The Cemetery Club
Page 27
Chapter 27
Birds sang in the thickets and a soft breeze brought the mysterious, elusive fragrance of the river. The sun felt warm on my shoulders. This lovely day stood out in sharp contrast to that day two weeks earlier when Mom and I started out in a thunderstorm to Fayetteville and wound up running for our lives. That terrible day marked an ending and a beginning. It answered the question of who killed three people and tried to kill two more, and it was the beginning of what I felt to be a new era in my life. I came back to my hometown of Levi like a wounded child running to its mother. My broken heart needed to mend and, in the strangest way, I felt that healing had begun. Grief over Jake’s death was part of the past and I found myself looking forward to the future.
A vagrant breeze lifted my bangs off my forehead. The scar from the rearview mirror faded more each day. Dr. McCauley said that in time it would disappear. Maybe emotional wounds were like that. They grew fainter with time; that was a blessing.
My mother broke into my reverie. “Look at it, Darcy. Who would ever guess what lies beneath the surface?” Mom and I stood beside an indentation in the earth in Ben’s pasture.
“No one would guess,” I said, “except those of us who know.”
Silently kneeling on the grass, she placed a bouquet of field flowers on the ground. I laid some daisies beside them. “For you, Ben,” I said. “May you rest in peace.”
Mom wiped her eyes. “Hammer too, Darcy. I hope he found some sort of peace. What a poor, tormented soul he must have been.”
Strange that these two, the elder and younger Ventris, now shared a grave for eternity. Somehow, it seemed fitting, as if Ben’s goodness might mitigate some of Hammer’s evil.
Closing my eyes, I rejoiced once again at the simple pleasure of feeling the sun’s warmth on my face. Under the serene beauty of this Oklahoma woodland, my mother and I experienced terror like we never could have imagined. I seemed unable to get enough fresh air, grass, bird song, and the joy of being alive.
Mom looked out across the hills. “I’m glad I had the cellar filled in,” she said. “It was unsafe after the explosion. Besides, it was an entryway to a grave.”
“Jasper’s booby trap pretty much took care of the cave and everything in it. The way he had placed the explosive, the whole roof of the cavern collapsed and the tunnel just sort of folded in upon itself.”
Slowly, Mom got to her feet. “What do you think Grant will do about Jasper?”
I stood up too. “Jasper may not have actually broken any laws except for . . . well, he did steal that dynamite, and I guess he may have had had evil intent when he rigged up the explosive to go off if anyone touched the wire. Of course, the explosion resulted in Hammer’s death and, technically, Jasper caused it, but that could be construed as self-defense, seems to me.”
“I imagine Grant will do his best to keep Jasper out of jail,” Mom mused. “After all, what purpose would it serve to lock him up?”
We were walking back toward Mom’s Toyota which was parked in Ben’s driveway. “It wouldn’t serve any purpose that I can see and would surely make him and Pat miserable. I still don’t understand how we kept from setting off that explosion. We must have been a hair’s breadth away from touching the trip wire.”
“The Lord was taking care of us, Darcy,” Mom said softly. “Don’t you know that by now?”
Smiling at her, I said, “Yes, I believe I do. Before we go back home, do you feel strong enough to walk down to the creek?”
Mom stopped short, put her hands on her hips, and gazed at me. “I’m surprised that you want to go back there. Are you talking about that little ledge that marks the entrance to the tunnel and the gold?”
“Yes,” I said. “I don’t want to climb the bluff again; I just want to look at it.”
Turning around, we headed in the opposite direction. It took only a few minutes to leave the grassy pasture and scramble down the rocky incline to the creek. Once again, water flowed through the channel. Grant took a court order to the rancher who had diverted the stream and told him to get rid of his dam.
Sitting down on a sun-warmed gray boulder, I looked up at the bluff that hid the back door to Ben’s treasure trove.
“The ledge that jutted out over the tunnel is gone,” I said. “Rocks and boulders have slid over it and completely hidden it. I can’t see even a trace of the ledge nor the opening to the tunnel.”
Mom lifted her shoulders. “I guess the explosion did that. Nobody could ever find that hole again, Darcy. It’s covered by tons of rocks.”
“Are you ever going to open it back up?” I asked. “There’s an awful lot of gold under that hill.”
She shook her head. “I doubt that I ever do anything more to this hillside. As far as I’m concerned, we are better off with the gold being buried with Ben and Hammer. I don’t want any part of it. Ben didn’t want the gold’s hiding place exposed and I almost feel that it is cursed. It has certainly brought a lot of trouble.”
Remembering the feeling I had when I held the beautifully wrought butterfly in my hand, I understood what she meant. The lure of gold could take over a person’s life.
“There’s a lot of people who know there’s gold back in here somewhere. Do you think a thing like that can be kept secret? As soon as the good citizens of Ventris County realize you own all this and that legend of lost treasure is revived, you won’t have a moment’s peace,” I said.
“It wasn’t mentioned in the newspaper story about the explosion. Maybe people will just think it’s gossip and interest will die down if we keep our mouths shut. Grant sure isn’t going to say anything. By the way, Darcy, he isn’t too happy with us, you know.”
I grinned. “That’s an understatement. I’ve told him I’m sorry that I didn’t keep him posted on what was going on with us. And I’ve asked the Lord to forgive me for lying and for shooting that awful Ray Drake or Cub or whoever he is.”
“But Darcy,” Mom said, “you didn’t have a choice. He was going to kill us.”
“I know, but more than that was the way I felt when I shot that horrible man. I hated him, Mom. Maybe I shot him because I hated him, not because I feared for our lives. I don’t know.”
Mom patted my knee. “You did what you had to do. The Lord knows your heart better than you do.”
Looking up at the ruined bluff, I said, “Well, yes, but I wish my heart had purer motives. Remember what Emma James said about temptation hitting us when we are weak? I had felt criticism toward Ben at the thought that he might have had a relationship with Hammer’s mother, but I guess I was feeling a little superior, a little ‘holier than thou.’ I discovered I could actually shoot another human being, and that emotion I felt—the hatred—is what I needed to have forgiven.”
Something on the ground glittered in the sunlight and I bent to pick it up. The gold circlet that nestled in my palm was a larger edition of Mom’s ring. I stared at it for a moment, then gently opened her hand and laid the ring in it.
She gasped. “Why, Darcy! This is Ben’s ring.”
“Yes,” I said. “Hammer must have lost it when he and Drake were chasing us.”
She closed her fingers around the ring and held it against her face. “I’ll keep it with mine in the recipe box,” she said.
Blinking tears from my eyes, I gazed at these hills surrounding us. They had witnessed much through the centuries. If they could talk, what stories they would tell of love, heroism, frailties, greed, and hope. And one day, perhaps the story of Ben and Hammer and the gold, and even Mom and I, would become part of the folklore for future generations.
At last, Mom spoke quietly. “I’ve been thinking about what Hammer said there in the cellar, about feeling unloved and being resentful. I’ve been thinking about Ben’s farm and how it could be turned into a home for children who need fathers and mothers to care for them. Maybe the farm could be a place where orphans learn about work and honesty and God’s love. The farm is a good place, Darcy. There’s the creek for fish
ing and swimming, there’s wood to chop for the fireplace, and Ben had a wonderful orchard back behind his house.”
I grinned at her. “So you’re planning on making something good come out of all that has happened.” I should have known that Flora Tucker would not want to profit from Ben’s estate.
“Does that sound all right to you?” Mom asked.
Nodding, I said, “It most certainly sounds wonderful.”
A movement above me caught my eye and I looked up as a great owl swooped through the air and landed on the low branch of a sycamore. Cocking its head toward us, it called softly.
My breath caught in my throat. Why had this shy, nocturnal bird lit so close? As I gazed, it lifted its wings as if pronouncing a benediction, then flew silently into the woods, through a dark canopy of trees, and out of sight.
I felt blessed. Tragedy had touched the lives of my mother and me, but God had brought us through. Getting to my feet, I reached down a hand to Mom.
“Do you know what I’d like now, above all else?” I asked.
“No, Darcy Tucker Campbell, what would you like above all else?” Mom teased.
“I’d like a cup of your famous brew, perked in that old yellow coffeepot, so strong that a spoon could stand alone in it. I want to sit at your dining table with the sunlight coming through your west window and think of nothing else in the whole world except that you make the best caffeine in all of Ventris County.”
“Only in the county? Who else in Oklahoma can brew a better cup?” she asked.
Laughing, I said, “Nobody, Mom. Nobody else in the whole Sooner state.”
— The End —
About the Authors
It may seem strange to some that a mild-mannered kindergarten teacher would become an author of cozy mysteries, but it’s actually a good fit. A teacher is a word craft. So is a writer. A teacher wants the efforts of her labor to have a positive outcome. So does a writer. A teacher prays and hopes that each student has a positive take-away from her work. A writer hopes that for her readers too. A teacher would like each of the children in her classroom to achieve a satisfying life. Although she can’t control that, as a writer she can control the way her books conclude!
A native Oklahoman, Blanche has a deep familiarity with the Sooner state, so it’s the logical setting for her books. Her Cherokee heritage and feeling at home in the rural settings of Oklahoma are vividly woven into the background fabric of her books. Her other published cozies include Grave Shift and Best Left Buried, books two and three on the Flora/Darcy Series, co-authored by Barbara Burgess.
Come visit her website and blog at https://www.blanchedaymanos.com/
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Barbara Burgess is a retired trial court administrator who says she found many good story ideas in the courtroom. One of those ideas evolved into her first suspense novel, Lethal Justice, published in 2010. She also co-authored The Cemetery Club, a mystery novel based on Cherokee history. Her father was half Cherokee and she says much of her family history involves Cherokee legend and beliefs similar to those found in Grave Shift. She has also written short fiction for Woman’s World and Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine and freelanced for several Arkansas newspapers.
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