The Grave Digger

by Rebecca Bischoff

  He parked the wagon and had just hopped down from the seat when a hand seized him by the arm.

  “Where’d you go, boy?” Lum hissed. “Quick, now. I found one of my fellows. He’ll meet us at the mouth of the lane and take the stiff. We best hurry—a man escaped from jail so the town’s crawling with lawmen.”

  Cap scowled. What had just happened was too near to the heart to share. He didn’t want to even speak Jessamyn’s name aloud for ugly old Lum to hear. Besides, they wouldn’t understand.

  “It’s already done,” he blurted.

  “What?” Father and Lum spoke at the same moment. Lum darted to the side of the wagon and swore when he saw the empty carpet.

  “Someone already took the goods,” Cap said.

  Lum kicked the wagon wheel. “So, where’s our payment?” he asked.

  Cap froze. “He said that they’d pay us later,” he mumbled.

  “Those pigs,” growled Lum. “I was looking forward to a pint at Mooney’s.”

  “Come,” Father said. “We must leave. It’s getting nigh on to morning, and the town will be waking soon. Well done, son.” He ruffled Cap’s hair.

  Morning sunrise spilled liquid gold onto the streets as they passed, and a shower of falling leaves rained down on Cap’s head.

  He barely noticed. Instead, he itched for the day to come. There was someone he needed to speak to. Someone who just might know how Cap came to possess a power that could bring back the dead.

  EIGHT

  BACK HOME, CAP collapsed onto his bed but only slept in brief snatches. The night’s events whirled and spun like a child’s toy top inside his head, so it was nearly impossible to rest. Jessamyn’s dark eyes, fluttering open and closing again, haunted his brief dreams.

  When the household finally began to stir, he threw off his blankets. He dumped water from his chipped pitcher into the ceramic basin on the dresser and quickly scrubbed graveyard dirt from his face and wavy blond hair. While he washed, the church bells rang in town.

  At least it’s Sunday, he thought with a grin. No Master Rankin giving me his squinty-eyed stare at school. Besides, I’ve got to talk to someone right away.

  Then Cap’s smile faded. He was thrilled Jessamyn was alive, but Father and Lum were supposed to have earned a nice payment for the body of someone who wasn’t dead anymore. He dried his face and crept to the hall, careful to tiptoe on stockinged feet. He had to figure out something about that payment.

  Upon the stairs, the smell of freshly baked bread filled his nose. Cap’s stomach complained loudly of its empty state. He headed first to the kitchen for a quick bite. After all, he could hardly think when his gullet was empty.

  On the blue-checked tablecloth, warm loaves were lined up in a neat row, tan and rounded. The shape of the bread called to mind a row of freshly dug graves, but it smelled heavenly in the kitchen. As he reached for a loaf, he spied a newspaper on the table, its headline screaming in thick, black letters:

  Another Empty Grave!

  Gang of Ghouls Strikes Again!

  Cap snatched up the paper and scanned the article. The newspaper men didn’t know who’d been buried in the empty grave. The article mentioned that the medical college in Columbus had answered the telegraph sent after Nellie’s grave was robbed. The school firmly denied buying any bodies. And a side article told how the residents in Nellie Jackson’s neighborhood were asking the city to place a guard at the cemetery.

  If the school in Columbus isn’t buying the bodies, well, where are they going? Cap wondered. At that moment, Mrs. Hardy swept into the room with an apronful of potatoes. The boy dropped the paper as though it seared his fingers.

  “Ah, you’re up, and filthy, by the sight of you! You could grow carrots in your ears and onions on the back of your neck.” The woman shook her head. “Sit. I’ll get your breakfast.”

  “Is Father here?” Cap asked Mrs. Hardy as she placed a steaming bowl of oatmeal porridge before him.

  “He’s gone on business. Said he’d return at noon,” she answered, now setting a plate of toasted bread with apricot preserves at his elbow. The housekeeper turned away and began to crush herbs in a tiny bowl, singing softly to herself.

  As he wolfed down his meal, Cap’s mind whirled. What in tarnation would he say to Father when he came home?

  Perhaps I should just tell him the truth about what happened, he thought. But his spirits sank at the thought. He wouldn’t understand. He won’t believe me at all, blast him. Father thinks anything like that is balderdash!

  He leapt to his feet, left his dishes in the stone sink, and fled to his room. His thoughts were a tangle.

  He’d barely reached the top of the stairs when the front door flew open and Father hurried inside.

  “Cap!” Father bellowed, closing the door behind him with a bang. “Come down!”

  The boy stopped short and whirled. Father was back already, and Cap had no money to show for last night. No story to cover his hide, either.

  “Come, I’ve something for you,” Father said.

  Cap’s eyes flew open wide. Father was smiling.

  The boy began his descent, blinking in surprise. When he reached the bottom step, Father dug into his pocket and fished out a small object that winked with a metallic gleam. He tossed it into the air, and Cap caught it mid-flight.

  It was a coin, one far heavier than the pennies he was used to. He gaped at the object in his palm. It was a dollar. A whole dollar? Cap stared wide-eyed at his father while fearing his legs were about to give out.

  “You’ve earned it,” Father said, ruffling his son’s wavy hair. He grinned and turned away.

  “But how—” Cap said, but more words failed him.

  “Lum stopped by before dawn and dropped off our share,” Father said. “He found his partner and got our payment. They paid him for our first job and last night’s together.” Father’s eyes crinkled as he smiled. He tossed on a hat and threw his coat around his shoulders.

  “I’m off to pay our grocer’s bill. The man’s been on my back about it. Mind you wash up, now. You’re filthy.” The door swung shut behind him.

  Cap gaped at the coin in his hand. It was worth a whole day’s wages for a man like Father, who worked at the foundry outside of town. Surely, that meant that Father’s payment was, well, more money than Cap could imagine.

  Silently, he returned to his room. He stretched out on his bed and stared for several minutes at the water stains in the plaster ceiling.

  The immediate problem of payment for an undelivered corpse had been solved, but how? And who in Sam Hill had paid them such a princely sum for a body they never got? It was a puzzle.

  Cap didn’t stay in bed for long. More questions burned like hot coals inside his brain, and now that he could set aside one problem, it was time to focus on another. Sounds outside his door told him Mamma was finally up. She was the one he’d been fairly itching to talk to. He needed to hear the story of the time he had died.

  At his knock, and Mamma called for him to enter. His parents’ bedroom was sparsely furnished, like the rest of the house, but Cap always found this room welcoming. Vivid autumn leaves stood in a vase on the mantle, and a low fire crackled cheerfully in the grate. The walls were painted a pale green that brought a feeling of spring even in the dead of winter.

  “Cap,” his mother said, smiling from her rocking chair by the window. She placed her open book on her lap and reached out for him. Cap crossed the room and took hold of her hand. It was cold. Her slim fingers felt like those of a small child.

  “How are you, Mamma?” Cap asked.

  “Oh, much better. The fever’s left me. Jardine is a wonder. I’m so pleased Dr. Ivins found her. She knows as much as he does.”

  “She was in the kitchen again, rummaging about in my cupboards,” Mrs. Hardy said as she barged into the room, pausing for the slight tug needed to pull her wide skirts through the narrow doorway. She moved past Cap and placed a tray on
the little table beside Mamma’s chair.

  “She came by this morning to return the book she borrowed and I asked her to make tea, Mrs. Hardy,” Mamma replied. “You weren’t here yet.”

  “A book,” Mrs. Hardy said. She snorted. “You mean to tell me those folks read?”

  “Why, of course they do,” Mamma said, her face growing troubled. “Jardine quite adores poetry.”

  “Oh, never mind that,” Mrs. Hardy said, as she placed a bowl of broth upon the small table and handed Mamma a spoon. “But what good am I, now, if you can’t call for me to come early now and then? There’s no need for that woman to come to this house at all hours.”

  “That woman is my friend, Mrs. Hardy,” Mamma said in a quiet voice.

  “Of course, Mina,” Mrs. Hardy said shortly.

  Whistling to himself, Cap sat on the bed and tapped his fingers on the coverlet while Mamma ate. It seemed like an eternity before she finished and Mrs. Hardy left.

  The moment the door closed behind the housekeeper, Cap spoke.

  “Mamma?”

  “Yes?”

  “Tell me again about the day I was born. On the ship.”

  Mamma’s cornflower blue eyes blinked rapidly. She shifted her long, tawny braid back over her shoulder and sat up taller.

  “Whatever made you think of that, Cap?” she asked. Her forehead crinkled in a slight frown.

  “My birthday is coming, soon.” He only felt a slight twinge at the lie.

  “Of course,” Mamma said with a smile. Cap sat cross-legged on the floor beside his mother’s chair and settled in to listen.

  “You came early,” Mamma said. “Your father and I were all alone on that ship, but Noah found an old Irishwoman to attend to me. And so, you were born. Oh, you were the darling of the other passengers on that ship! How they doted on you. And, of course, we named you after the ship’s captain, who was so kind to us. Tiny as you were, you’ve grown hale and hearty. Why, just look at you now,” she said, reaching down to brush a wayward curl out of Cap’s eyes.

  “But there’s more to it, Mamma,” Cap said. “I know there is.” He knew because he’d heard it once, as a small boy hidden in a cupboard, his face covered with crumbs of stolen cake. Mamma had whispered the real story to Mrs. Hardy. And Cap needed to hear it now.

  Mamma placed a trembling hand to her chest. “Why, Cap, what do you mean?”

  “You said I died,” Cap said. “I heard you.” He rose to his knees and took his mother’s hand in his. “Please tell me. Just this one time.” He waited, holding his mother’s gaze with his own.

  Mamma took a deep breath. Her eyes were enormous.

  “It’s true, Cap,” she whispered. “You were so small. So frail. You hardly cried out at all, and the old woman told me to hold you while I could. She vowed you wouldn’t last the night. And you … you didn’t.”

  Cap held his breath, waiting to hear what she would say next.

  “Noah knocked on doors up and down the ship, seeking a doctor. He didn’t find one, but he met two strange men who said they could help.”

  “How?” Cap stammered.

  “I don’t know. You were gone, Cap. You weren’t breathing. But one of them placed his fingers on your tiny head and began to pray. I don’t recall what he said, but you suddenly grew warm in my arms. Heat poured from your little body and flooded into me as well. Then, you took a breath and opened your eyes.”

  Cap shivered. Jessamyn’s pale face flashed before his eyes, and he relived the strange warmth that traveled up his arm when he’d touched her cheek. Years ago, he had returned to life at the touch of a stranger’s hand. Then last night, Cap’s touch seemed to bring Jessamyn back from the grave.

  Beat the Devil! Cap thought. That stranger must have passed some sort of power on to me.

  “Oh, Cap,” Mamma said. “Mind you don’t tell your father that I told you about this. He does not like to speak of it.” She smiled at her son. “If only…” her voice trailed off.

  Cap glanced down. He could have easily finished her words for her. If only the strangers with the healing touch could have been there for the births of her other children—a girl, two boys, all born too soon. The Coopers’ house should have been filled with tiny footsteps and laughter.

  “Thank you, Mamma,” Cap said as he stood. “I need to go somewhere. Is that all right?”

  “Of course,” Mamma said. “Be back before suppertime.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “And Cap?”

  Cap paused in the doorway. “Yes, Mamma?”

  “You need a bath. Perhaps you should do so before you leave.”

  His shoulders slumped. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Before his mother could give him any other chore, Cap took his leave and trudged to the kitchen to find Mrs. Hardy and ask her to heat the water.

  It was time to return to the orphanage.

  It sure looks like I’ve got some kind of power, he thought, but I want to be certain.

  St. Joseph’s might not have all the answers, but it was Jessamyn’s home. There might be clues of some kind. And Cap was going to get back there today, come hell or high water.

  “Or bathwater,” he told himself grimly.

  NINE

  CAP MADE ANOTHER attempt to sweep the hair from his eyes, but the stubborn curls that vexed him refused to budge. At any rate, his hair was clean. He didn’t plan to bathe for at least another month.

  He crossed the street in front of the orphanage. St. Joseph’s was small but still imposing in the daylight. The white-painted stucco building loomed over him, looking like a great bat with two wings that extended out at angles from its body.

  As he knocked, Cap tried to remember what he’d planned to say, but before he could blink twice, the door opened.

  “Yes?”

  With a jolt, Cap recognized the woman who’d taken charge last night when he brought Jessamyn to the back door. Her face crumpled into a grin.

  “Cap Cooper, isn’t it?” she said.

  Clearing his throat, Cap nodded. “I came to see if Jessamyn is all right.”

  “Come in,” the woman said, stepping aside. “She’s tired, but I suppose you might have a few minutes to talk.”

  Once more, Cap found himself climbing the staircase that curved up to the second floor. In daylight, the bare walls of the orphanage were plain but clean, though the faded wallpaper peeled in places. At the top of the stairs, the woman led Cap to the same small room he’d visited before.

  “A friend is here to see you,” the woman announced, rapping on the door.

  Jessamyn sat in a chair by the window. She wore a plain blue dress, and her hair hung in a glossy braid down her back. She turned as they entered. When she saw Cap, the girl crossed the room in three quick steps and threw her arms around his neck.

  The boy stopped breathing. Jessamyn smelled of soap and clean linen. Without thinking, Cap raised his arms and hugged her back. An instant later, he dropped his arms to his sides while his face burst into flames.

  Jessamyn stepped away, but took hold of Cap’s hands. “Thank you,” she whispered. “You saved my life.”

  “Come, sit,” the woman said, grinning broadly at the two. Stretched wide in that way, her great slash of a mouth lent her face the appearance of a toad. Cap stifled a giggle.

  The woman led him to the chair, and he sat with his spine stiff against the hard backrest. The woman motioned for Jessamyn to sit on her bed, and then she herself sank down beside the girl. The bedsprings groaned alarmingly under her weight.

  “I run the orphanage,” she said. “You may call me Sister Mariah.”

  Cap nodded.

  “We’ve all had a bit of a shock, haven’t we,” Sister Mariah said kindly. Jessamyn looked down suddenly and buried her face in her hands.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Cap said. He cleared his throat. “Anyway, I came to see if Jessamyn is doing well.”

  “I am, thanks to you,�
� Jessamyn said, raising a tear-streaked face.

  “Yes, Dr. Ivins stopped by earlier and said our dear girl should make a full recovery,” Sister Mariah said.

  Cap licked his lips, hesitating to ask the big question that trembled there, ready to spill out. Taking a deep breath, he plunged ahead.

  “Did Dr. Ivins know how exactly someone could die and come back to life?” he blurted. His heart twisted at the distressed look on Jessamyn’s face.

  Sister Mariah rose to her feet, while the bed seemed to sigh in relief. She paced slowly across the room as she spoke.

  “Dr. Ivins says he cannot explain what happened.”

  “But she did…die,” Cap nearly whispered the last word, mindful of the tears that sparkled on Jessamyn’s dark lashes and the frightened look in her eyes. “Didn’t she?”

  Sister Mariah gazed at Cap with a crinkled brow. “Yes,” she said. “I witnessed it with my own eyes.”

  “Golly,” Cap whispered.

  “My mind is greatly troubled by all this,” Sister Mariah continued. “Dr. Ivins saw the papers this morning and is most distressed. Of course, he and I know whose grave was opened but we agreed to keep silent on the subject. We don’t need prying newspaper men nosing around here. And I’ll ask you, Cap, to keep quiet as well,” she added with a stern expression.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  The woman turned to the window. “Such a mystery,” she said softly. Then, she straightened her shoulders and turned around. “Dr. Ivins will have it sorted, somehow. He’s gone to question the doctor who was caring for Jessamyn when she grew ill.”

  “Who was that?” Cap asked.

  “Dr. Abraham Rusch,” Sister Mariah said. “I don’t like the man. He told me I couldn’t understand what he was doing, because I’m only a woman. The fool,” Sister Mariah huffed, folding her arms across her chest.

  A new idea pounced on Cap, and he nearly jumped from his seat in excitement.

  What if that old Dr. Rusch is Lum’s business partner? He sounds like the sort of fellow who’d be involved in something like that resurrection scheme.