“Um...can you see the stars?” asked Jimmy.
“Not really,” said Marie. “It’s so dark, and there’s kind of a fog or mist or something. I don’t remember seeing a fogbank this afternoon. It usually comes inland around suppertime.”
Hmmm. Jimmy noticed wisps of mist in front of the car, just barely discernible in the dark. It seemed to get thicker. There were no stars visible, nor anything else. Where had this fog come from?
“Maybe we’d better go,” suggested Marie, with a slight tremor in her voice. “I don’t think there are any stars out tonight.”
Jimmy sensed her nervousness and reluctantly withdrew his arm. “I guess you’re right. It’s getting late and I wouldn’t want you to be grounded.” He didn’t say that he hoped they’d go out again soon.
“Why don’t we come back another night, and bring chairs or a blanket, and a thermos of hot chocolate, when we know it’s going to be a clear night?” said Marie. Jimmy could hardly believe what he was hearing.
“Good idea, I’d really like that.” He tried to keep his voice neutral. He reached for the key to start the engine, then turned on the lights.
Suddenly, Marie screamed. Jimmy’s mouth dropped open, but he couldn’t make a sound. Marie scooted up against him and clutched his arm tightly.
The headlight beams shone directly at, or through, two figures in front of them. Jimmy’s first and only thought was to get out of there, fast. The next thing he knew, he’d gunned the engine, and shifted wildly as the tires spun, lurching the car around the awkward turn at the front of the cemetery. Little pings rang out as gravel hit the two tombstones near where they’d been parked.
As the red taillights receded, the two figures remained, wavering and fading in the mist. One was wearing a type of uniform, the other in regular work clothes. They gazed at the grassy area below their feet, where two tombstones stood side by side. The mist thickened and swirled about until they were no longer visible.
Scene Two – The Call
The usual Saturday night supper was baked beans and brown bread at Jimmy’s house. Charlie and Eva Spencer and their four children clustered elbow to elbow around the kitchen table, busily eating and passing dishes back and forth. The telephone jangled harshly, one long ring followed by two short.
“That’s OUR ring!” piped up five-year-old Judy. She was not yet allowed to answer the phone, nor could she reach the brown wooden telephone box mounted in the front hallway.
Charlie got up to answer the phone. Eva could barely hear his muffled comments. “I’ll be there as quickly as I can.” He replaced the receiver, pausing briefly before returning to the kitchen. His eyes told Eva that something serious was happening, but he merely said, “That was Andy. He needs me down at the farm. Could be a while.”
He reached for the old plaid jacket he wore in the woods and at grass-burning time. He shoved his feet into rubber boots and grabbed his work gloves. “Jimmy, I need you to stay here and help your mother with the younger ones.”
Charlie glanced at his wife. “Maybe keep the kids inside after supper, Eva?” The tone of his voice telegraphed a note of concern to her. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
The door banged shut behind him. They heard the gravel crunch. Jimmy resumed eating, restlessly glancing at the clock. He would have to call Marie and cancel their date.
Scene Three – At the Farm
The engine groaned as Perley geared down to urge the old truck up the steep grade. The tires slipped on loose stones and gravel, and the wood-slatted sides rattled as the vehicle jolted over the larger rocks. Ahead, at the end of the long dirt drive, squatted a small white frame house, partially hidden by huge sheltering chestnut trees.
“This here section washes out every rainstorm,” Perley announced knowledgably to his two passengers. There was no reply, nor any further comments.
The truck’s bench seat barely contained the three occupants. On the right, his forearm resting on the open window, sat Joe Peary, a large man wearing dark suit pants and a rumpled white shirt. His necktie was loosened. Joe Peary was the local magistrate and part-time sheriff. His commanding presence struck fear and respect into the trembling, hat-in-hand penitents who appeared before his bench.
In the middle perched the slight form of Dr. Johnson, commonly known as the Doc. He clutched the handles of his black bag so tightly his knuckles appeared white, as if he was afraid it would be snatched from his grasp. Long experienced with local house calls to tend expectant mothers, feverish children or bedridden elderly folk, Doc suspected that all of his professional training might be called to bear before the night was through.
At the wheel, Perley Smith concentrated on steering and shifting, his eyebrows pulled down in a frown. Although stocky in build, agile Perley was adept at any odd job that might be asked of him. He could deliver your groceries, pick up a large parcel at the Post Office, mow, rake or trim lawns, and could take in-laws to the bus depot at a moment’s notice, all for a modest fee. Despite the rattling from the back end, Perley’s truck was his pride and joy. He kept it in good running order, because he never knew when he’d be asked to do a job that only he and his truck could handle.
“Drive ‘round back,” ordered Joe curtly, after they crested the hill and followed the dirt lane past the house. Late afternoon shadows stretched long across the yard, as the sun dropped behind a stand of dark spruce and pine. Whispering leaves stilled as the breeze died. Wooden pins lined the empty clothesline, the sheets, towels, socks, and pants long-since gathered into baskets before the evening damp threatened to coat them.
The truck pulled up next to the long, low building housing the chick hatchery. Andy Murray, farmer and deacon at Zion Baptist Church, waited. He nodded at the three men.
“Well, Andy?” asked Joe as he opened his door and got out.
“Just waitin’ for Charlie to get here. We might need his help,” said Andy in his measured drawl. “Called him a few minutes ago.”
The four men stood silently near the rough-shingled wall of the outbuilding, while they looked at the disused wooden hay cart and at the red tractor, but not at each other. Perley scuffed one toe in the dirt and jingled coins in his pocket, but abruptly stopped when a glance from Joe cast a judgment that even that frivolous noise was unnecessary, perhaps flamboyant, while waiting for their task to begin. They knew Joe would fill them in on the details of why they’d been summoned, but only when Joe was good and ready.
They looked up as car headlights bobbed up the lane, punctuated by sounds of a struggling engine and tell-tale clatter of loose stones.
“Finally,” Perley mumbled. Twilight was fast approaching
Andy stepped forward as Charlie pulled up and shut off the engine. When he got out, he glanced from one to another, seeking an explanation to his sudden summons.
“Well,” said Joe, “we’d better fill in Charlie on why we asked him for his help. It’s getting dark and we need to get going. Andy?” Joe directed his gaze at the tall, stoop-shouldered farmer.
Andy cleared his throat and looked at the ground, avoiding the other men’s eyes.
“I found somethin’ in the woods.” He paused. The men waited for Andy to continue. They knew better than to rush him through a story.
“Me and Ike here,” he indicated with a nod the black Lab at his feet, which looked up at him with a brief tail thump at the sound of his name. “Me and Ike were out looking for Roxy, my heifer. She gets out of the pasture every so often, and she went missing this afternoon. We set off for the thicket near the brook, where Roxy likes to hide herself. She sometimes gets into trouble in the swampy spots. I took this rope along to pull her out in case she was stuck.”
“We were almost to the brook where it comes down from the old quarry, when he started growling and snapping his teeth. Now, Ike never does that with Roxy. He knows his job, to sniff her out and wait for me to lead her back.” Andy tapped the coiled rope against his leg. The men waited.
“All I had with me wa
s this here rope. I never thought of takin’ the .22. It’s been years since that cougar sighting. Ike knows to steer clear of skunks and porcupines, so this was strange. I didn’t know what was up with him.” Andy cleared his throat again, unused to such a long speech.
“Ike kept up his growlin’ and pointed his nose at the dense brush around that huge old oak tree. He and I started over, slow-like, Ike growling the whole time, takin’ care not to make too much noise in the brush. Just when we got close, Ike started to barking, short sharp barks. I haven’t heard him bark like that since, well, since the whole herd got out through the broken fence, about five years ago.”
“Well, then what? What was it?” Perley couldn’t help himself.
“Shush,” said Joe. Perley shushed.
Andy said slowly, “Well, it wasn’t a cougar. I saw something blue, and something else, whitish.” He paused for a second. “No animal I know is that colour. So, I took firm hold of Ike’s collar and we pushed through the undergrowth until we got to the old oak. That’s when I saw it.”
“It?” squeaked Perley.
“Shush, Perley! Let Andy finish!” Charlie spoke for the first time.
“I hope to never see that sight again.” Andy shook his head from side to side, and brought his hand up to his hat as he told them about his discovery.
***
Doc tightened his grip on the black bag. Charlie let out a low gasp and Perley a louder, “Ohhh,” as if he’d been punched in the gut. Joe Peary stood motionless before speaking slowly and firmly in his deliberate, calm manner.
“Okay. Now you know what we’re here for. Andy did the right thing—he went straight back to the house and called me. Then I got hold of Doc and Perley. Perley, do you have those tarps in your truck?”
Perley nodded. “Yes, sir. Always keep extra ones, just in case….” His voice trailed off, momentarily and uncommonly at a loss for words.
“Doc, you know what needs to be done. You and I are doing the police work on this. I got hold of the station sergeant up in Yarmouth; their men are tied up with a case and can’t get here. Andy, you and Charlie and I will be the muscles. We’ll need a knife, more rope and a lantern.” Andy disappeared into the barn.
“Now, we’d better get going, or it’ll be dark before we get there. Doc, you and Charlie ride up in the cab with Perley. Andy and I’ll climb in the back. We’ll take the truck up the quarry road as far as she’ll go, then walk the rest of the way.”
Andy reappeared with the requested items plus a pair of black rubber boots. “These here should fit the Doc,” he said. “He’ll need them where we’re going.” Andy called to Ike, bent and lifted him into the truck bed. They all climbed in.
“I told Mae to keep the children inside,” said Andy.
“Good idea,” said Joe.
Not one of the men uttered the thoughts foremost in their minds, as the truck crept along the narrow, rutted cart track. They realized their task would be grim, and Joe’s even more so.
The diminishing evening light made the underbrush blacker and impenetrable to the naked eye. Branches scraped eerily along the truck sides, causing Perley to wince slightly as he navigated the ruts in the gathering dusk. Each man thought about their families and about the children who played innocently in these woods, silently grateful that it was Andy and his dog who had chanced upon their grisly discovery.
Perley braked, ground the gears and silenced the engine.
“This is as far as she’ll go,” he declared. “Out we get.”
The men clambered out, gathering up the tarps, tools and rope. Andy grabbed the lantern, patting his breast pocket for matches. Doc stooped to pull on the boots, which came up to his knees.
“Andy, you lead with Ike. We’ll fall in behind. Remember, no one touch anything when we get there, until Doc Johnson has a look.”
The men nodded grimly, resigned to their mission, not questioning Joe’s leadership.
“Let’s get this done.”
After their journey into the woods, the lantern-led procession arrived back at the farmhouse to be met by a policeman who’d finally arrived after confusing directions sent him onto wrong turns on country lanes in the dark. His black and white cruiser seemed out of place beside the barn. Mercifully, it had been camouflaged by nightfall as it navigated the steep lane. Joe Peary was relieved to see the uniformed officer, which meant that his responsibility was lightened and shared. After they transferred their burden from Perley’s truck to the accompanying hearse, protocol was followed, details re-told and forms were completed.
Scene Four – Reunion
The forlorn little group gathered beside the open grave, weak sunlight shining on their bowed heads. Falling leaves drifted to lie gently on the still-green grass, dropped to the mound of fresh earth, and alighted on polished granite headstones. On the perimeter of the scene, the undertaker waited respectfully beside his vehicle. Farther away stood the caretaker, hat in one hand, shovel in the other.
Jimmy stood beside his father, Joe Peary and Andy Murray, apart from the grieving parents. He watched the husband in his grey Sunday suit, hat clutched to his chest, his arm around his wife’s shoulders. The faint words of the minister reached his ears, “...dust to dust...,” a sanitized version of death’s immediate aftermath. What his father and the other men had discovered had been transitioned to a stark rectangle cut sharply into the earth.
For once, Charlie had overruled his wife’s protests, allowing Jimmy to accompany him to the graveside service. They were the only attendants at this sad farewell. Their wives stayed at home and prepared small offerings of comfort—covered casseroles and collections of sweets on china plates—to take to the couple later on.
Jimmy thought about his dad and the other men, and what they’d found. He wondered exactly what had happened, since his father did not tell him the details. Nor would he, thought Jimmy. His imagination tried to fill in the gaps in what he knew. For the first time in his life, he allowed himself to wonder what it was like for grown men to be fathers and to know other men who had lost their sons.
Jimmy noticed a small tree nearby; it was an oak sapling, rare for this part of the county. He and his buddies had climbed the big oak tree near the quarry countless times. The woods near the old quarry were not far from where they stood in the cemetery glade. As the crow flies…, thought Jimmy.
As the group dispersed, Jimmy wandered away from the older men. He avoided looking at the deep hole or at the heavy casket, and tried not to notice the caretaker preparing to shovel the displaced earth into the open grave. He looked for the exact spot he’d been a few nights previously. He hadn’t told his father about what had happened in the car that night, because he wasn’t sure how to explain what they had seen.
He edged closer to the headstones on the far side of the new grave and tried to read the inscriptions on the two identical stones. He glanced at his father, who was engrossed in a conversation with the other men. He stooped and noticed that one stone was engraved with a military cross, plus a name and dates. The other stone bore the same last name, and only the years of birth and death. What a short life, he thought. He wasn’t much older than I am. There was no stone yet for the newest grave. He’d overheard his dad’s comments to his mom after he returned from the farm that night. They spoke in hushed tones of shock and sadness, the words, “...a horrible tragedy....” barely audible.
Gravestones tell only part of the story. Jimmy figured that the older people in the community knew all about family histories, or thought they did. Secrets can outwit the cloak of night in small communities, seep over telephone lines, and root in neighbours’ houses, accumulating truths and half-truths along the way.
He thought about the two ghostly figures he and Marie had seen. Perhaps at night, when the cemetery was once again peopled by ethereal beings, they get together to take inventory and meet up at the most recent graves to share tidbits of ghostly gossip. He could almost hear them saying, “Did ya hear about this one? They said he
was a handsome young devil, but up to no good. Too bad, so sad, he shoulda known better. He coulda been someone! Ha! Well, at least they’re all together now, toes up and all that. See y’all next moonrise!” The imagining helped divert his thoughts away from the open grave and its new occupant.
Jimmy didn’t know how eerily accurate this was. Late that night, long after the cars had left and the cemetery was quiet, a dense milky mist crept through the thickets, entwining threadlike wisps around the little sapling, creating floating wreaths around the pinnacles of ornate tombs. Gradually, two wavering figures took shape, one in a type of uniform, the other in ordinary work clothes. Instead of gazing at the ground below, they appeared to be chatting together. The mist swirled at their feet, rising into a third shape, shorter than the other two, clad in a loose shirt and dungarees, a cap perched on the back of his head. These three hovered for a while above the two older graves and the mound of earth topped by fresh flowers, and chuckled together, as if sharing a joke or funny story.
Not that there was anyone there to see.
~~~***~~~
Never Go Across to that Island
Tom Robson
I can’t remember a summer I didn’t visit my grandfather’s cottage. I still go there, even though it’s been years since he died. The cottage has lots of memories, but the one I will never forget happened on a hot, August day, when I was 14.
Mom, Dad, and Grandpa had gone into town. My sister, who was 15 and never missed a chance to go shopping, went with them. I was supposed to go, but I persuaded Grandpa and Mom that it was safe to leave me alone; I would be careful and wouldn’t do anything wrong, foolish, or dangerous. I would have promised them anything to get out of a boring 15-kilometre trip to the three-aisle supermarket and on to the hardware store.
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