Some cheers and whistles.
“Thank you for your generous support,” he continued, stepping backward. “It is you, the townspeople, that have every ounce of control in this election. I trust in you to fight for the light.”
The cheers grew into a roar. Lincoln reached the stable by the bar. He couldn’t make out the words anymore. He took a breath before patting Coda and jumping on. They were going to stop by Marjorie’s house.
Though she didn’t live in a house so much as she lived in the basement of a bar. Lincoln came in right around the busiest of times as everyone was getting off work. He liked it like that. He always felt more at ease talking with his aunt when there was a layer of protective sound overhead.
The drinkers weaved around him as he passed. Lincoln went straight for the basement door. He wanted the visit with his aunt to be brief. Every few days he would check in on her to see how she was doing. He also went through the next few days’ schedule with her.
Marjorie helped him with his late-night alibis if he needed one. She was one of the few people that was supposed to be awake late at night for her job and because she was both old and family, it made sense for people to think that Lincoln helped her out every now and then. At the bottom of the stairs, he knocked four times. In a few moments, Marjorie let him in.
The space was small and sparse but it felt warm. The bed looked uncomfortable but it was neatly made. A round bedside table was covered in wood shavings and a carving knife - one of the only places left untidy. Only one lantern hung on the wall above the bed but it gave just enough light to cover the room.
Before he even got a word out, Marjorie gave a death stare to his pouch of food from the market.
“Don’t tell me that’s all you’ve got for the week,” she said, freezing him in place.
“Marj,” he said, “please, it’s good enough.”
“Oh, don’t bother,” she said, swatting her hand in the air. “You're my nephew. A Whitfield wouldn’t be satisfied with that. Come here, let me give you some more.” She moved to the kitchen which was just a corner with an icebox and a cupboard.
Lincoln tried to pull her back.
“Don’t. You’ve barely got enough for yourself.”
She ignored him, pushing an extra loaf of bread into his sack along with two ears of corn. Lincoln resigned. “Market prices just keep getting higher.”
Marjorie huffed. “They don’t pay you enough for your work.”
“Well, Teddy does most of the work really, and -”
“I’m not talking about that work,” she said, leveling her eyes at him.
“I know.” Lincoln leaned on the wall.
“Will you ever consider different work? What about the factory?”
“It’s too much risk.” Lincoln rubbed his hands together. “I could do it, but working with so many people… I would be afraid of those connections making it back home. It just makes it that much harder to keep her secret. And I know how hard it is for Mara, so this way I’m not working all day every day away from home.”
“You just lose sleep because you’re working all night insead,” Marjorie said.
“Well, yes.” Lincoln crossed his arms. “But I’ll take it. You really think the factory is less dangerous?”
His aunt’s face was soft but piercing as she looked at him. “You could handle it.”
He felt her compassion as much as he felt her judgement. She was the only person in his life that knew the whole truth. His whole truth.
“You’re trying to be a good man in a bad world, Lincoln,” she said. “More importantly, you are trying to look like a good man.”
She sat down on the edge of her thin bed.
“Your father was the same way,” she continued. “He spent a lot of his life trying to look like a good husband, a good father. Don’t take this the wrong way, but he wasn’t a good man. He was a decent man. But as much as he might have tried, he could never have truly been a good man.”
“You can’t mean that,” Lincoln said, searching her face for her true feelings.
“I do. And remember I said he was a decent man. In this world, decent goes a long, long way. But look at him. He dug bodies for a living, which meant he was always uneasy and neglected your mother when it mattered. For goodness’ sake he took you, a little boy, out with him to the graveyards. And he stole just like everyone else. Lied like everyone else. And look at yourself now. Treading the same path.”
Marjorie stood up and came toward Lincoln, arms outstretched. She placed her hands on his face as if he was a scared little boy.
“I’m not telling you this as a bad thing,” she said. “I’m saying, Lincoln, that you should not worry about living up to such a high standard.” She stepped back. “Being a decent man is all you should strive for. Otherwise, this life will take you.”
“I didn’t remember him that way,” he said.
Marjorie turned back to her bed. “He was very good at hiding the little demons in life.”
She sat back down and smiled. “My brother was one of the best this town has ever seen. But there are no saints in Dowerton. We don’t have much choice over the matter. And the sooner you accept it, the sooner you can actually live your life in peace.”
Live your life in peace….
Peace….
Sounds a lot like death.
Lincoln arrived home in a short time. He couldn’t help but replay his aunt’s words in his head. She had seemed so different in that moment. It felt to Lincoln like she had practiced those words. They were crafted to steer him in a certain direction. He reached into a carrot-filled bucket and gave one to his horse before walking to the house. But he stopped walking as soon as he saw what was in the window.
It was Ruth. Her nose pressed lightly against the glass and her big eyes opened wide.
No.
Lincoln swung his gaze around fast, looking for any witnesses. He ran to the house, flinging open the door and grabbing Ruth up into his arms and away from the window. He rushed her into her room.
Lincoln held Ruth’s face tightly in his hands as he looked straight in her eyes.
“Ruthie, you know you don’t go near the windows,” he said. “Please, honey you have to listen.” His grip tightened. “You have to.”
She squirmed in his hands, her face getting red. She groaned. “Yesss…” She said. “Owww…”
Lincoln released her, trembling slightly. “I’m sorry. But you have to listen. There is danger if you go by the window okay? You don’t pull the curtains open. Remember, you only let mama and papa see you? If anyone sees you, that’s big danger, okay?” He sighed as he watched her flop onto her bed face down. She screamed into her blanket but stayed silent after that single burst of emotion.
Mara entered quickly.
“What did you do?” she asked.
Lincoln turned on her. “Why is she looking out the window?” He said, quiet but forceful. “Weren’t you watching her?”
Mara’s face stayed stone still, except for the slight crease of her brow and tightening of her jaw.
She left the room.
Lincoln tensed, barely holding in a groan. He let it simmer into a long sigh. Ruth turned over in her bed. Her father looked at her and she said, “I want to go wagon.”
Lincoln kept her gaze, mulling it over.
“I want wagon,” she said again.
“What do you say?” he asked, relenting.
“Please…”
Lincoln stood up. “Okay. Only for a little bit.”
Ruth stayed inside while Lincoln retrieved the wheelbarrow from the barn. He rolled it into the kitchen. Lincoln helped Ruth put on her coat and boosted her up into the wheelbarrow. She curled up tight. He fetched her pillow and blanket from her room, sliding the pillow under her face and laying the blanket over her body. He lifted one corner and peeked in.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
“Ready,” she said faintly.
He wheeled her out of the house an
d crunched through the dirt into the woods. Lincoln made a meandering path, trying to avoid the largest bumps. Still, an occasional ‘ow’ would escape from the blanketed heap. He let himself smile.
The trees were dark and bare. Towering creatures in constant, subtle motion. The creaking and cracking only reminded Lincoln of the skeletons he kept company at night. He looked up to see bony fingers lacing the sky. He drove his daughter just a bit farther into the empty forest before setting the barrow down. He scanned every side of the woods before crouching down to talk to Ruth.
“Okay,” he said. “You can look now.
He lifted the blanket up just a bit-
Crack.
Lincoln tensed, slowly putting the blanket back down and pretending to look at the base of the wheel, inspecting something. He scanned with his peripheral vision.
“Papa,” Ruth said.
Lincoln shushed her quickly. The sound of distant footsteps grew faster. Something was running. Leaves crunched and Lincoln whipped his head to the sound. A deer ran back into the trees. He paused for a moment more before letting out a restrained breath.
“It’s okay,” he said, lifting the blanket back up.
Ruth carefully craned her head forward and up slightly, lifting her eyes up to see those bony branches. Her face turned to wonder. Lincoln smiled.
“They’re only trees, Ruth,” he said, mockingly. “Do you love them that much?”
“Trees white,” she said, excitedly. “No!”
“No what?” Lincoln frowned.
“No,” she said again.
“You don’t want to see the trees?” Lincoln prepared for an abrupt meltdown, though she looked happy.
“I see no,” she yelled.
Lincoln shushed her quickly, his hand at the ready should he need to smother her. “Let’s be quiet, remember? Quiet.”
A small white dot landed on his hand, melting quickly. Ruth pointed at it and whispered, “No.” She smiled wide.
“Oh,” Lincoln said. “Snow. Ha. That’s right.” He looked up to see more snowflakes wafting down. “Wow. This is the first snow of the season, Ruthie. You’re a lucky girl.”
He looked down at her. Eyes big. Smile from ear to ear. Yet here she was, under a blanket in a wheelbarrow. Scolded for yelling about the falling snow. Banished from sight. Taking up the same space as dirt would. Or a body bag.
I’m sorry, girl.
Ruth shivered.
“It’s told,” she said.
“It’s cold,” Lincoln echoed. “We should go back home. Say bye to the trees.”
“Bye trees,” she said, snuggling back in. Lincoln layered the blanket softly back over her.
“Bye snow,” he said, turning the wheelbarrow around.
“Bye no,” said the heap.
The snow kept falling lightly as they travelled back home. The winter season was often predictable in Dowerton. Despite the intense cold, there were only ever a few snows in their five month winter.
Something tugged at Lincoln’s mind. No, it wasn’t his mind. It was his ears.
He heard something. It wasn’t close, but it was odd. He followed the sound. It took him towards the river. Now he heard some talking, shuffling of feet across the dirt, wood hitting wood. Lincoln pushed his daughter behind a tree and peered around the trees. They were up on a ridge, looking down on a mostly flat part of the bank. By the river, Lincoln saw a mid-sized boat shored up on the land and a half dozen men transporting wooden crates off of it.
Then he saw Jag Hill, standing in the middle of the busywork, giving orders and checking the crates. Well, he gets around fast. It wasn’t uncommon for powerful people like Jag to send and receive shipments on the river. But this wasn’t an official docking point and doing the transfer here was much harder. There was really only one reason to organize a shipment this far from the normal location. What are you hiding, Jag?
“Papa?”
Lincoln jumped. “Yes, yes Ruthie, ssshhh….” He fell back behind the tree, crouching by her. “We’re going home now,” he whispered. He took one last glance at the men and the boat before pushing on.
The father and daughter arrived home in silence. Lincoln brought the wheelbarrow inside and lifted Ruth out, struggling to look at her with kind eyes.
He looked out the window to see the snow getting thicker. Then he saw his fiancée, standing by the stables in only a thin shawl, softly petting their horse. Mara’s head leaned against Coda’s mane.
“Help please,” Ruth said, loudly.
“Sorry, girl.” Lincoln turned to her, helping to slip her coat off each arm. He gave her a light push. “Play in your room until dinner, okay?” Ruth trotted off to her room.
Lincoln looked back out at Mara in the cold.
The snow had stopped, leaving a thin white skin draped over the cemetery grounds. Lincoln rode Coda slowly around the perimeter, making sure he was alone before entering. He watched his breath as he softly sang:
‘Tween the great five streams of Dower
Behind their frosty eyes
Feel their prickly air
Followin’ with a ‘guise
Though death plagued him in his weakest moments, there was a sense of peace Lincoln had found among the graves.
Don’t make the forest talk
Be careful where you walk
‘Tween the streams of Dower
Be careful where you walk
My ever fading flower
Lincoln was lost in the words, they were so ingrained in him. He didn’t remember where they came from. He suspected Marjorie would know - he likely learned them from her.
Feeling satisfied that he was alone, Lincoln allowed his muscles to relax and his bones to settle before the gritty work ahead. He closed his eyes and let a few seconds pass.
Then he opened them and the moment was over.
“...ever fading flower,” he whispered.
Coda remembered the place they were just the night before. She trotted under the lone tree, hidden from the crows above. Lincoln clambered off the horse, retrieving a shovel from the duffel bag. He took the lantern off her in his other hand. He walked right to a headstone, lifting the lantern, and reading the name. This was the body he dug yesterday.
Darwin had asked him to come back and see if any family had been buried next to him. Lincoln moved the lantern to the right, finding a different last name, and then moved it to the left. There it was. Ganter. Jamey Ganter. Lincoln saw the dates and did the math in his head.
Nine years old.
Damn it.
I don’t want to do this.
Lincoln raised the shovel anyway.
Crunch.
He pushed off the visions of what he would soon see.
Crunch.
Lincoln imagined the crows as bats. He wasn’t sure why. He’d never seen a bat.
Crunch.
Lincoln found a small comfort and ease in his conscience that he wasn’t a graverobber.
Crunch.
His work was giving purpose to the discarded bodies.
Crunch.
Either way, families of the dead seemed to care more about theft of material on the body than of theft of the body itself. The body literally outlives its usefulness but an heirloom necklace keeps its value. Crunch. The shovel hit something solid but fleshy. Not everyone could afford a casket for their grave and usually that was the only necessary deterrent for resurrectionists and grave robbers. It was too much time and risk to try and break in without seeing the body and potential loot ahead of time.
No casket for this one. Lincoln cleared away the dirt. Instead of a casket, the body was protected only by a thin white shroud. Lincoln cleared more dirt away and ripped open the fabric, first revealing a skinny leg under short, tattered pants. Then the little boy’s pale face. Ruth’s face flashed in his mind.
Lincoln cursed.
He hadn’t prepared enough for this.
What he hated most was his next immediate thought.
It’
ll pay more.
Most bodies were sold by the inch, relatively. But Darwin had particular interest in younger cadavers and was willing to pay more. It made sense. As the only legal bodies for study were executed criminals, none of them were children. In the world of medical dissection, this was a rarity.
He struggled to look at the boy directly. No time. No time. Focus. He cleared the rest away and grabbed the body bag from Coda. He slid the boy easily into the bag, feet first. He picked his body up, half the bag dangling empty to one side. He was horrifyingly light in his arms. Lincoln bore through it, placing him on Coda’s rump and strapping him tight.
He worked to fill in the grave, ignoring the soft breathing that he knew belonged to Coda and not the little boy gazing at him through the darkness. Despite creeping pressure, Lincoln worked hard to make any trace of his work disappear.
“Let’s get on with it,” he said to his horse, stuffing the shovel back in the bag and jumping on.
“You were right,” Lincoln said. “He had a son. Didn’t see any other family though.”
When Lincoln laid the boy’s body on the examination table, he expected to hear the jolt of Darwin bumping his desk and for him to appear instantly. But the doctor took his time to approach the table. Darwin searched the body with his eyes first, keeping a blank expression.
“You didn’t see any growth on this one?” he asked.
The Last Resurrectionist: Novella Series - Part One Page 4