And since no one worth believing wanted to tell her the truth, she was left with only one source of information—her mother’s diary. She wondered if she could find anything of significance amid things like:
Oct 25 – Loaned dress patterns to Miss Piper.
Nov 6 – Verity skinned her knee playing with the McClure children.
There was only one diary entry Verity thought might be important. On October 30, her mother wrote:
Went to Mrs. Needham’s house for a sewing bee but did not stay. They kept talking about what happened at the cemetery last August, and I cannot abide it.
That was interesting, but not nearly informative enough.
As she searched for something to explain the accusations made against her mother, she got closer and closer to the end of Sarah Ann Boone’s life.
Nov 8 – Mrs. Cahill was by today and brought cabbage juice. Could not keep it down.
Nov 9 – Ransloe held my head while I puked today. I was not sick for this long carrying Verity. Everybody says it must be a boy this time.
Nov 10 – Asenath has it bad too.
And then there were the last entries in the diary. Her mother must have been very sick when she wrote her final lines, and Verity did not turn the page to look at them again.
When Nate arrived that afternoon, he found her sitting in the dining room with her foot wrapped and propped on a neighboring chair. Vines and ribbons covered the table, and the kitten was batting his paw at anything that dangled over the edge and then fleeing if the item bounced back.
Nate carried a basket of fresh strawberries in one hand and a small bouquet of flowers in the other. “This is from my mother,” he explained, setting down the basket. He handed the flowers directly to Verity. “These are from me.”
“Thank you,” she said, bending her head over the blossoms.
But Nate had spotted her reddened eyes. “You’ve been crying,” he said, dropping down to squat beside her so their faces were level. “Are you in pain? Do you want me to fetch a doctor?”
“No.” Heaven help her if she had to deal with Hadley Jones in the same room as Nate!
“Then what’s wrong?”
Verity sighed. She slipped the notebook out from under the vines on the table and handed it to him. “It’s my mother’s diary.”
Nate met her eyes with a startled expression. He immediately turned to the back of the diary. “Oh, Verity . . . why are you reading this? Why would you torture yourself?”
“Because no one will tell me what happened!” She couldn’t keep the frustration out of her voice. “Nate, won’t you—?”
“I was three years old when she died. I don’t know what happened. I’ve heard stories,” he admitted. “Every child in this town has heard stories about those graves—ghosts and treasure, the walking dead, and—” He faltered a bit. “Witches. But I haven’t believed any of that since I was seven. And I don’t think you can find out what really happened by reading this.” He held up the notebook.
“You can’t be sure of that. Besides, I never knew my mother. This diary is all I have of her. Oh, Lucky, stop.” She made a grab at a coil of vine that was sliding toward the edge of the table and missed. The pile went over, spilling onto the floor and narrowly missing the kitten. He shot out of the dining room like an arrow.
“That’s right,” Nate called after Lucky. “Make a mess and run away.” He scooped up the vines and ribbons, put them back on the table, and then fetched a chair from the end of the table to sit next to Verity. “I understand what you’re saying,” he said, laying the notebook down on the table, “but this must be painful for you to read.”
“You used to visit here.” Verity retrieved the notebook and opened it to the right page. He leaned forward to look, and they both read the entry, their heads close together.
After a moment he sat back in his chair and graced her with one of his rare smiles. “I remember that,” Nate said. “I remember coming to this house to play with a girl who had golden curls. Several times. And then she wasn’t here anymore.”
“I don’t remember you.”
“It’s probably for the best. I’m told I was a terror.” Suddenly a thought seemed to cross his mind. “If you want to know more about your mother, why don’t you read her other diaries?”
“Her other diaries?”
“This probably wasn’t the first one. My sister Carrie kept a diary for years and filled up dozens of notebooks. I peeked into them whenever possible.”
Verity flipped back to the first page, where the entries began quite suddenly in the October before her mother died. It had not occurred to her that keeping a diary was a lifetime practice. Hadn’t her father told her there were more of her mother’s belongings in the attic?
“Nate,” she said, “would you do something for me?”
Fifteen
VERITY PEERED up the cramped and narrow attic staircase. Above her, objects shifted, scraping across wooden planks. She heard Nate’s footsteps, the unmistakable sound of him barking his shin, followed by muffled swearing.
“Are you all right?” she called up. Receiving only silence for an answer, she raised her voice. “Nate?”
His voice carried down from above. “Found ’em.”
She heard his footsteps descending, and then he appeared around the curve of the staircase carrying a wooden box. Nate set it on the floor, and Verity knelt to lift the lid. Two piles of notebooks had been carefully stacked inside with newspapers between them. There were at least two dozen diaries—years and years of her mother’s life for Verity to read. She raised a tearful face to Nate and smiled.
He looked perplexed. “Does this make you happy?”
“Yes,” she said, standing and plucking a cobweb off his shoulder.
“Good.” He captured her hand and brought it to his mouth, brushing his lips against the backs of her fingers. But his eyes were on her face, as if he was seriously thinking about leaning forward to give her a more intimate kiss.
Verity froze. She’d come to the conclusion that Nate was everything his sisters said he was—earnest and kind and hard working, and sometimes rather sweet. But the memory of Hadley Jones’s arms encircling her as he carried her out of the swamp was still too vivid. If Nate kissed her now and she felt nothing . . . she would know something about herself she really didn’t want to know.
Nate let go of her hand. “I should get back to work,” he said, backing away.
She watched him take the stairs down to the front door with a strange mixture of feelings: relief that he hadn’t tested her affection; disappointment that he’d chosen prudence over passion; and guilt, for she felt certain he would have kissed her, given the slightest encouragement.
Sarah Ann Boone could not abide cruelty, and when the townsfolk were unkind to her sister-in-law, it raised her ire.
Sept 20 – Mrs. Applebee cut Asenath dead on the street yesterday, and today I gave her a piece of my mind.
As far as Verity could tell from the diaries, her mother had been Asenath Thomas’s sole defender and friend. For some reason the townfolk of Catawissa had despised the pure-faced, fair-haired beauty. Entry after entry recorded slights to Asenath that angered Sarah Ann Boone. Verity was gratified to see that her two-year-old self had been less judgmental.
Sept 17 – Asenath sang Verity to sleep today. She has the voice of an angel.
Nevertheless, her uncle’s first wife had been a little strange, and even Sarah Ann’s patience wore thin at times.
Sept 21 – I had to scold Asenath for giving out her charms. It was like kicking a puppy. She does it out of generosity, and I cannot make her understand how it looks to others.
Charms? What kinds of charms?
Sept 30 – Asenath came to me because she thought she might be expecting, but she was not sure of the symptoms. She can count no better than she can read or write, but as near as I can calculate, she must be due six weeks after me.
Verity became so curious about her young aunt th
at she leafed back through the pages seeking her name until she finally found the passage where Asenath appeared in the diary for the first time.
In April 1852, Sarah Ann Boone wrote:
John has taken up with one of Eli Clayton’s daughters. Mother is beside herself!
A few days later she added:
John is still seeing Asenath Clayton. He brought her to church on Sunday. She held the hymnal upside down and John had to turn it around. We thought Mother might faint.
Verity opened her mother’s trunk and dug out the picture of Uncle John and Asenath. This sweet-faced, fairy-princess creature had been a Clayton? No wonder her grandmother had been upset! Knowing Asenath’s origin didn’t make the girl in the photograph any less beautiful. Verity couldn’t tell if she had all her teeth; Cissy Clayton was missing several of hers.
According to the diary, John Thomas’s courtship of Asenath Clayton turned the town on its ear and blighted many hopes.
Half the girls in Catawissa had their sights set on John. He has broken all their hearts—from Miss McClure to Miss Piper. Mother wishes he would pick any one of them over Asenath.
Verity’s grandmother dragged every eligible girl in Catawissa up to the Thomas house for tea, hoping to tempt her son into choosing one of them. Sarah Ann, by contrast, made it a point to welcome her brother’s sweetheart and claimed to be the only person unsurprised when John married Asenath before the end of May. Everyone will be watching her waistline carefully, Verity’s mother predicted, but John swears to me he has not done what everybody thinks he has done.
After the wedding, Verity’s grandmother resigned herself to the new daughter-in-law.
Father had a word with Mother, and she is now behaving herself.
Sarah Ann Boone coached her sister-in-law in the social niceties she was lacking. It was hard for Verity to imagine the dainty girl in the photograph eating with elbows on the table and walking barefoot through town, but she had no trouble believing her uncle found it highly amusing.
John says Asenath is his unspoiled angel and has no pretensions. Mother replied that she wished Asenath would at least pretend she was not raised in a barn.
Although Verity’s mother agreed her sister-in-law had appalling manners, she wrote in her diary that she was willing to forgive Asenath anything if the girl provided a solid foundation for her brother’s life.
June 10 – Thank heavens John has finally found something he loves more than his ridiculous treasure hunting.
So it was true! Ransloe Boone’s involvement was confirmed by an entry made a few days later.
June 17 – Asenath hungers for that cursed gold as much as my brother. I could shake her! I suppose John will be dragging Ransloe out to the Shades all summer when he is supposed to be working our land. And I thought I had finally convinced Ransloe to give it up.
As hard as it was to imagine, her father had once been an adventurer, hunting for a legendary payroll of gold coins. Furthermore, it was common knowledge in Catawissa, and according to Nate’s sisters, some people believed he and his brother-in-law had actually found the treasure. Looking around the sparse household kept by Ransloe Boone, Verity couldn’t imagine why anyone suspected her father possessed a fortune in gold.
Then, she remembered they didn’t think that. They thought he’d buried the gold with his wife inside an iron cage. Why? Out of guilt, grief, maybe regret?
It couldn’t be true.
Could it?
Sixteen
AUNT CLARA paid a social call the next day. Verity would not have minded the visit if Liza hadn’t come with her. The girl’s sullen expression showed that she had been dragged along against her will. Liza eyed Verity’s wrapped ankle with a frown, and Verity thought her cousin was probably wishing she had twisted her neck instead.
Aunt Clara inquired about the grave wreaths, and nothing would do but for Verity to bring them out for her inspection. When she limped back to her seat and put her foot up on a stool, Aunt Clara shook her head. “If you want to be a farm wife, you’re going to have to toughen up. Nathaniel has ambitions for this land. He’s going to expect you to do your part.”
“I will do my part,” Verity replied indignantly, but her aunt talked right over her.
“He doesn’t need a coddled city wife any more than a farm needs a cat that doesn’t catch mice.” Aunt Clara waved a hand at Lucky, curled up asleep on the cushioned back of the settee. “Nathaniel’s had his eye on this property ever since he got a taste for running it when your father went to war. He’s only been waiting for you to grow up enough for marriage.”
Verity bit her lip. According to Nate’s letters, his mother had been the one to suggest the marriage—and he hadn’t been keen on it. I expected a brief correspondence with you would put an end to the whole foolish plan, Nate had written shortly before he’d proposed. Instead, I find myself wanting to shake the postmaster every day he does not have a letter from you.
“Not that I fault Nathaniel, of course,” her aunt went on. “When you recognize the best of what’s available, you shouldn’t let anything prevent you from obtaining it.”
Verity cast her eyes down, stung for reasons she couldn’t explain. She knew very well that her land was more valuable than her person, except perhaps to Hadley Jones.
Liza looked particularly sour at the mention of Verity’s impending marriage. She couldn’t contain her hands any longer. Snatching one of the wreaths off the table, she began to untie Verity’s ribbons and rearrange them. Verity opened her mouth to object, then closed it. Liza’s work was sure to be better than her own.
“If your ankle pains you, take some of the medicine I gave you,” Aunt Clara continued. “Do you still have it?”
Verity hadn’t been able to find the packet her aunt had given her. She’d searched for it just last night, when her throbbing ankle had kept her awake. Even though she knew she’d look like a featherbrained fool, she had no intention of lying. “I—” she began.
The front door slammed. “Mama! Are you here? Liza!”
Samuel and Stephen burst into the parlor, tousled and dirty and indistinguishable. “Mama! Mama!” they cried in tandem.
“You’ll never guess—”
“—what happened to Piper!”
Aunt Clara eyed them over her cup of tea. “Is the blood dripping or gushing?” she asked, unperturbed.
“No blood, Mama! He was grabbed by bandits—”
“—but he got away!”
Liza reached out and cuffed the nearest twin in the ear. “What have we said about telling fibs?”
“Ow, Liza!”
“It ain’t a fib, neither!”
“It’s true!” Piper appeared in the doorway, his face flushed with excitement. “Two men grabbed me in the woods! They tried to catch Samuel and Stephen, but—”
“I went up a tree!” shouted one twin.
“And I got clean away!” hollered the other.
Aunt Clara frowned and set down her cup. “Are you telling me the truth?”
The twin who’d been in the tree pointed a finger at Piper. “The one with the scar picked him up and held him in the air—asked him where Papa has the treasure hidden!”
Their mother hissed in aggravation. “I should have known!”
“I kicked him in his ugly old mug!” Piper said proudly. “And he dropped me! I ran like the dickens and hollered I was gonna fetch the sheriff. Then they left Sam in the tree and run off in the woods.”
“Was it a scar across his eye, like this?” Verity drew a line with her finger across the corner of her left eye and down her cheek.
Piper wrinkled his brow and looked at Verity as though she’d lost her mind. “You mean Hawk? Nah, it weren’t him. This fellow had one side of his face all puckered.”
“Former soldiers, most likely,” Aunt Clara said. “It’s been like this ever since the war ended—people drifting through, looking for jobs. Worse, some of them are deserters, can’t go home, and they’re mostly looking for wha
t they can steal—thinking a fortune is going to turn up at their feet.”
Verity wondered what her aunt thought of her husband’s youthful treasure-hunting days. “Like Revolutionary War gold?”
“Or Confederate silver,” Aunt Clara said. “Or a chest of Blackbeard’s jewels. According to the foolish and the ignorant, we’ve got everything stashed in these mountains except Queen Victoria’s crown.” She pierced her sons with her no-nonsense gaze. “Keep close to home and out of the woods for a few days. Drifters will pass on soon enough.”
Liza put the improved wreaths back on the table. She stood up and left the room, shooing the boys before her. Verity turned to her aunt and asked, “Who’s Hawk—the man with the scar across his eye?” Piper apparently knew the fellow who’d frightened her in the Shades.
“Hawk Poole. Where did you meet him?”
“In the woods. On the day I hurt my ankle.”
Her aunt nodded. “Hawk works for Dr. Robbins—keeps his horses and his carriage. I suppose he was with Jones when they found you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Hawk guides that apprentice through the swamp, to make sure he doesn’t get lost. That’s what they were doing when they found you, isn’t it?” asked Aunt Clara. “Collecting herbs?”
The Caged Graves Page 10
