leaf-covered trail. The others followed. They entered a small graveyard. Perhaps twenty stones remained, some broken, most at an angle, all shrouded with lichen. The break in the trees allowed the last light of the day to seep through, but it cast an aura of something mysterious, perhaps sacred, over the stones.

  “Here!” Sean called. “Here, right here! I found Evelyn Turner’s grave—and her son’s grave and...here’s the dad!”

  The other boys rushed over. Holding the lantern high, Olivia saw that Dustin—Brent close at his side—had come upon the most famous grave, the one with the largest stone and flowers strewn upon it.

  “General Rufus Cunningham,” Dustin read aloud. He went down on his knees to study the writing on the stone. “‘Hero of the Battle of Nashville. To save lives, he gave his own.’”

  Sean let out a creepy sound. “He’s here! I can feel him. Can you feel him? He’s here with us!”

  “Where? Where?” Brent asked, alarmed.

  “It’s all right, Brent,” Dustin said. “If his spirit’s still around, he doesn’t mean us any harm. He was an exceptional man who wanted the best for everyone.”

  “Don’t mock the dead!” Joey snapped at Sean.

  “Oh, come on, Joey,” Sean said. “Have some fun!”

  Olivia hadn’t seen the general among them; Malachi had told her once that it didn’t really make sense for a spirit like Rufus Cunningham to hang around his grave. Malachi believed he still watched over the living. But just as she opened her mouth to speak again, she saw him.

  He was on foot.

  Maybe ghost horses couldn’t make it through the dense growth of trees and brush that now surrounded the little burial ground.

  But the general was among them. He wore his uniform, passing by the others, pausing to give Sean a stern pat on the back of his head.

  Sean jumped a mile high.

  Matt burst into laughter. “Scared?” he demanded.

  “Who did that? Stop it—that wasn’t funny!” Sean yelled.

  “Neither is disrespect for the dead,” Dustin said quietly.

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Can we go now? I’m starving,” Sean muttered.

  “Everyone okay with that?” Olivia asked.

  “One minute. Can I take just one minute?” Brent looked up at her.

  She nodded. Brent went down on his knees and bowed his head, hands folded in prayer.

  One by one, the other boys joined him. Olivia held the lantern and watched, deeply touched.

  When they started back, Matt asked her, “How come we can read some of those stones so clearly?”

  “Because volunteers come out now and then and see that the headstones are kept clean,” Olivia told him. “Some of the graves were known, and some weren’t after time took its toll, so the carving was scrubbed on all of them.”

  “But everyone knew the general, right? And they knew about Mr. and Mrs. Turner and their son.”

  “Right,” Olivia assured them.

  When she reached the end of the trail and the boys had gone on ahead of her, she looked back. She could see the general; he stood in a military position, watching as they left.

  She smiled. He was still keeping guard over the land. But then her smile faded. She’d seen him when Marcus died. What had he been trying to tell her? Had he come upon Marcus too late?

  “Liv? You ready?” Mariah called.

  “Coming.”

  Brent was riding Battle-ax, a truly big boy, although gentle. She went to give him a boost up but Dustin was already with him, helping him onto the horse.

  As they rode, she noted that although Dustin was keeping an eye on Brent, he was staying close to her.

  He was also watching everyone riding with them—and the forest around them, as well.

  Soon, they reached the open ground that led to the stream and the bluff that forded it, where they usually camped. The rocks created an overhang that had been useful whenever they were surprised by rain. Tonight, however, promised to be beautiful.

  They pitched the tents, the work going well, everyone helping. Sean now seemed subdued; he looked over his shoulder frequently—and kept close to the others. Aaron sent the boys to gather wood for the fire. They used the camping area often and had a fire site ready. It was on clean, swept soil and surrounded by rocks to prevent the fire from spreading.

  Within forty minutes of their arrival, the tents were pitched and the fire was blazing. Aaron quickly had coffee going, while Mariah and Mason set up the grill. They’d brought hot dogs and beans and the makings for s’mores. Everyone seemed hungry, and it wasn’t until they’d eaten and had gorged themselves on the s’mores that Joey asked Mariah when she was going to get to the ghost stories.

  “Ah, well, now!” Mariah smiled at him and gestured grandly. “Now that the moon is high, and the mist will soon gather and rise on the moor!”

  “Is this a moor?” Joey asked.

  “No, not really. It’s a field in the foothills, but close enough,” Mason said.

  “Remember, I don’t just tell ghost stories. A ghost story doesn’t amount to anything unless you know why the ghost stayed behind,” Mariah said. “And that means knowing the history.”

  “So you’re going to
tell us about General Rufus Cunningham, right?” Joey asked excitedly.

  “With a little help from my friends,” Mariah said. “Liv, you want to start?”

  “Okay, if you’d like,” Olivia said. She looked around at all the boys, and forced herself not to smile. Brent was sitting on Dustin’s left side.

  Sean was on his right—sitting even closer than Brent.

  “The best stories always come with truth and time,” she began. “And to understand what brought about a ghost, you first have to understand some history, just like Mariah said. As I’m sure you already know, Tennessee was the last state to join the Confederacy. That happened on June 24, 1861. As soon as Tennessee seceded, it was like Nashville had a target painted on her. Because the city was a major shipping center and had a major port on the Cumberland River, both sides saw Nashville as extremely important. Battles couldn’t be fought without supplies, without a way to keep soldiers clothed and fed. And, of course, Nashville was also the capital of Tennessee. It was important for the Union to take a capital, because that affected morale. One thing we learn in therapy of any kind is that morale can dictate what happens. We can create self-fulfilling prophesies—believe there’s no choice but to fail and you will. Believe you can make it and you will.”

  Joey cleared his throat. “Uh, Olivia, the South did lose the war.”

  “Yeah, didn’t you hear?” Matt asked her, giggling.

  “Okay, it doesn’t always work.” She smiled. “Hard and bitter as that defeat must have been for the Confederates, time has shown us that we’re better and stronger as one country. To many people living in the nineteenth century, the main focus was states’ rights, and, okay, that was connected to slavery—and the economy. But one of Lincoln’s great triumphs was that slavery was abolished. Today, we can look back and wonder how any human being believed he could own another human being.” She paused to let the boys think about that.

  A moment later she continued. “But, as I said, it was important for the Union to hold the city. Protecting Nashville was Fort Donelson, which fell on February 16, 1862. As soon as the fort fell, Union troops came in and the federal occupation of Nashville began. And Nashville became the first Confederate capital to fall to the federal government. Again, something that was actually good for some—the Unionists—and not so good for others—the ardent secessionists. Remember, we were divided on the matter of secession. The state government moved to Memphis at that time. But the Union sent in a military governor. Anyone know who that was? I’ll give you a hint. A future president.”