by J. L. Salter
“Significant?” Kelly interrupted.
Pop gave her a frown like she ought to know already. “If the Yanks found a Reb horse at the Butlers, it would’ve been big trouble. Anyhow, old William and one of his brothers took the dead Reb up on the hill behind their cabin — the hill was still woods back then — and buried him. Shallow, ‘cause the ground was still so cold. It was only after the war they dug him deeper and marked the grave. Soon other folks started burying family up there. Gradually, they cleared some space and more family and citizens was buried.”
So the wounded Confederate died in their attic and was buried in an unmarked secret grave, which started this cemetery. She’d heard a good bit of this before. Kelly wasn’t sure whether Pop expected a response to his story, but she was still eager to learn the reason for his visit. Her terrier, Perra, suddenly appeared from morning rounds and sniffed the visitor perfunctorily.
“Great Aunt Belva was born in that cabin and lived there most of her life.” Pop pet the pup briefly and continued his narrative. “Old maid. Her daddy died during the war, but Belva took care of her momma for a good while — past the turn of the century. Later she got a small place built over back behind where the farm house sits.” He motioned with his right thumb. “Just a bunch of briars there now. Not real far from the little spring that feeds from the sinkhole farther up the hill in the woods.”
From cemetery, to soldier, to great aunt whoever. When will he cut to the chase?
“They say old Aunt Belva walked over ta the graveyard practically every day, weather allowing, and she always hummed some old tune.”
“What tune?”
“Don’t recall it now. Mom used ta hum it a little, back when we was little tads and she was putting us ta sleep. It was soft-like, kind of slow, and sad. Can’t recall how it goes.” He appeared as though he might try to hum or sing, but did neither. “Old Aunt Belva died just a few months after the First World War ended. Folks always speculated that Belva kept a family secret.”
If it’s a secret, how would anyone know about it? “What kind of secret, Pop?”
“Some say it’s her doings. Others say it’s something she knew about other family doings. Could be both, could be neither. I’ve also heard something’s hid somewhere.” He paused and gazed back toward what remained of the Butler cabin foundation, as cattle moved slowly back and forth on its filled-in cellar. “I’d like ta find out. Might be the last one alive ta even know there is a secret something. When I’m gone, nobody’d know ta look for it.”
“And if anyone else accidentally found it, they wouldn’t realize it was a secret.”
Pop nodded and smiled slightly — the heuristic lesson was complete. Now Kelly understood why he’d visited this morning. For him, somehow, it seemed more satisfying to let it trickle out so she could verbalize it herself than for him to simply state it outright.
“So you want my help researching it or tracking down leads, or whatever?”
He nodded. “I’ll pay for your time… knock it off your rent.”
“How much?” Kelly wished she hadn’t sounded so eager. But it’d been a while since she’d had any decent income, other than the per-column-inch pittance she got from the local paper as a stringer. She could get a temporary work shift installing satellite dishes, but she didn’t want to call her former part-time employer, whom she had also dated. Not since her current boyfriend was already primed with belated jealousy.
“Guess we’d have ta tally up after we see what ya find, and how long it takes.” Pop’s face showed contentment. Mission accomplished: he’d just hired his first research assistant.
“I’m going to need a few more facts from you. Especially the family tree stuff.”
“One of Belva’s sisters was Naomi, Grandma ta me, my brothers and sisters, and lots of my cousins. Another sister died in Missouri. Belva’s only brother died during an epidemic in the 1870s. Ellie wrote it out.” Pop retrieved a folded page from his pocket and cleared his throat raggedly. “I got some, uh, theories about this. Want ta know them now? Or would ya ruther dig through everything first?”
“Let me study the existing objective data first, and I’ll need to hear the stories again. But yeah, I’d like a chance to formulate my own notions. Fresh eyes. Then I’ll want to hear yours. Okay?”
“I guess.” Pop nodded after his frequently used reply and then shivered.
Kelly stood and motioned again for the old man to go inside. “So, run down the different versions you’ve heard from the family historians who preceded you.” She felt like she was at the feet of an ancient tribal chief or medicine man — hearing the legends, learning his stories, and getting his secrets while he could still hand them over.
Later, as Pop sat quietly in the warm recliner, Kelly pointed to her writing tablet. “I’m still puzzled why everybody seems to expect your great-aunt had a secret.”
He turned his grey head slowly and gazed at her intently. “Everybody’s got secrets. Some folks just hold theirs tighter.”
Everybody? Kelly just nodded silently.
“Want ta tell ya about something else. I’m going ta clean out that big sinkhole over yonder.” Pop’s thumb motioned to the south. “Ellie finally convinced me ta fill it in. Don’t want my great-grandkids getting hurt.”
It seemed unlike Chet Walter to spend money, so Kelly figured there was more.
“Feller who owns the car dealer place cleared out a little cematarry back that way.” Pop motioned south again but seemed to mean much farther away. “Those graves was in his way and he just pulled up the stones and threw them in a sinkhole somewhere. Ain’t right. Cematarry’s a cematarry. Ya don’t yank down the headstones and pour a concrete parking lot.”
“Whose stone are you looking for?”
“Old Jonathan Butler’s buried somewhere over there. He was first holder of the original thousand acres, a Revolutionary War land grant. He’s father ta William Butler who built the cabin.” Pop’s thumb motioned back to the spot worn bare by uncountable cattle hooves.
“And the car dealer creep just tossed his tombstone in a sinkhole?” It made Kelly angry to verbalize it, even though she bore no known familial ties to Jonathan Butler.
Pop quietly stared out the front window while Kelly’s brain processed all this new data.
After several minutes she realized she’d zoned out and focused again on her guest.
Her landlord’s head motioned toward his old family farm house on the southeast corner of his ninety-nine acres. “Met the new renters?”
Kelly had seen her new neighbors at the farm house, and at various places in town, over the past months since late October. But she’d never made time to go visit them, nor had she yet invited them to her cabin. Kelly would like to interact, but sometimes the notion weighed her down with a sense of what she predicted were the accompanying obligations and expectations. “I’ve seen them around…”
Pop’s expression signaled minor disapproval. Then he grunted loudly and announced he must return to his place before Ellie came over to clean.
“So Ellie’s helping with your housework now?”
He grunted. “And a meddlesome woman, too.” Then a tiny smile played on his lips.
“By the way, Pop, Perra’s been barking at something particular in the woods.”
“Where?”
She pointed southerly.
“Any idea what?”
“Not a clue, but it’s new because Perra’s using a different bark.”
Pop cleared his throat raggedly. “Probably just a critter.”
“If so, I hope it’s a four-legged critter.”
“I guess.” He always said so even when he was certain. After Pop shrugged on his heavy coat, he walked stiffly down the steps and climbed slowly into his truck. In his late eighties, each movement looked like it pained him.
As she watched Pop’s old pickup slowly bounce along her gravel driveway, Kelly realized he badly needed new shocks.
J. L. Salter, The Ghostess and Mister Muir