The Grave Digger

by Rebecca Bischoff

  But Eli just smirked and walked away, whistling. Shaking his head, Cap turned toward the door but stopped short at the sight of the headline on Master Rankin’s paper:

  Ghoulish Robbers Steal a Stiff from Forest Cemetery.

  Will Your Loved One Be Next?

  He gasped.

  Master Rankin picked up the paper and quickly tucked it under his arm. “It is terrible, isn’t it?” he said.

  Cap said nothing.

  The schoolteacher sighed loudly as he folded his handkerchief and put it away. Then he glanced down at Cap with a smile much friendlier than his usual cold sneer. “You’d best hurry home for your meal. See that you return on time.”

  Cap turned and bolted from the room, leaping down the school steps and sprinting toward the center of town. He was hungry, but food was the last thing on his mind.

  In town, he made a quick check of the dustbins behind the grocer’s but came up empty. No one had tossed away any newspapers. Cap left the alleyway and hustled around the corner, where he promptly collided into someone. Books and papers scattered, and a young woman whose hair was wrapped in a blue scarf gaped at him.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, gasping for breath. He bent down to retrieve a fallen book that was so thick he had to lift it with two hands. “This sure is heavy,” he added, straightening and holding it out.

  He blinked in surprise. The older girl’s face, with its brown skin and eyes ringed with thick lashes, was the younger image of the woman he’d spoken to that morning.

  “Why, you look just like Jardine!”

  The girl’s eyebrows flew skyward. “How do you know my mother?” she asked. She straightened and took the book he offered.

  “I’ve met her. She works for Dr. Ivins and visits Mamma sometimes.”

  “That’s right,” the girl said, her face alight. “I work with Dr. Ivins, too, you know,” she added, brushing off her green skirt. “I’m going to be a doctor myself one day. My name is Philadelphia.” She held out her hand to the boy.

  “You’re going to be a doctor?” Cap asked. “But you’re a…” He gulped and paused, with the jolting realization that he’d spoken without thought.

  The girl dropped her hand, while heat rushed to Cap’s face.

  “I’m a what?” she asked. A crinkle appeared between her arched brows.

  “You’re a girl,” Cap said, reaching up to loosen his scarf, which suddenly felt tight about his neck. “Girls aren’t doctors.”

  Philadelphia threw her head back and laughed out loud, while curious onlookers glanced at the two as they hurried past in the cold.

  Cap gawked at her. Why in blazes did she think that was funny?

  “Oh, my goodness,” Philadelphia said, once she’d caught her breath. She dabbed at her glistening eyes with the corner of her coat sleeve. “Why, I surely did need that laugh. Thank you.”

  Blinking, Cap muttered, “Uh, you’re welcome?”

  The older girl chuckled again. Balancing her heavy parcel of books on her hip, she smiled down at him.

  “I could have sworn you were going to say I was a colored girl,” she told him, shaking her head. “Well, I did enjoy the laugh you just gave me. You see, after the news this morning, I’m all in a dither.” Her face grew serious. “You’ve heard, haven’t you?”

  The red knit scarf about Cap’s neck seemed to tighten again of its own accord. He nodded.

  “I can’t quite believe what the paper said about why they think that poor woman was dug up. Who would have thought this could happen in our little town? Oh, never you mind,” Delphia said, glancing down at Cap and smiling once more. “Thank you again for making me laugh.”

  “Glad I could help,” he mumbled.

  Delphia grinned. “Well, you best remember this: Girls most certainly can be doctors, and this girl is going to be the best doctor our town’s ever seen,” she said, lifting her chin. “By the way, what’s your name?” she added, as she began to move slowly down the sidewalk.

  “I’m Captain,” he answered. “Captain Cooper.” He followed along while trying to gather his thoughts.

  “I want to tell you something, Captain,” Philadelphia said as they walked. “Last week I attended an anatomy lecture at the hospital. You know what anatomy is?” she asked.

  Gulping, Cap studied his worn boots as they walked. “’Course I do,” he said. “The study of the human body.”

  “It was a lecture all about the inside workings of our bodies. The doctors showed us wonderful drawings. One was of the heart and lungs, and another was a complete drawing of a skeleton. One showed the brain and what it looks like when it’s cut open.” She glanced at Cap with a mischievous gleam in her eyes.

  He couldn’t meet her gaze.

  “Why, Captain, does that frighten you? You look a might sick,” the girl said in a teasing tone. “One fellow, a sass-mouthed man all slicked up in his Sunday best, he told me I should leave. ’Course, I didn’t. And I bet he was sure sorry he said anything. Least ways,” Philadelphia said, leaning closer as though to share a secret, “I’m certain he was powerfully sorry when he couldn’t answer any of the questions those doctors asked us, while I knew the answer to every single one.”

  Despite the chill that had seeped into his heart after reading the morning’s headline, Cap laughed.

  Philadelphia beamed at him. “Girls can surely be doctors,” she told him again. “We’ve been healers for ages and ages. We’re made of tougher stuff than you think, Captain.”

  “Call me Cap,” the boy said. “The only person who calls me Captain is my mamma.”

  The girl reached her hand out once more and this time gave Cap a firm handshake.

  “Call me Delphia,” she said, while her lips curled with mirth. “The only person who calls me Philadelphia is my mamma.”

  With that, she turned to enter the nearby red-brick building. “I’m off to study at the library. Nice to meet you, Cap.”

  “Likewise,” Cap said, watching her disappear through the doorway.

  When he turned to go, his brief amusement faded as fast as the sun on a winter evening. Biting his lip, he returned to his search for a newspaper. Delphia Cole was sure all-fired determined to be a doctor, but did she know what would happen when she got to medical college?

  Cap filled his cheeks and blew out his breath in a long, white stream. Father had explained that medical schools bought the bodies they dug up, cutting them apart in front of their students. “Doctors need to know how we’re put together and how everything works,” he’d said.

  Shaking his head, the boy hurried down the street. Did Delphia know about that?

  FOUR

  CAP HURRIED TO his next stop, the shop of the local watchmaker, Mr. Garrett. His stomach growled. Dinner hour was nearly over, but he wasn’t ready to admit defeat and return to school. If he couldn’t find a free paper, well, he’d have to earn a few coins and buy one.

  From the time Cap was small, he’d been fascinated by the whirring gears inside a timepiece and had spent countless hours with his nose pressed to the glass of the shop. Two summers before, Mr. Garrett invited him inside to see how a clock worked. Cap was in awe, and the two became fast friends, especially since the boy was a quick learner. Now, Mr. Garrett was glad to have nimble fingers and young eyes to help him with the delicate work that had become more difficult of late.

  “Cap!” Mr. Garrett said as he swung the door open. The magnifying glass the man used when repairing timepieces was attached to the frames of his spectacles, making one watery blue eye enormous. His steel-gray hair stood on end, and he walked with a limp thanks to an old injury. Cap always thought Mr. Garrett looked part human and part wind-up toy.

  “Do you have any work for me, Mr. Garrett?” he asked. “Something small, seeing as it’s my dinner hour and I need to get back to school soon.”

  “Matter of fact, I do,” the man said, pivoting to hobble off toward the workroom behind the shop front. “Come
on in.”

  Though he was in a hurry, Cap paused to admire his favorite timepiece: a fancy cuckoo clock that ticked away in a steady beat. As each new hour was announced, not only did a tiny bird pop out to tell the time, but carved and painted figures danced in a circle while a waterwheel turned around and around. A real trickle of water flowed into a tiny pond.

  Mr. Garrett’s daughter, Lettie, waved a greeting to Cap as he passed. “That came all the way from Germany, you know,” she told him. Strands of the young woman’s long, yellow hair hung in her face as she turned back to her ledger and frowned at the rows of scribbled numbers.

  “You added wrong again, Papa,” she called.

  “Bother,” was all Mr. Garrett said. He led Cap to his workroom, where broken clocks, watches, and automated toys sat in a jumble on a long table, waiting to be repaired. In the corner was a large wooden crate marked “Fresh Pickles.” Sitting on top of the crate was a coil of wire and a small metal box that had bits of wire sticking out in several places.

  “Special order,” Mr. Garrett said, nodding toward the pickle crate. “Been working on that all week.”

  “What is it?” Cap asked.

  “Some contraption a man asked me to design. Don’t know how well it’ll work yet, but we’ll see.”

  Cap worked quickly as he could, piecing together a pocket watch while Mr. Garrett supervised. The old watchmaker chatted about this and that while he worked, never expecting a reply. Tension melted from his shoulders as Cap concentrated on his task. But then, Mr. Garrett’s next words stole his breath.

  “You hear o‘ that business at the cemetery?” the old man asked. Cap nearly dropped the tweezers he’d been using to put a tiny cog in place.

  “Knew her, I did. Nellie. Nice old gal. Sharp tongue, but a good soul, for one o‘ them.”

  Cap opened his mouth to speak the question that trembled on the tip of his tongue, but then he pressed his lips together. He already knew what one of them meant. He hadn’t gotten a good look at the body…at Nellie, after they’d swiped her from the ground, being it was so dark and all. But he had felt her thick, wiry braids. Nellie must have been one of the town’s colored residents, like Delphia, and her mother, Jardine.

  Swallowing hard, he used the special tiny hammer to tap the round metal backing into place on the pocket watch. When he carefully wound the timepiece, it began to tick a solid, slow, steady beat.

  “Done,” he said.

  “Good boy,” Mr. Garrett said, patting Cap on the shoulder. “Fine work as usual.”

  Cap took the offered coins without looking at them and shoved them into his pocket, slinging his jacket about his shoulders. After waving goodbye, he hurried toward the market to buy a paper. He read the story on the way back to school, hardly minding where he put his feet.

  Ghoulish Robbers Steal a Stiff from Forest Cemetery.

  Will Your Loved One Be Next?

  Elizabeth Jackson, known as “Nellie,” aged sixty-four, was unlawfully removed from her final resting place last night in Forest Cemetery, shocking our little community.

  “My Nellie’s grave was empty,” said her husband, Mr. Wilford Jackson, aged sixty-seven. “What’d somebody go and dig her up for?”

  The answer to that may lie in the nearby city of Columbus, says Dr. Alfred Winthrop, a retired medical man. “Medical students must have fresh cadavers to pass their anatomy courses,” he told the paper. “Grave robbing is unfortunately common near cities where there are medical schools.”

  Inquiries were sent early this morning by telegraph to Starling Medical College in Columbus. We await a response. Our lawmen have no leads as to who may have committed this gruesome crime. Mr. Jackson asks the townspeople to keep a watchful eye out for any clues as to the whereabouts of his wife’s remains.

  “She ain’t there no more. Where am I supposed to leave the flowers?” Mr. Jackson told the paper.

  Scowling, Cap folded the paper and trotted back toward the brick school building. He’d missed his midday meal, but there was nothing to do about it now. His thoughts weren’t really on food, anyway. There had to be some other way for Father to earn extra money. Something that didn’t involve stealing folks from their graves.

  “You never said you wouldn’t be here for your dinner today,” the housekeeper said with a sniff when Cap entered the kitchen after school.

  “I had to stay and do my history essay,” he replied. A jab of guilt over his lie poked somewhere around the vicinity of his stomach.

  Mrs. Hardy’s eyebrows raised. “You mean to say you’ve eaten nothing since breakfast?”

  At the boy’s nod, the housekeeper sighed. “Well, supper’s ready, so we’ll make an early meal of it. Your mamma’s feeling poorly again.” Her face was flushed pink from the heat of the stove. She swept strands of silver hair behind her ears as she plunked a full plate down onto the red tablecloth. “She’ll eat in her room later. Your father won’t be home yet, so it’s the two of us. Say grace,” she added, nodding sternly at the boy. “And remove your cap, young man.”

  Doing as he was told, Cap bowed his head and mumbled a swift prayer, thanking God for the food.

  “Louder next time,” Mrs. Hardy said, pouring him a cup of milk. “Perhaps God heard you, but I didn’t.”

  “I heard you, plain as day,” Father said, as he threw open the kitchen door and flung his coat over a chair. “And next time you want to pray to the Old Man, tell him we’re tired of this bloody foul weather. That we can do without.”

  Mrs. Hardy gasped as she did whenever Father used what she called “rough language.”

  “Now, really, Mr. Cooper,” she began, but Father cut her off.

  “Aw, now, don’t scold me and say I’m not to speak so in front of the boy,” he said with a wide grin, taking the plate the scandalized housekeeper handed to him. He tucked into his potatoes with gusto. “This weather is bloody foul, wouldn’t you say, Cap?”

  Cap snorted out a laugh. Mrs. Hardy threw her hands into the air and looked heavenward with a sigh before turning back to her bubbling pots. Her cheeks now bore twin spots of bright red, but she was grinning.

  “Heathen,” she muttered with a chuckle.

  “Old wet hen,” Father replied, dunking his bread into his milk and popping the sodden bite into his mouth.

  “Old Irish hen, thank you very much,” Mrs. Hardy said.

  Father barked out a laugh.

  Suddenly sober, Cap wolfed his food. He was itching to know what had happened after he’d fled the cemetery, but he and Father couldn’t exactly discuss their “business” in front of Mrs. Hardy. He tried nudging Father once, but the man ignored him. With a shrug, Cap jammed half a piece of apple pie into his mouth, mumbled an excuse, and hurried off to his room.

  His mattress was stuffed with straw, but to Cap it was soft as downy feathers. He was just about to sink into much-needed sleep when a tap on his door woke him.

  “Mm?” he mumbled.

  Father opened the door and crossed the room.

  “Thought I’d let you know that Lum delivered the goods. We’ll have our payment soon.”

  “Oh,” Cap said. He propped himself up on one elbow. “How did you get away?”

  Father chuckled. “I drove the wagon through the hedge. We hid in the woods until all was clear. Then Lum took off on foot to make the delivery.”

  “Where does Lum take the, uh, you know.” Cap cleared his throat. “Them?” he asked.

  Father’s shoulders stiffened, and he faced his son. “I don’t know, Cap. We’re hired to dig them up, and that’s what we do. We don’t ask questions.”

  “But Father—”

  Father placed a finger to his lips. “I brought you into this business because I need help. Keep quiet and do as you’re told. We need this job.” He closed his eyes. “We need the money, son.”

  “Yes, sir,” Cap whispered. “But we were nearly found out. It’s in the paper.”

  “I
know,” Father said. He paused with his hand on the doorknob. “We’ll lay low for a week or so, but talk’ll die down. Besides, we only take the ones who won’t be missed. Get some rest.” The door closed behind him with a soft click.

  Rest didn’t come easy. Cap tossed about as though his bed were made of rusted nails and horseshoes. Nellie was missed. Someone wanted to put flowers on her grave.

  FIVE

  JESSAMYN WASN’T IN school the next day or the day after, which was Friday. Cap didn’t truly mind. Eli had no chance to taunt him about her.

  When the weekend finally came, Cap spent most of Saturday tinkering in his shop. The watering tank he’d invented to take care of the housekeeper’s plants wasn’t working right, and the woman was in fits over it.

  “My herbs’ll dry up. See how you’ll like your meals, then, with nothing to add a bit of savor to ’em,” she said.

  Cap removed the copper watering tank from its hooks on the kitchen wall. It was still full, though it’d been a week since he’d filled it. He pulled each thin rubber tube from the soil inside the pots. The tubes extended from the bottom of the tank to carry a steady trickle of water to the plants on the windowsills. The boy frowned down at the tank. Why wasn’t it working anymore?

  Once the tank was emptied, one glance told him the story. The holes punched into the bottom were plugged with a hardened crust, likely from the minerals in the water. Grinning at such an easy fix, Cap began to chip away at the residue. While he worked, Mrs. Hardy swept inside, dropping parcels onto the sideboard.

  “Glad to see you’re attending to that,” she said. “It’s a wonder, to be sure, but it does me no good if it stops working. Ah, the talk in town is a fright, Cap! A stolen body, and they don’t know who did it. Did you say your prayers this morning, now?”

  Mutely, Cap nodded. From the corner of his eye, he watched as Mrs. Hardy made the sign of the cross. A soft muttered prayer reached his ears. The woman was speaking his name.

  Warmth spread through the boy’s chest. For all her gruff words and cuffs to the ear, Mrs. Hardy cared about him. “And protect him from those devilish men who dig up the dead…”