The Grave Digger

by Rebecca Bischoff

  Cap’s shoulders slumped.

  That means I ought to ask God to protect me from myself, he thought ruefully. But I guess it’s not people like me who need protecting. It’s folks like Delphia. And Jardine.

  He returned to his work, but a knock on the door interrupted him. At a pointed look from the housekeeper, Cap rose to answer.

  “Hullo there,” Mr. Garrett said when the boy opened the door. “Just the man I wanted to see.” He dug a crumpled handkerchief from his coat pocket and blew his nose, honking like an angry goose. Then he stood back and revealed the reason for his visit.

  Behind him was the large pickle crate Cap had seen the other day at the watchmaker’s shop, sitting on top of a child’s wagon. His spirits rose.

  “Do you need help?” he asked with a grin, already moving to heft the box from the wagon.

  “I surely do,” Mr. Garrett replied, and the two brought the crate inside and set it on the kitchen table.

  While Mrs. Hardy bustled about and fussed, Cap opened the pickle crate and examined the device nestled inside. It was a wooden box with wires that stuck out from a small hole. One wire was connected to a gray cylinder a few inches long. The other wires had small metal circles attached to their ends. On the side of the box was a hand crank.

  “Stimulation for the nerves,” Mr. Garrett said. “Some newfangled treatment for folks who can’t walk. Least ways, that’s what I was told.”

  Mrs. Hardy huffed. “A treatment for the crippled?” she said. The woman began to vigorously chop carrots on the sideboard, as though she held a powerful grudge against the vegetables. “I vow it’ll never work. Doctors don’t know how to fix everything, now, do they? I’m certainly kept busy making my tinctures and remedies, even with all the doctors in this town.”

  Mamma called from upstairs and the housekeeper wiped her hands upon her apron and hurried from the room.

  “So, how does it work?” Cap asked.

  “A magnet powers it,” Mr. Garrett said.

  Cap held his breath when the watchmaker opened the lid of the box. Inside, the crank connected with a metal wheel similar to the tiny ones inside watches and clocks. And the wheel was attached to a horseshoe-shaped magnet.

  “So, that magnet makes the shock?” Cap asked.

  “Yes sirree.”

  “Can I try?” the boy asked.

  For a while, the two took turns trying to generate a current as they cranked the handle. Mr. Garrett explained his troubles with the invention. “I need a stronger current,” he said. “Most it does is make a fellow laugh like he’s being tickled. That ain’t no good. Besides, it ain’t easy keeping those metal bits there stuck to a fellow’s legs. They keep falling off.”

  “Why don’t you add another magnet?” Cap said, his mind alive with possibilities. “And put those metal bits onto leather straps so they’ll stay right next to a person’s skin without falling off.”

  Mr. Garrett’s eyes lit up. “That’s the ticket! I think you may be on to something,” he said. The man clapped Cap on the back and the boy beamed. At that moment, Father walked into the kitchen.

  “What’s this?” he asked.

  “It’s Mr. Garrett’s new invention,” Cap said. He told his father all about it, tripping over his words in a rush to speak. Father said nothing but nodded politely. But after he helped Mr. Garrett carry his invention outside and waved goodbye to the old watchmaker, Father spoke.

  “Old Tom’s got a quick mind but not much sense,” he said.

  Cap frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “What’s that foolish box good for?” Father said as they returned to the house. “The man’s got plenty of useful work, repairing clocks. No need to waste time on such nonsense.”

  Turning his back, Cap headed to the stairs. For a moment, he considered asking his father if digging up the recently dead to sell to an unknown man counted as “useful work,” but he bit his tongue.

  Father held him back by placing a hand upon his shoulder. “We’ve got another job, son,” he murmured softly, glancing about to make certain no listening ears were nearby. “Tonight. Go to bed at nine and rest up for a few hours. I’ll fetch you when it’s time to go.”

  Cap froze. “So soon?” he said. “But you said we’d lay low for a while.”

  Father pursed his lips. “There’s still no watch at the cemetery. And this body won’t be missed—no family at all, to speak of.” He squeezed his son’s shoulder and hurried down the hallway toward the warm kitchen.

  One with no family at all? Cap scowled at their ugly, faded red wallpaper. Did Father mean to say they were stealing the body of an orphan? His stomach muttered a gurgling complaint.

  It couldn’t be her. But still, Jessamyn hadn’t been in school the past two days.

  Cap grimaced and held his stomach. “This body won’t be missed” was what they’d told him the last time.

  SIX

  LATER THAT NIGHT, Cap and Father snuck from their silent house and headed to the cemetery. Once there, they led the rattling wagon through the maze of stone and wood markers until they reached the new grave. As Cap had suspected, this grave was near the one they’d dug up the other night.

  “Hello there,” Lum said as they approached. “Tonight, we’ll dig through this here dirt they just dug up this afternoon. Still soft. No need to dig a blasted tunnel, like I told you.”

  As he hefted his shovel from the wagon, Cap snorted in disgust. Leave it to Lum to take credit for another fellow’s idea.

  They dug for nearly an hour. Cap started at every sound: wind rustling and clacking in the branches of the nearby trees, a dog’s howl from the farms off to the west, and Hilda, the old mare’s gentle snorts. But they remained alone. Finally, their shovels scraped against wood.

  “I’ll open the coffin,” Lum said, once they had cleared away enough soil. “Noah, get me that crowbar.”

  Clambering out of the grave, Cap smiled wryly to himself. Never mind Lum stole his idea, at least he’d never have to crawl into a black tunnel again to pull out a body. He rubbed an aching shoulder and went to stroke Hilda’s side while Lum broke open the coffin.

  “Got it,” Lum called. “Here, Noah, grab that carpet. I’ll toss the thing up to you.”

  Within moments, the soft thud told Cap that the body was safely in the wagon bed.

  “Don’t forget her clothes, Noah,” Lum called.

  Cap’s heart thumped painfully as the realization hit him. Her clothes. It was a woman. Or a girl.

  Of course, Jessamyn wouldn’t be buried in this part of the cemetery, he told himself. He frowned as he stabbed his shovel into the mound of dirt. They’d only worked for a few moments when Lum seized his arm in a painful grip. “What was that?” the man hissed.

  Cap froze, his ears straining for the slightest sound. Then he heard it: a horse’s hooves, clopping ever nearer at a fast pace. They were discovered again!

  “Into the wagon, quick!” Lum shouted. He extinguished the lantern.

  Cap turned to run, banging his foot on the blade of the shovel he’d just dropped. Cursing under his breath, he hurled himself in the direction of the wagon. He nearly missed it but caught his ribs painfully on a corner of the box.

  The horse galloped ever nearer. “You there, stop!” a man’s voice shouted. Then the horse squealed and must have reared, for a solid thud echoed through the wintery air, followed by a cry of pain.

  Father seized Cap’s arm and hoisted the boy into the back of the wagon, right on top of the dead passenger. He clambered over the slight, carpet-bundled form and hunched down next to his father. Lum whipped Hilda, and the aging mare took off.

  “Stop!” Their pursuer shouted once more, his voice now shrill. “Stoooop!”

  But good old Hilda was fast. Clouds parted to reveal a sliver of moon, which illuminated the cemetery with its small leaning markers. Bare tree branches flashed by as they fled, tipping in the wind as though they waved goodbye with bo
ny fingers.

  Frantic shouts quickly died out behind them. Soon, Lum’s deep-throated chuckle floated into the night. “Lost him,” he said.

  “You said there’d be no watch,” Father said. “The girl had no family.”

  “Blamed if I know why anybody’d care for this one,” Lum said.

  They drove for a few frantic minutes until Hilda’s hooves clopped along the cobbles of paved streets. Suddenly, the wagon shuddered to a halt as Lum jerked on the reins. Cap peered out above the rim of the box. They were next to the castle-like building of City Hall. The place bustled with activity.

  “At this time of night? Quick, man,” Father hissed. “Move on! Someone will see us! Go!”

  Uttering a string of oaths, Lum whipped poor Hilda once more, and they moved forward with a jolt. They moved at a fast clip for a few minutes, then made a sharp turn into a narrow passage Cap recognized. His heart sped up. They were heading to the Round House. The abandoned brick farmhouse was haunted. Everyone said so. Though he was old enough to have outgrown the fear of ghosts, Cap instinctively shrank lower in the wagon bed.

  “It’s all lit up here, too, like Independence Day,” Lum muttered in a loud whisper. “What does he want us to do, waltz right in there bold as brass with this thing?”

  “What should we do?” Father asked.

  “Let’s find out what’s going on,” Lum growled. “You stay here, boy,” he told Cap. The two men scuttled like overgrown rats around the house and out of sight.

  The boy jerked off his coat and shoved up his sleeves, kneeling beside the rolled carpet. At least he had time to see who this was. There was just enough light from the doorway for Cap to see her features.

  He raised the edge of the carpet and pulled it away the corpse’s face, and his heart turned to a lump of ice.

  “No,” he moaned, falling back on his heels.

  Though daubed with mud and leaves, strands of the young girl’s thick, raven-wing hair gleamed in the wan light. Her oval face was serene, and she seemed to be asleep. It was indeed Jessamyn.

  Darkness flooded Cap. “Not you,” he whispered. The girl’s still face fractured and dissolved as tears welled up. How could this be? How had the girl come to be buried in the colored section of the cemetery?

  Cap wiped his arm across his burning eyes. He wouldn’t cry like a child! Then, he gritted his teeth. He wouldn’t hand her over, either. Jessamyn deserved a proper burial, and hang the consequences!

  Cap hopped into the box of the wagon. Nudging Hilda, he turned the wagon and headed back into the alley. The old Catholic church, now an orphanage but still called St. Joseph’s, was only a few blocks away. He’d leave Jessamyn at the back door.

  Pulling to a stop in front of the back steps of the old church, he climbed into the wagon box for one more look. She was as serene as before, eerily beautiful in the dim moonlight.

  “Why can’t you be sleeping? Just sleeping?” Cap whispered. Without thinking, he reached down to touch her cheek. As he did so, the feeling of warmth upon his fingers shocked him, causing the hair on the back of his neck to stand up.

  Cap gasped and pulled his hand away, and in that moment, Jessamyn’s eyelids fluttered. It was a slight movement, no greater than a flicker.

  Am I dreaming this? Cap stared down and waited, but saw nothing.

  Hardly daring to breathe, he reached down again and touched the girl’s soft cheek, then placed his palm on her forehead. She was still. So very still. A girl carved in stone.

  Moments passed. Leaves skittered in the wind as Cap waited with wide eyes. His heart started to sprint. He counted the beats. Ten. Fifteen. Thirty-two. His heart slowed.

  Finally, he let his hand fall away. Jessamyn was dead. Cap cursed himself for being a fool—one who saw things he desperately wanted to believe. He sat back on his heels and reached down to cover her face.

  Then, she opened her eyes.

  Cap screamed.

  SEVEN

  THE GIRL’S EYELIDS fluttered and closed again. Before Cap could take another breath, the heavy back door of the orphanage scraped open.

  “Who’s there?” a tremulous voice demanded.

  Cap pointed to where Jessamyn lay in the wagon. An elderly woman in a ragged shawl and a nightgown edged closer until she saw the girl.

  “God have mercy,” she gasped. “Jessamyn!” Her eyes grew round as buttons, and then she whirled and hurried to the door, shrieking: “Help! Sisters, help me!”

  A flood of women in nightgowns spilled from the door and clustered around the wagon. One of the younger ones gently lifted Jessamyn and carried her inside.

  Cap grabbed the reins, ready to hustle out of there, but a hand seized his wrist. He yelped.

  “Come with us,” a deep voice commanded. Before he could gather his wits, Cap was pulled from the seat of the wagon and hurried inside by a short and very round woman who dragged him along with an iron grip on his arm.

  The back door led into a kitchen, where embers still glowed inside a huge fireplace. Swept along quickly, the woman pulled Cap down a corridor and up a creaking wooden staircase. She brought the boy into a small bedroom, where Jessamyn lay upon the bed.

  Cap’s arm began to tingle. He pulled away, and the hand that had held him finally let go. Without sparing him a glance, the woman issued curt orders to others who had followed them.

  “Send for the doctor,” she said, and one of the sisters rushed from the room. “And then wake—no,” she said, as though to herself, “not now.” She glanced at Cap and then away. “Be certain to wake no one else.” The women nodded gravely and left.

  Inching toward the door, Cap tried to make his escape, but the woman swiftly blocked his exit with her wide body. With a quick, imperious gesture, she indicated the chair in the corner.

  The boy backed up and sat. Then the woman smiled at him. She had a broad, lumpy face, pale and round as a full moon, with a dark shadow of a moustache on her upper lip. Despite her ugly feature, Cap sensed something about her that calmed his fears, if only a bit.

  “What is your name, child?” she asked.

  “Captain Cooper,” Cap said.

  The woman raised her eyebrows and blinked, studying his face for a moment with a strange expression. Then, she turned without a word and held her candle aloft as she moved to the bed and gently felt Jessamyn’s forehead.

  “And how did you come to be here in the dead of night, with our Jessamyn in the back of your wagon?” the woman asked.

  Cap opened his mouth to answer, but before he could say anything, the door opened and Dr. Ivins swept inside.

  “I came straightaway,” he said, breathing hard as if he’d been running for miles. His shirt was rumpled and his boots were muddy.

  “Thank you, Doctor,” the woman said. “Bless you.”

  Dr. Ivins took Jessamyn’s wrist to take her pulse, and gently lifted one eyelid. Reaching into his bag, he took out a small vial and gave it to the woman who had remained standing beside him, hovering like a guardian gargoyle. The man’s hands shook like autumn leaves in a windstorm. The woman clasped the doctor’s hands briefly in her own.

  “This is a shock for all of us,” she said.

  Dr. Ivins nodded and cleared his throat. Then he turned and saw the boy for the first time.

  “Cap?” he said. “Why are you here?”

  “I found her,” the boy blurted, trying to imagine a story the two would believe without telling what had actually happened.

  “Where?” Dr. Ivins said in a sharp voice.

  “On the street,” Cap said in a rush of inspiration. “I … I couldn’t sleep and was looking out my window. I saw someone walking about, looking confused.” Swiftly, he told them a story of finding the girl and helping her into his wagon, then taking her to the orphanage.

  The woman rushed over to Cap and enfolded him in a hug.

  “We’re so grateful to you, child,” she said. Her eyes gleamed with tears. “We t
hought that we’d lost our sweet Jessamyn. She came down with a fever a few days ago, and Dr. Ivins was away. That dreadful Dr. Rusch came, but he was no help. She grew worse and worse, until she died.”

  “Died?” Cap repeated, as if he didn’t already know.

  “We had a service for her, here. We’re her family, you see. After, she was taken to the cemetery. I cannot imagine how...” Her voice trailed off, and she looked at the doctor with a crinkled brow, but quickly looked away and dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief.

  Dr. Ivins cleared his throat and reached out to pat the woman’s shoulder. “We will speak later. This girl needs to rest. Come, Cap,” he said, motioning to the boy. “I’ll accompany you outside.”

  “God be with you both,” the woman said as they stood to go.

  Cap followed the doctor outside. Loyal Hilda stood placidly in place, snorting and flicking her tail. Dr. Ivins said nothing until Cap had hopped up onto the wagon seat and picked up the reins.

  “We’re grateful for your help, young man. Now, hurry home. If your mother awoke and found that you were gone, the distress wouldn’t be good for her health.”

  “No, sir.”

  “Off with you.” The doctor slapped Hilda’s side, and she trotted away.

  The boy hunched his shoulders against the frigid air as he drove. Now, he had a new problem. What in tarnation could he say to Father and Lum?

  Tell them what happened, Cap scolded himself. That’s all there is to do.

  But what had happened? The sudden warmth, the flutter of the girl’s eyes—and then, she was alive again! And what’s more, Cap had been the one to bring her back. He was certain.

  A strange memory lit up his mind the moment the girl opened her eyes. This wasn’t the first time the boy had heard of a person coming back from the land of the dead. Not at all. Because almost thirteen years earlier, someone else had been brought back to life. And that someone was Cap.