Grave Heritage

by Blanche Day Manos

  “You can see things as they are,” I said, picking up little Darcy Ann and settling her onto my lap. The twins—my namesake and her brother Drew—had grown inches since I last saw them. I made a silent vow to visit more often as Amy’s children grew up.

  “It’s about Grant, isn’t it?” Amy asked, taking a plastic ball out of her son’s mouth.

  “Why do you think that?” I asked. “Can’t best friends get together for a chat without one of them becoming suspicious?”

  Shaking her head, Amy said, “Just about the only time you make the drive out here to the ranch, is because you want to discuss that handsome lawman of yours.”

  “Mine? I would say he’s not. But that brings up the subject. I’m afraid Grant is going to ask me to marry him.”

  “Why, that’s wonderful!” Amy said. “You two should have been married a long time ago. I told you that! You have so much in common and, I think, despite your first marriage and all those years in between, you still love each other.”

  I set Darcy Ann on the floor beside her brother.

  “That’s the problem. Jake always stands between us even though he’s gone. I can’t forget him, Amy.”

  “Who said you should?” she asked. “Of course you will never forget him. He was a big part of your life for years.”

  I grabbed a sofa cushion and started braiding the fringe. “You don’t understand. I think I still love him.”

  She stared at me for a full twenty seconds without saying a word. This must have been a record for Amy.

  “Want a Coke?” she asked.

  Amy was the only person of my acquaintance who offered Cokes instead of tea or coffee.

  “Oh, for Pete’s sake, Amy! Don’t change the subject.”

  She clinked ice into glasses. “I’m not changing the subject. I’m thinking.”

  “Okay, well, don’t take all day.”

  Handing me a frosty glass, she sat beside me.

  “Do you mind if I say something?”

  The soft drink tasted cool, sweet, and refreshing. “My goodness, no! That’s why I came.”

  Amy shook her head at Drew. “You have your orange juice, honey. Cokes are not good for little fellows.” Turning to me, she said, “I think the arrival in town of your handsome preacher has brought back memories of Jake, and you are feeling torn.”

  So Amy had noticed the resemblance too. My sip of Coke caught in my throat. I coughed and sputtered. “Well, I never heard of…”

  Amy grinned. “I’m right, am I not?”

  “Okay. You’re maybe about halfway right, but isn’t that dumb? I feel so stupid.”

  Amy quirked an eyebrow. “You shouldn’t, you know. Love can play tricks on a person.”

  “How would you know?” I asked. “You and Jack have been happily married for years. You have a wonderful marriage.”

  Amy stared down at her glass. “Yes, we do. Now. But, have you forgotten my marriage to Rex?”

  “As a matter of fact, I had for a moment. Sorry.”

  Amy’s first marriage occurred while Jake and I were living in Dallas. Now I remembered her phone calls and her tears.

  One corner of her mouth quirked up. “It’s okay. Sometimes I forget too. Yes, Jack and I have a great marriage, Darcy. It’s too bad, though, that past memories can’t be simply erased. The only thing I can tell you is that Trace Hughes, as handsome and appealing as he is, is not Jake. Neither is he Grant. With a little encouragement from you, I think Trace would gladly be at your beck and call. My advice is to go slowly. Grant has loved you forever. Love is enduring but it is also fragile. You shouldn’t take that lightly.”

  “It’s not just my fickle heart, Amy. Grant is married to his job. He is a lawman. When trouble happens anywhere in the county, he drops whatever, and off he goes! I would always take second place. Besides, his job is dangerous. What if he is killed? I don’t think I could stand being a widow a second time.”

  Amy sighed. “Life has no guarantees. We need to cherish those we love for what time we are allotted. The past is over and done with, Darcy. You can’t bring it back through Trace Hughes. No one is assured of the future. What we have is the present. You know that, as well as I do.”

  “Yes,” I said, squeezing her hand. “I do know. Thanks for reminding me.”

  We clinked glasses.

  “Hey!” she said. “That’s what friends are for.”

  “Do you remember the time we double-dated at the old drive-in north of town? I was with Grant and you were with…I forgot his name.”

  Grinning, she said, “Brad Dennis. Yes, I remember. We saw a re-run of a re-run. It was Gone With the Wind and we both started crying at the end when Rhett walked away. Brad got mad and said he didn’t see anything to cry about and Rhett Butler was nothing special.”

  Laughing so hard I wiped tears from my eyes, I said, “Those were fighting words! And when Brad called us dumb broads, Grant told him he’d better watch his mouth and Brad shoved him and Grant yanked him out of the car.”

  Amy nodded. “Some of the kids spilled out of their cars and started yelling, ‘Fight, fight’ and the manager came and told us we’d better leave.”

  “That was some double date! Did you ever go out with Brad again?”

  “Are you kidding? No, never! What a dweeb. I’m glad you thought of that, Darcy. Grant was your champion then, and to my way of thinking, he still is.”

  Slipping to the floor, I gathered the twins in my arms, and gave them a quick squeeze.

  “You’re right, as usual,” I said. “Level-headed with sound advice, that’s you, Amy.”

  “Any advice I have, Darcy, is given with the best intentions ’cause I love you too, dear friend.”

  Chapter 34

  Tossing and turning that night, I watched the hands of my bedside clock creep to midnight, then one. Finally, I could lie there no longer. Easing from under the sheet so I would not disturb Jethro, I slid from bed and padded to the window. Moonlight lit the herb garden and dark woods beyond. Through the open window came the roar of swollen Lee Creek. I hoped our new bridge was sturdy enough to withstand the force of the water. July’s unprecedented rains would certainly test the strength of the sturdy timbers.

  My mind would not shut off the images of recent happenings. The excitement of finding that the ghost was none other than Melanie Hughes still had my adrenalin pumping. And Jasper—why was that young man always at the heart of so many puzzles? Hopefully, he would go home and Pat would no longer be worried about his whereabouts.

  My heart sang with the knowledge that Melanie Hughes was safe with Miss Georgia and Miss Carolina. Now if we could just locate her brother!

  Visiting with Amy had an energizing rather than a calming effect. What fun we’d had as teenagers, and how lucky that she and Jack still lived in Ventris County.

  Even though my body should have been ready for sleep, my mind would not cooperate. The day had not been conducive for slumber. Should I go downstairs and brew a cup of tea? Coffee would probably be too much for my agitated nerves.

  My mother and I had not made our planned trip to Ben’s farm after all. What was happening there? Would the intruder return tonight? If I were he, I would. The ground was soft from the rains, and the moon was bright, a perfect combination for furtive digging.

  Was Hiram Schuster on guard at the old cellar, or was he snoozing as Mom was? Perhaps we needed a younger person to act as a guard on the farm. After it became a school, a guard would most certainly be in order. With a sinking feeling, I realized that curiosity about what lay buried on the farm would be an ongoing problem.

  At last, I reached a decision. Just as this night would be a good one for digging, it would also be perfect for an investigative reporter to go take a look.

  I had to know whether someone was continuing to dig into that buried cellar on the farm. No way would I disturb my mother’s sleep and ask her to go with me. I would leave a note by her coffee pot and pray that I got back home before she woke up and found
it.

  I stepped into jeans, pulled on a red, short-sleeved knit top, and slipped into a black, long-sleeved cotton shirt. Shod in socks and black boots, I was ready to make the trek to Ben’s farm.

  After scribbling the note to Mom, I picked up my purse, eased open the back door, and tiptoed to the garage. My niggling voice of common sense asked me if I was in my right mind, going off alone in the dead of night with no plan except to see if that mystery trespasser was hard at work. I silenced that pesky voice by telling it that if I found someone digging, I would merely return to my car and call Grant.

  Bright moonlight lit my way. I turned off the car’s lights until safely across our bridge, and again as the Ventris farm came in sight. Thankfully, my car was not white. I hoped I would not be visible to anyone busy with digging. Nothing but the moon guided me into Ben’s driveway.

  No light shone in the main house, and only a dim glow lit the bunk house. I felt sure Hiram left that bulb burning night and day.

  I slid out of the Escape with my flashlight and cell phone, gently pushed the door shut, and gazed around the yard. If Hiram was awake, he might already be at the cellar site.

  Slipping from tree to bush, I walked as softly as my boots allowed. It’s funny how weird things look at night, how lonely and hushed, as if the familiar landscape were an alien planet with no life on it except mine.

  Stopping in the shadow of the farmhouse, I listened; no sound of pickax or shovel disturbed the night. Even the animal and insect noises of the surrounding woods seemed stilled.

  Looking behind me, then right and left, I scurried through the yard until I reached the stone wall dividing the yard from the barnyard. Sinking down behind the wall, I peered over the top at the rounded knoll, beneath which rested secrets Mom and I did not want shared with anybody besides those who already knew, which amounted to Grant Hendley and Jasper Harris. It seemed like eons ago that my mother and I had fled from that cellar with its contents, barely escaping with our lives. I swallowed the bitter, metallic taste which rose in my mouth at those thoughts.

  Bending close to the ground, I darted toward the filled-in cellar, flicking on the flashlight and beaming it downward.

  My toe caught in a freshly-dug ditch. Stumbling, I staggered to my knees as I heard a slight movement behind me. Pain ricocheted off my head and spread down my neck and shoulders. A thousand lights exploded behind my eyelids. Darkness deeper than any night closed around me.

  Chapter 35

  I tried to swat away the annoying light that beamed into my eyes, but my hand did not want to cooperate. A hazy cloud of faces gazed down at me: worried faces, stern faces ... and someone pounded a drum directly into my ears.

  My lips felt dry and my tongue refused to form words. I wanted to ask, “What happened?” but all I could manage was a hoarse bleat, “Wha-a?”

  “She’s awake. Thank God,” Mom said, her voice choked with tears.

  “We’d better call an ambulance,” Grant said.

  “No, wait.” I recognized the voice of Dr. McCauley. “I think she just received a glancing blow to the back of her head. Grant, can you carry her into Hiram’s front room and put her on the sofa?”

  “Sure, sure. That’s the ticket. Get her off the cold, wet ground.” This voice surely belonged to Hiram Schuster.

  “Can walk,” I muttered.

  “Hush,” said Grant. Slowly and gently, he lifted me until my head rested against his shoulder. I felt his heart beating against my face as he carried me to Ben Ventris’s farmhouse.

  Placing me on the sofa, Grant adjusted the pillow Hiram handed him, and Mom pulled an afghan up to my chin.

  “Really,” I muttered. “I’m not dead. I’m all right. Will somebody tell me what happened?”

  Dr. McCauley placed a tablet against my lips and held a glass of water toward me.

  “Take this,” he said. “It will help your headache.”

  Hopeful that the drumbeat in my ears would subside, I did as the doctor ordered.

  “Grant?” I questioned.

  He knelt on the floor beside the sofa and took my hand.

  “When your mother found your note, she phoned me. I brought her out here. Jim drove behind us. We got here as soon as we could, but evidently not before somebody gave you a hard knock on the head. Your mom phoned the doctor. Why’d you do it, Darcy? Why did you come out here alone? Of all the foolhardy…”

  Jim? Jim Clendon was actually here? Turning my head a fraction, I saw Grant’s deputy standing near the door of the living room, twisting his hat round and round. Jim was never my favorite person, but it touched me that he had come to my rescue. In fact, it was such a poignant moment that I began to cry.

  “Now, Grant! Look what you’ve done!” Mom said. “Don’t cry, Darcy. It’s going to be all right.”

  Hiccupping slightly, I closed my eyes. Doc McCauley had the most wonderful medicine. Feeling warm and protected, I dozed off, thankful that the Lord watched over me and grateful for each of the people around me.

  It was daylight when I opened my eyes. Mom lay stretched out in Hiram’s recliner. Grant lay on the floor beside my sofa, his head on a cushion and an afghan covering him. Dr. McCauley dozed in the second recliner. Looking at these, my family and friends, I felt a stab of conscience for putting myself into danger and causing them worry.

  Hiram evidently had gone to bed and Jim had gone, probably to the office in town.

  Raising my head from the pillow, I felt a stab of pain along the back of my neck and my shoulder. I groaned and immediately the three other people in the room opened their eyes and stared at me.

  Doctor McCauley banged down the recliner’s footrest and limped to the sofa.

  “Slept with my leg in a twist,” he said. “How’re you feeling?” He took his stethoscope from around his neck.

  “Better,” I muttered.

  “Hmm. Heart is all right. No fever. Follow my finger with your eyes.”

  I did that to the doctor’s satisfaction, after which he beamed a narrow light into my eyes.

  “Let’s get you up and see how your head feels,” he said.

  After I sat, stood, and took a couple of steps with no problems, the doctor told me I’d live.

  “Just take it easy for a few days,” he said. “And come to my office, soon as you’re up to it.”

  Dr. McCauley left just as Hiram brought coffee.

  “You’re an angel,” I said, taking the steaming cup. Even Mom’s coffee never tasted better than Hiram’s at that moment.

  Mom, Grant, Hiram and I enjoyed the hot caffeine in silence for a few minutes. At last, Grant spoke.

  “Darcy, do you remember anything about what happened? Did you hear or see anybody? Smell anything? Just anything at all before you were knocked unconscious?”

  I have heard people say it made their heads hurt to think. Well, my head really did start to throb as I thought.

  “No one was stirring. I thought Hiram was probably asleep, and…”

  “I was asleep,” Hiram admitted. “I had worked hard on the bunkhouse, meant to go keep watch but I sat down on that sofa there and just conked out. Sorry, Darcy.”

  “Anyway, the only thing I heard was, actually, nothing. No crickets, no owls, no rustling in the bushes. Everything was really quiet. I didn’t see anybody, so I walked toward the cellar, stumbled over a ditch, and fell. That’s all I remember. Except the headache. Oh, that blow hurt.”

  “Probably stumbling saved your life. I’ll go back after good daylight and take a look around,” Grant said. “Miss Flora, can you drive Darcy home?”

  Mom nodded. “Of course.”

  “I’ll help you to your car, Darcy. Promise that you’ll go straight to bed when you get home. D’you hear?”

  “Yes, sir,” I said. Bossy Grant. Always giving orders, but this time they sounded rather endearing. And I planned to obey.

  Chapter 36

  I spent the rest of the day in my bedroom. It was wonderful to snuggle under the sheets, Jethr
o beside me, and doze. Why does trauma make a person tired? I was as limp as a dishrag.

  The next day, however, visitors started arriving. I had not expected this; neither had my mother. I thought we were going to keep quiet about someone digging at Ben’s farm. We sure didn’t want to contribute to the rumor of buried treasure. Somehow, however, word leaked out that Darcy Campbell was injured. Levi was better than the internet for spreading gossip or half-truths.

  I was drinking coffee in the kitchen when Pat came, bringing a bowl of tomato soup.

  “So, Darcy, what happened to you? The way I heard it, you stumbled and hit your head on a stick of firewood when you went out to the school that Flora’s building on Ben’s farm. How on earth could you have stumbled on a stick of wood? Doesn’t Hiram keep things a little neater than that? My goodness! I would have thought he’d have the wood in a nice wood box…” Pat ran out of breath and looked questioningly at Mom.

  I did not know who first told the story of my night attacker, maybe Hiram or Jim? If anybody mentioned it while sitting in Dilly’s café, it would spread like wildfire over town. Looking at Mom, I tried to think of a possible explanation. Surprisingly, she laughed.

  “Oh, my goodness! Pat, rumors sure have a life of their own. Yes, Darcy got a nasty bump on the head, but Dr. McCauley said she’s going to be fine. As for stumbling over a stick of firewood, well…”

  Deciding this was an opportune moment to jump into the conversation, I started to cough. And cough. Mom ran for a glass of water. Pat pounded me on the back.

  Gasping, I changed the subject. “I’ve been meaning to ask about Jasper. Is he home?”

  Pat nodded, her curls bouncing. “More or less. He comes home at night, but right now he is with that little Melanie girl. My Jasper has found another wounded creature to take care of.”

  “Did he talk to Grant?” Mom asked.

  “He did,” Pat said. “Grant told him not to hide out anymore or he’d have Murphy trail him up. Jasper believed him, I’m glad to say.”