* * *
Two hours later, Lily stands in the cemetery outside the old Dyer house, wishing she’d picnicked after all at the Stanehart Hollow Friends Meeting House. She’s hungry and tired from her hike, retracing the mule path from the same spot where she’d left her automobile on the night of Thea’s death, into the village, and then up this hill to the Dyer family plot.
Yet the hike, though making her tired and sweaty, had finally brought her the peaceful stillness that had so eluded her at the Friends’ gathering. Now, even as she stares at the headstones, she savors the soft wind blowing over her, the damp smell of autumn, the rustle of the crimson and golden foliage. It’s always been in nature that she could find a moment’s respite from the ravages of sorrow and anger. A bird trills and Lily looks up at the hollowed-out tree on the cemetery’s edge. The nuthatch?
She makes herself focus on the headstones, the mathematics of them summarizing birth, life, death of generations of Dyers.
Charles Dyer, d. 1826, age seventy.
Adam Dyer, “Beloved Founder of Moonvale Hollow Village,” 1802–1888. Dead at eighty-six.
Joyce Dyer, “Beloved wife and mother,” 1806–1858. Dead at fifty-two.
Murphy Dyer, “In Faith We Rise Again,” 1857–1925. Dead at sixty-eight.
No headstone for Cleo Kincaide Dyer, Lily notes. Had she left Adam? Been buried elsewhere?
Lily refocuses on the existing headstones. Though the men had lived unusually long lives—and produced few children, and then at older ages—what bothers Lily about her calculations is that Joyce would have given birth to Murphy when she was fifty-one.
That hardly seems possible. Why, Mama had had Caleb Jr. when she was forty-one and she was considered old to have a child. A change-of-life baby, he’d been called.
Adam was old to father a child—fifty-five—but certainly siring a child could go on much longer than birthing a child. Lily supposes it would be possible that Joyce was really Murphy’s mother—but she’d be more likely to believe it if Joyce had had other children, had been described as healthy. Harold Claymore had remembered her as often “sickly.”
But what other explanation is there? More than likely, the oddities of the Dyer family’s dates of births and deaths mean nothing. Still, Lily is glad she took the time to confirm the dates of the Dyer family’s births and deaths, even if it means Mama will scold her for returning home sweaty and unkempt just before the Woman’s Club meeting.
She turns, starts her trek back to her automobile.
For a moment, she thinks she sees him again—the silvery, silently laughing boy, merrily chasing his ball. Then she sees only trees and brush and shakes her head at her imagination that seems to go wild in Moonvale Hollow, even as she sorrowfully longs for just one more glimpse.
CHAPTER 21
HILDY
Sunday, September 26—10:00 a.m.
Hildy’s legs tremble as she climbs the steep slope. Soft town girl, she chastises herself. She’s determined not to fall too far behind. Even Olive—with her bowed shoulders and drooping head—is keeping up with Marvena, who is leading the trek.
A thorny limb snags at Hildy’s sleeve, and she pulls free, tearing her blouse. She ducks under a low limb. She’d rushed out of Kinship, over to Rossville, with no coat or hat, and having no notion that she’d end up spending several nights in Marvena’s scant cabin, or that this morning she’d serve as rear guard to Olive up the thorny spine of Devil’s Backbone.
And yet, though she aches and shivers, peacefulness settles over like a cloak woven of bird chatter and skittering leaves, of deep scents of lichen and moss and earth, of sunlight teasing through the forest canopy. Her gaze is drawn to dollops of goldenrod in sunnier spots, and tiny white blooms of snakeroot. Each sighting stirs an unspoken delight, eases Hildy more and more, as if she is finally unspooling—and she hadn’t even known, until now, how tightly wound she’d become. Maybe she’s not such a soft town girl, after all.
Thursday night, after their shocking discovery, Tom had told Clarence to go back to Rossville, his lodgings where he’d be safer, away from white miners who oppose Clarence’s cause to integrate the union—housing is segregated in the town, as it is in most mining towns. Olive had protested, begged Clarence to run away with her, but Clarence had refused. Tom had then told Hildy to take Olive up to Marvena’s cabin. Marvena will know what to do, he said. Then he’d looked away from Hildy.
At Marvena’s cabin, the only indication of surprise Marvena showed—both at Hildy driving Olive up to her cabin and at her hurried explanation of Olive and Clarence as a couple—was a slight lift of her left eyebrow. She showed more surprise—both eyebrows lifting, her lips tightening—when Hildy announced she would not be going back to Kinship.
Marvena had given her a long look, and in that gaze Hildy saw that Marvena had known all along about her and Tom. That Tom had confided in his sister. And that Marvena, though she might like Hildy all right, did not approve of Hildy as Tom’s lover. Weak tea, she might say.
Hildy had squared her shoulders, kept her gaze steadily locked with Marvena’s, until finally Marvena simply nodded. They’d had a supper of soup beans and corn pone—Olive barely eating, but Hildy surprising herself by finding the simple meal delicious. Olive poked at the beans, asking what was going to happen next, until Marvena snapped at her, Stop sniveling!
Then Hildy had played checkers with little Frankie, getting whipped at least half of the games. Goodness, that child was smart. After Frankie was to bed, Hildy had helped Marvena get out quilts for Hildy and Olive to sleep on the floor. Olive fell asleep quickly, occasionally moaning and muttering in her sleep in her part of the room, but Hildy remained wide awake.
When the cabin door creaked open, she’d gone stock-still, except for her heart thudding wildly. Hope surged at the notion that Tom had come to her? No—it was Jurgis. He’d tiptoed quietly through the cabin, back to Marvena. Floorboards creaked as he eased onto the straw mattress next to her. Their voices, soft and low, mingled and drifted across the room, but Hildy couldn’t make out anything they said, and soon they fell silent.
On Friday morning, Jurgis was gone. To Olive’s dismay, Marvena insisted that Hildy would need to substitute for Olive at the schoolhouse. Hildy and Frankie walked back down to Rossville, and though exhausted by the end of the day, Hildy found the time sped past and the work was thrilling. On Saturday, Hildy and Olive helped tight-lipped Marvena and Frankie—who merrily sang the day away, seemingly unaware of any tension—in the garden and with other chores. Hildy heard Jurgis come back again last night, and this morning Hildy awoke to Marvena putting out a breakfast of leftover corn pone and buttermilk and boiled coffee. Both Jurgis and Frankie were gone. As they ate, only Marvena spoke, saying, Take care of your needs at the outhouse. We won’t be stopping. I’ll lead, and Hildy—and here she gave Hildy a look that said, Here’s your chance to prove yourself worthy—Hildy, you’ll be right behind Olive. Make sure she doesn’t do some fool thing, like try to run off.
A half hour later, here they are climbing, endlessly it seems.
Abruptly, Marvena turns westward, and they’re on a ledge, earth falling away into an open holler. Below them, in the hollowed-out earth, over the patchwork of orange and red and yellow treetops, a hawk glides, then swoops down. For a long moment, Hildy stares, mesmerized, but Olive whimpers. Olive had come here from Boston to take the Rossville schoolteacher position. Was she thinking she’d find freedom from whatever strictures held her there? Hildy doesn’t know; for all their time working together, they’d never had personal chats.
Now Hildy feels sorry for Olive, so fearful of heights—and no doubt of what the future holds. “You’re fine,” Hildy says. “Keep your eyes on Marvena’s back. One step after another.”
Around the slick, rocky rise, the earth flattens out again, giving them wide berth from the ledge, and they come upon a cave. Flat, flinty rock juts out over the opening, like a porch roof carved by God’s hand.
&nb
sp; Marvena turns, regards Hildy and Olive. “Not my usual meeting spot. This calls for something even more remote.”
Then she enters the cave. Olive looks at Hildy, a pleading gaze. She’s trembling. Hildy takes her arm, gently nudges her on in. “It will be fine.” Hildy keeps her tone even, as if she knows what Marvena is up to, though she does not.
As they enter, the scant light of coal-oil lanterns shimmies against the cave walls. Tom, Jurgis, and Clarence are gathered around a small, crackling fire.
“Oh!” Olive breaks free from Hildy, runs to Clarence, and they embrace. Hildy thinks she should look away, give them a moment of privacy, but she’s both enchanted by and jealous of their tenderness with each other. She looks at Tom, who pointedly stares away from her.
Jurgis kneels and stirs up the fire with a long stick, looks up at Marvena. “Frankie is settled in with Nana. They’ll go to church this morning.”
Finally, Tom looks up at Hildy, as if not looking at her has become unbearable. Tears spring to Hildy’s eyes. He comes to her, takes his coat off and drapes it over Hildy’s shoulders, and gently pulls her toward the fire. “No use catching your death of cold.” As soon as he gets her there, he lets go, steps away.
Only then does Clarence finally relax into his embrace, close his eyes in relief.
Hildy knows she should look away, but she can’t. She so longs for Tom to embrace her.
Marvena clears her throat. “Well. Here’s how we all see it. If someone finds real love, they should cherish it.” She gives Hildy a pointed look. God, Hildy thinks. She’s been such a fool. Such a coward. Olive and Clarence—especially Clarence—are willing to risk their lives to be together, but Hildy has been afraid of a few raised eyebrows. Marvena turns that same look on Tom. He stares down into the fire. Marvena takes Jurgis’s hand. “We’ve learned the hard way how quickly such love can be ripped asunder—how rare it is to find it again.”
Jurgis nods. “Plenty don’t see it that way, though.”
“Who all knows?” Tom asks.
“We’ve kept it well hidden,” Olive says.
Tom lifts his eyebrows. “You sure? Me and Hildy found you feet from the schoolhouse.”
Olive looks at Hildy. “She told me about the old woman who died at the Moonvale Tunnel. I panicked, ran to find Clarence; I wasn’t thinking—”
“Luckily,” Clarence says, “I was already near the schoolhouse, at our meeting spot. Usually we’re quiet, then head further away. To an old hunting shack Hildy told Olive about.”
Hildy reddens as everyone looks at her. “It was my daddy’s. Same general area as Moonvale.”
“You knew about them, kept your tongue?” Marvena asks. To Hildy’s relief, respect, rather than irritation, fills Marvena’s question.
Hildy nods.
“All right.” Jurgis’s voice is taut as he looks at Olive. “Why did you panic over Hildy telling you about the woman?”
Olive looks at Clarence. Both seem reluctant to answer.
“She is my cousin,” Hildy blurts into the growing silence. She shifts awkwardly from foot to foot. “I found out four days ago. Lily tracked her to the Hollows.”
“Huh,” Marvena says. “After I picked her up at the Hollows, Lily said nothin’ about the woman’s identity.”
A frisson of pleasure—Lily didn’t tell Marvena everything! But this is not the time for petty childishness. “The woman’s name is Thea Kincaide. She and my mother are first cousins. My mother was listed as next of kin on the asylum’s paperwork, but Mother swears she has had no contact with Thea for years. The last time they’d have seen each other was at my grandfather’s funeral. I was just a child. It’s possible she was coming to see my mother—”
“Is your mother’s name Garnet?” Olive asks.
Hildy shakes her head.
“She kept calling me that. And called Clarence ‘John.’”
“She was old, and confused. We wanted to get her to help.” Clarence’s voice, mournful, breaks on the words. “Tried to nudge her toward the village. I was going to wait in the woods, and Olive was going to take her to a house.”
“Leave her there, like an abandoned baby?” Marvena snaps.
Clarence turns to her, his look pleading for understanding. “We couldn’t … be seen.”
“Well, course not! And now you’ve put integration in the union in jeopardy. It’s one thing, men of all sorts working together, but quite another—”
“Marvena!” Tom uses his sister’s name as admonishment. “Love is no respecter of boundaries.” He casts a glance at Hildy, and for a moment her heart jumps. She sees the sorrowful look to his eyes. He does not believe in her. Does not believe she is strong enough. He looks back at Marvena. “Anyway, it’s no use going on at them now. We have to figure out what to do.”
“You didn’t get the old woman—Thea—to a house in Moonvale,” Jurgis says.
“No. She was determined to go her own way, so we followed her. Hoped maybe she knew where she was going. Then we came upon—” Clarence stops, shakes his head.
“It was awful. A group in hoods and capes, taking an oath,” Olive says. “Maybe fifteen or twenty women, but in that garb—it felt like a mob of a hundred. Anyway, we couldn’t be seen by the Klan. The woman ran to them. So we ran the other way. We didn’t have a choice!” She starts crying, puts her head to Clarence’s chest.
“We did.” Clarence looks shot through with guilt. “We should have gotten someone.”
Hildy looks to the others. Tom and Jurgis look bewildered, too.
Not Marvena. Her face has hardened, as unyielding as the cold stone around and over them. “Olive is right. You did the right thing.” She takes a deep breath, exhales slowly. Hunkers down to the fire and holds her hands over the flames, as if beset by a deep coldness. “Lily and me, we traced Thea to the old Dyer farm. We found boot prints, from women’s boots. Inside the house, a hood, like Olive described. The WKKK. That’s Lily’s supposition, anyhow.”
“That’s why I panicked—Hildy told me that Margaret Dyer had come by asking about me and Clarence. And said that she thinks Margaret might be the leader of the WKKK.”
“Could be—given what Lily and Marvena found at the Dyer farm,” Tom says. “Hildy—when did Margaret ask you about Olive and Clarence?”
“Three mornings ago. I think she was fishing for information—and any interest I might have in the group, which she probably sees as important for proper women,” Hildy says. “See, there was an anonymous editorial for the WKKK that was going to run in the newspaper—but my sketch and piece on Thea, when we didn’t know who she was, took its place.”
“You learned all this on a social call?” Marvena asks.
“I was working in the grocery store, you see, when she came by.…” Hildy’s voice trails and her hand goes to her mouth as Tom stares at her, hurt flickering across his face. Oh God. He’ll think she’s toying with him, that she never really meant to break off with Merle.
Marvena flicks her gaze back to Clarence and Olive. “You were right, to skedaddle out of there when she went to them. But what if she told them about you?”
Clarence shakes his head. “I don’t think it was like that. She didn’t seem shocked or upset to see us. We reminded her of people, probably from her past. And Hildy here just said the poor old woman was at the Hollows Asylum.”
“For dementia,” Hildy says quietly. “So yes, she probably thought you were someone else. And her father—my grandfather’s brother—was an abolitionist. My grandfather…”—she pauses, giving Clarence an apologetic look—“was not.” Clarence looks nonplussed. Oh. That’s what he would expect. Hildy looks back at the fire. “Surely she wasn’t going there because of wanting to attend such a meeting. And how would she have known of it anyway?”
“Overheard nurses talking about it at the asylum?” Olive suggests. “And people change. Not always for the better.”
Hildy looks at Olive, irritated with her insinuation about Thea possibly wishing to j
oin in such a hateful meeting—and a sense of defensiveness rises swiftly. “After Thea went to the house, where did the two of you go?”
Everyone goes silent. Hildy’s face flames as she realizes what she’s implied—the possibility that they might be lying, might have harmed Thea. No, surely not—but they’d have motive, wouldn’t they? To keep Thea from telling the WKKK about them? They only have Clarence’s and Olive’s word that Thea broke from them and ran into the WKKK meeting at the old Dyer farm.
Jurgis clears his throat. “The both of you need to get out of town.”
“No one else saw us,” Olive says.
“Are you sure ’bout that?” Marvena asks. “That Margaret Dyer was asking Hildy about you two, after all.”
“I’m not leaving. My work isn’t done—” Clarence says.
“And my students. I can’t abandon them—” Olive says.
“You have to go. For your own safety.” Tom looks worried. “Olive back to Boston, Clarence to New York, maybe not at the same time, ’cause that’ll look suspicious, but—”
“No!” Hildy’s voice ratchets and ricochets around the cave. She squares her shoulders as everyone looks at her. “As deputy sheriff, I have to speak up on the side of the law. Lily will want to question you, about what you saw that night—”
“A bunch of people who’d like nothing more than to string us both up!” Olive cries.
“Well, as deputy sheriff also—” Marvena stops as everyone looks at her. She shrugs. “What? Lily needed to make tracking that poor old woman official.” She gives Hildy a pointed look. “Nothing worth fussing over.”
Hildy shrinks back. It is important, serving the law. Working for Lily. She can see in Marvena’s face that she knows it, too.
“Anyway, I agree with Hildy,” Marvena says. “Clarence can stay another few days. Jurgis and Tom—you can keep an eye on him, ears to the ground if there’s trouble?”
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