by Harper Lin
This scratching didn’t stop, though, and it sounded as if something was trying to get through the wall to Becky. She didn’t dare move as she waited for it to pass. What was she afraid of? It was just an animal scurrying inside the wall. It wasn’t like those two mounds of dirt inside the shed just a few yards away. Becky suddenly became very cold.
A window opened high above her. She could hear a female voice singing softly, like a mother might sing a lullaby. But the tone of the woman’s voice didn’t sound soothing. It was raspy, and the words sounded jumbled and incoherent. Becky looked up.
Leaning almost completely out the window was the woman with the purple scarf around her head. Like she had been at the cemetery, she was suspended at an unnatural angle, and her head was slowly scanning back and forth as if she was looking for something.
She’s not looking for something. She’s looking for you, Rebecca.
Becky didn’t move. She didn’t breathe. She didn’t blink. She stared at the grotesque, unnatural thing that was surveying the land like a dog might patrol its property.
Just then, from the woods came Mr. Tobin. He lumbered back to the house, stomped up the porch steps, and slammed the door behind him. The woman withdrew into the house as if someone had yanked her backward. But there was no shouting, no yelling. It was silent like a tomb. Becky realized that the sounds of nature had stopped. She remembered what she had seen when this same blanket of muteness had settled over the Old Brick Cemetery. She didn’t want to see any more.
Pulling strength up from the very bottoms of her feet, Becky tore off for the woods. She was afraid her footsteps were even louder than they had been in the bone yard. It was as if she was running across glass, shattering it with each step. But it was just leaves and brush. She was thankful she’d worn her pants, as they were tugged and yanked in all directions by the sticker bushes she was plowing through. Her heart was pounding in her ears, and she panted like a wild animal, gulping air into her burning lungs. She didn’t stop. She couldn’t. Something would pop up behind her and drag her back to the Tobin place, and no one would ever hear from her again.
She kept running until she got to the remains of Mr. Ruthmeyer’s home. Just a few steps and she’d be on her daddy’s property. That was home.
She stopped and tried to catch her breath and listen. If anything was behind her, she couldn’t see it or hear it. With one last gulp of air, she ran to the safety of the tobacco field.
It was as if a door had shut behind her as soon as she touched the property. A feeling of relief and security swept over her, and she stopped to regain her composure. Her hair was a sweaty mess beneath her hat. When she tried to tuck her blouse back inside her trousers, she felt that they were both covered with burrs.
“What in the world was all that?” Becky mused, confident she was safe as she made her way back home. It felt as if she’d been gone for hours. Any minute, the sky would start to lighten, and the new day would begin.
But as she hurried toward her house, she heard a car pulling down the road. She peeked through the leaves and was sure it was Teddy’s auto. Was Fanny in the car? Was Martha? Were they dropping Fanny off or looking for Becky?
Suddenly Becky had the image of her mother stopping in her room to check on her, only to see she’d shinnied down the trellis again. There was no describing the trouble she’d be in. Forgetting the Tobins for the moment, Becky began to jog home. But when she got there, nothing was like she’d imagined.
Chapter Eleven
The house was quiet. The porch lights were on. Everything looked normal. Had Kitty been tipped off that Becky wasn’t home, there would be a faint light in her drawing room, where she’d be waiting up. But everything was dark.
Becky shinnied up the trellis and quietly slipped into her room. She snapped on the delicate lamp on her desk and let out a long, tired sigh. Before she could let herself relax, she pulled off her hat and pants and inspected the burrs stuck to everything. It would be an impossible project to pull each one out of the fabric.
“I’ll worry about that tomorrow,” she muttered. Without making a sound, she opened her bedroom door and walked down the hallway. The clock on the table at the edge of the stairs read ten minutes to one.
“That can’t be. It felt like I was gone for hours,” Becky whispered.
Doubting the time on this clock, she went downstairs to look at the grandfather clock that had been right as rain for as long as she could remember. When she looked at it, she was even more frustrated. It said nine to one.
“Ugh.” She shrugged and went back to her room.
The last few hours, whether it had been two or ten, swirled around in her head, mixing into a soup of more mystery and questions than she’d had when she first snuck out of her house. Inside her fortress, Becky picked up her sketchbook and quickly jotted down the images she had seen that evening. The remains of the Ruthmeyer house, the Tobin homestead, the strange statues and plaques on and around the house, and the horrifying mounds of dirt inside that lonely shack were all transferred onto Becky’s pages.
When she drew the woman with the purple head scarf, she felt a shiver run over her. How had she been able to hang out the window without falling?
Becky swallowed and shut the book. She yawned, stretched her arms over her head, and climbed into bed. Normally, she’d leave the window open and let the cool breeze float over her while she snuggled beneath the warmth of her blankets. But tonight, she shut the window and slipped the lock into place. After switching off the light, she stood in the darkness for a moment, letting her eyes adjust. She looked out the window. Nothing moved. There wasn’t even a breeze. But Becky got the feeling there was something out there, hiding in the shadows like she had been.
That was when she saw the tiny flicker of light out at the cemetery. Someone was out there again. Becky didn’t dare go investigate. They’d get a clean sneak tonight. Becky told herself she was all in, and that was why she wasn’t going to investigate.
The truth was she was getting the heebie-jeebies, and no droppers were going to get the goods on her in her own backyard. Nope. She was staying put.
Becky thought of the little girl who had been crying when she first saw the men with their mouths sewn closed. She had said that they were stealing the dirt and disturbing the old folks. Tomorrow, Becky would go to the cemetery when the sun was high and bright in the sky and nothing could be hiding in the shadows.
When she woke up the following morning, she felt as if she was barely running on two cylinders. Her legs ached, and when she looked at all the dirt and debris she’d tracked into her room, she gasped. Her clothes were covered in burrs that pricked Becky’s fingers as she tried to remove them.
“Rats,” she said.
“Miss Becky?” Moxley asked through the door. “Your mama be waitin’ for you in the dining room.”
“Thanks, Moxley,” Becky replied. “What time is it?”
“Almost ten.”
Becky’s eyes bugged, and she gasped. Almost ten? What was happening?
Within five minutes, she had scrubbed her face, gargled with Listerine until she spat out the burning liquid, brushed her hair, and dressed in one of her mother’s favorite dresses. Yes, it was a pitiful attempt at gaining favor with her after having a blah attitude over yesterday’s lunch and then sleeping in like a hobo at a bus station. She dashed down the stairs, nearly colliding with Fanny.
“Who would have thought that a day of civilized shopping and not cavorting through a graveyard would wear you out?” Fanny asked with a smile.
“Yeah, I guess that was it. Did you go out last night?” Becky asked, remembering the car she had heard just as she was coming from the Tobin farm.
“Well, yes. It was great fun.” She smoothed the front of her new dress, which was such a bright yellow she could be spotted from a mile away.
“Becky?” Kitty called.
“Excuse me, Fanny. Mama’s calling.” Becky shuffled past her cousin and found her mother sitti
ng at the dining room table with a cup of coffee in front of her.
“Hi, Mama. I don’t know what came over me. I was plumb tuckered out.”
Becky strolled up to Kitty and kissed her playfully on the head before taking her seat.
Moxley brought her a cup of coffee, and she declined any food. She didn’t want to be a burden and force Lucretia to cook something special when she’d obviously missed breakfast.
“Becky, do you know a man by the name of Adam White?” Kitty asked with a sly look on her face.
Becky nearly spit up her coffee.
“Um, well, yes, uhm. I think I do. I’d probably recognize his face. Why?” Becky’s heart was pounding in her chest.
“He came calling this morning,” Kitty said.
“He what?” Becky barked. “Why would he do that?”
“He’s a Yankee,” Kitty said, pinching her lips together.
“Yes. I think I remember him being a Yankee,” Becky stuttered. “But there are quite a few Yankees around, and they’re fine gents.”
“I don’t know how I feel about you cavorting around with a Yankee. Here I’ve been introducing you to the finest Southern thoroughbreds, and you insist on turning your nose up at them.” Kitty cleared her throat. “I’m going to talk with your father about it.”
“Talk to him about what?” Becky just knew this was going to end badly, but she couldn’t help the words that were forming in her mouth. If she could just hold them back a little longer.
“I’m going to talk to him about this Adam White fellow, who thinks he can arrive on our doorstep unannounced and ask to speak with my one and only child.” Kitty took a calm sip of coffee, her eyes never leaving her daughter’s.
“And when do you plan on talking to me about this?”
“I’m talking to you right now, Becky. Fanny has said that you’ve painted the town with this man and that he’s also made advances to her.” Kitty blinked. “You might think I’m doing this to be cruel, but I’m looking out for your well-being and trying to protect your reputation.”
“Mama, I am twenty-two years old. I can make my own decisions about who I cavort with. Mr. White is a hardworking man with a good family that just happens to be from the North,” Becky stated.
“You’ve met his family?” Kitty’s right eyebrow shot up as she asked this question.
“No. But he’s told me all about them. He works as a pressman. It’s a respectable profession, Mama, and he’s…”
“And he’s flirting with your cousin Fanny when you aren’t available. That does not sound respectable to me. Now when I talk to your father…”
“You can’t tell me that you are actually taking Fanny’s word about this? Mama, you see how she acts whenever you invite anyone over to the house.” Becky was trying to stay calm. It was as if she was surrounded by swarming bees but knew if she swatted, they’d sting her. She was helpless.
“Rebecca, you are my daughter, and I think you are beautiful and intelligent. It isn’t my fault that Fanny has the kind of confidence I wish you had. You spend so much time in that cemetery. And don’t mistake me, I love Teddy and Martha. But Fanny is a completely different person since she went off to Paris. She was exposed to culture and cuisine and different kinds of people. It made her a very interesting person.” Kitty smiled, but Becky wasn’t buying.
“It made her a snob. Not that she was ever pleasant to begin with,” Becky replied. “So did you shoo Mr. White away for good, or will he be back?”
Kitty cleared her throat. “I’m sure I don’t know. I told him you were unavailable and that he should send word he’s calling next time.”
Becky could have pointed out her mother’s hypocrisy if she were looking for a long fight. She could have dragged it out for hours, if not days, reminding her mother that meeting new people meant meeting Northerners, too. And in Savannah, if a girl knew too many strangers, well, there was a name that might be associated with that sort of reputation. But she pinched her lips together.
“Where is Daddy? Can we have this talk with him now?” Becky asked.
“He’s out in the fields and can’t be bothered. We’ll discuss it tonight. Your father and I will discuss this tonight.”
“Are you sure you don’t want Fanny there, too? I’m sure she’s had some experience in Paris that will help you decide my life for me,” Becky added before standing from the table.
“I don’t think I like your tone, young lady.”
“It seems to me that you don’t like much about me, Mama. But thank goodness Fanny is here. At least she can keep up appearances.”
Becky stormed out of the dining room and once again caught Fanny lingering just outside the door as if she were preoccupied with some discoloration in the wallpaper.
Becky huffed and stormed outside without saying another word. She headed toward the cemetery for spite if nothing else. As she walked, her mind was a jumble of quips she wished she’d said. She loved her mother, but this was getting to be too much. Kitty didn’t like the idea of her daughter being unwed at such an old age. But worse, she didn’t like that her daughter wasn’t interested in the busters Kitty was introducing her to. Fanny fawned all over anyone that came to the house even though Becky knew she wouldn’t give any one of them the time of day if she ran into them on the street.
Before she realized it, she’d walked to the far end of the cemetery, where the old entrance still stood. And just outside that entrance, she saw a flivver that looked familiar.
“I was hoping if I waited, I might catch you,” Adam shouted from the front seat of his car.
Everything Becky had been thinking melted away as she looked at his clean-shaven face and neatly combed hair.
“You look like the cat’s pajamas. You get all dolled up for Fanny?” Becky asked, only half kidding.
“Don’t move,” Adam said as he shut off his car and hopped out. He was dressed in neat slacks with suspenders and a starched, clean shirt.
Becky thought he had stepped right out of a postcard. She stood still and waited as he approached. He stood right in front of her, looking down his strong, broad chest and smirking.
“No, I didn’t get dolled up to see Fanny. I got dolled up to see your mother.” He chuckled. “But I think she heard my accent and made her decision.”
Becky took a deep breath and slowly nodded.
“Did I get you in trouble?”
“You know me, Adam. A day without trouble is like a day without sunshine,” Becky chirped, putting her hands on her hips.
“Trouble is your middle name. And I don’t like spending a day without trouble in it either. What’s the big idea leaving me at Willie’s?” He took her right hand in his big paw.
“I’m sorry about that. I was just so frustrated. Fanny’s got everyone wrapped around her little finger, and when you…”
“When I what?” He folded his arms across his chest.
Becky could have swooned. Adam had to know how handsome he was and that he was using it to weaken her knees.
“When you let her manipulate you the way she does everyone else, it makes me…”
Becky gasped when Adam took hold of her by the shoulders. It wasn’t violent or scary. Quite the opposite. He stooped down and looked into her eyes.
“Rebecca Madeline Mackenzie, the only woman who has ever or will ever have me wrapped around their finger is you.” He leaned even closer to her. “Tell me you believe me.”
“I…believe you,” she said, her voice just over a whisper.
“That doesn’t sound like you do.” He let his lips brush against her skin.
“I do, Adam. I believe you.”
“Good. Now kiss me.”
Becky smiled, wrapped her arms around Adam’s thick neck, and pulled him to her. Now she was sure time stood still. Under the dilapidated entrance of the Old Brick Cemetery, Adam and Becky kissed, making it the most romantic place on Earth.
After a few moments of kisses slipped in between apologies and even a few
wisecracks, Adam took Becky’s hand and began to stroll with her farther into the bone yard.
“What is it you like about this place?” Adam asked.
“It’s peaceful. And the spirits are friendly.” She winked at Adam. “They accept me, and I am very grateful for that. It’s a shame the people alive in my house can’t be the same way.”
The moss hanging from the trees provided not only cool shade but privacy that Becky and Adam rarely found anyplace else. They kissed a bit more, and Becky had all but forgotten about her adventure the night before until they came to a sight that made Becky almost cry.
“What happened here?” Adam said, pointing to a hole in the dirt.
“Oh no. It looks like someone has tampered with this grave,” Becky replied. “This is where…they were.”
“Who?” Adam asked.
Becky explained what had happened the night they’d had their fight. That she’d cut through the cemetery and found people here. She left out no details.
“Sewn shut? Their mouths were sewn shut. Are you sure?”
“Yes, and then last night, I…” Becky wanted to tell Adam about her discoveries of the previous night. But she was suddenly overwhelmed by voices crying and yelling and begging for her help. She was sure she heard that little girl who had been crying the night she saw the men with their mouths sewn shut and the woman with the purple head scarf.
“Beck. Are you okay?”
“Do you hear them? Do you hear them crying?” She took hold of his arm to steady herself.
“I don’t hear anything but us. What is it?”
“They’re all talking at once. I can’t understand what they are saying, but it has something to do with this.” She pointed to the disturbed graves. “They’re using the soil. The ground that these people are buried in is blessed, and they are using it for something…unholy.”
“How do you know this? What are you talking about?” Adam looked very worried as he held Becky in his arms.
