by Nicole Seitz
The moon was almost full. Behind the church it illuminated the cemetery and the backs of tombstones, little squares dotting the ground, a tall cross every now and again, a tree, the sidewalks.
After a minute or so I started squirming, and Grandma Mona said, “Let it out, Janie. Take a deep breath.”
I gasped and inhaled and coughed, inhaled again.
“You know, I’ve never been a believer in coming to visit graves,” Grandma Mona said. We stood among the tombstones and she paused before taking the path to the left. “Not on a regular basis, anyway. Occasionally I’d come when there was a funeral or shortly thereafter, a couple times maybe, just to assure myself the person wasn’t coming back. Like my first husband, William. I remember when I heard he’d passed away, your grandfather brought me and your Uncle Fritz to see his grave all the way in Louisiana just so we could say good-bye and have some closure. That’s the kind of man your Poppy was.”
“So we’re coming here to say good-bye and have closure with Poppy? What’s closure?”
“Closure is when you’ve closed that chapter in your life. When you can move on with your life instead of hanging on to the past and what was left behind there. It’s a healthy thing to have closure. Lots of people don’t ever get it. But no. We’re not here to have closure, Janie.” “We’re not?” I was usually smart and good at figuring out what grown-ups had to say, but here, I was stumped.
Grandma Mona put her hands on my shoulders from behind. She pulled me into her legs and held me tight, wrapping her arms around me. I felt the heat of her all over the back of me, and the cool breeze blowing on my face. We stood there looking over Poppy’s grave and all the others, and I felt like running. Then Grandma Mona said, “Oh child, you can say your final good-byes to Poppy. You can try to have some closure there. But what I’m about to tell you might change all that. Honey, we’re here so I can tell you a ghost story.”
I wondered if there could be anything worse than a ghost story in a graveyard. I craned my neck to look up at her but she didn’t look at me, only at Poppy’s tombstone. “But I don’t want a ghost story,” I said. “Not here. Please!”
“Oh honey, I wish it could be different. I do. But I’m afraid there’s no other way.”
I didn’t dare say anything back to her after that. Fear had gripped me and wouldn’t let me go.
Chapter Forty-five
FEELING IS BELIEVING
My eyes had adjusted to the darkness. The bright light from the moon cast deep shadows, turning everything white or black, no colors in between. Grandma Mona said, “The reason I brought you here, Janie, is there’s something on Poppy’s tombstone I want you to see. Like a clue.”
“Like a mystery?”
“Exactly. Like a mystery. You’re a detective, and you must find your first clue. Now this is what I want you to do. Bend down like I am, honey.”
Grandma Mona took my right hand and placed it on the gravestone. I jerked it away. “It’s okay,” she said. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
“But I don’t want to. Cain’t we just come back in the morning when we can see?”
The moonlight on the back of the stone made it impossible to read the front.
“No, Janie. I’m sorry. Now, I want you to listen closely. Just because you are not able to see things hidden in the darkness, doesn’t mean there aren’t things hidden there just the same. I want you to touch this stone and tell me what you learn about it. There are some things you can only learn by feeling. Telling or seeing may not have the same effect.”
“But what if there’s snakes or something?”
“Janie . . .”
I whispered then, “Or what if a hand reaches out and grabs me?” “Honey, that’ll be my hand if you don’t just do what I’m asking you. Now, come on. Be a brave girl and give me your hand.”
Against my better judgment, I did just that. Grandma Mona took my hand, and with her fingers out flat and interlaced with mine, we felt the cold hardness of Poppy’s tombstone. Along the top it was smooth and then an edge. We drifted down to the front of the stone and my fingers touched an indentation. I followed it around and recognized it as the letter G. Then we moved to the next letter and traced it, R. I knew what we were doing now. Rainey and I had played the letter-guessing game many times over the years when we were bored. One person would draw a letter with her finger on the other one’s back. Then you’d have to guess what the other one was trying to say. We taught ourselves so much about letters and reading that way. I wished I was back at the house, drawing letters on Rainey’s back.
Tracing Poppy’s name filled me with sadness and wonder at the same time. How could an entire life be brought to this—a cold hard stone in the middle of a quiet field of stones? A name. No color at all, no hint at what a wonderful, kind, loving person my grandfather was.
I let Grandma Mona guide me. We finished M-A-C-Y, and I took a deep breath. I started to pull away, but she said, “There’s more.”
By this point, I had closed my eyes so I could heighten my sense of touch. The next letter I felt was a long skinny line, an I, maybe, or a lowercase L. The next letter I had to trace a couple times because I couldn’t figure it out. I finally realized it was not a letter at all, but a number, 9. Next number, 2, then a 9 again.
“1929,” I said.
“That’s right. Poppy was born in 1929 at the start of the Great Depression.”
We kept going. I felt a little horizontal line. “That’s a dash,” said Grandma Mona. “It means the expanse of time between then and now.” We found some more numbers, this time 2, 0, and 0. I knew we were coming to the last digit of the year of Poppy’s death. I had rather enjoyed imagining Poppy’s birth and how long ago it was, but the death part had become difficult for me again. I pulled back and Grandma Mona said, “Just one more, honey. I promise. Just one more.”
I figured it couldn’t hurt, and it might help me to get closure. The stone crevices felt even colder beneath my fingertips. I found the last number and my finger started at the top, then swooped around and looped.
“What number is that?” asked Grandma Mona. “I’m not sure I made it out.”
“That’s easy,” I said. “It’s a six.”
And as soon as I said it, I realized something was very, very wrong. “They messed up!” I said. “They messed up Poppy’s tombstone!”
“Shhh,” said Grandma Mona. “There was no mistake. The year is 2006.”
“But . . . it’s not right!”
“It’s right, Janie. Remember I told you I was bringing you here to tell you a ghost story?” Grandma Mona grew perfectly still, and I could hear the bats crying overhead, darting around desperate for food. “Your grandfather died after a long bout with cancer. He died, Janie, two years ago today.”
Chapter Forty-six
THE SEER
{Mona}
What you must understand is, I never wanted any of this, this way. I never wanted to have to tell the child that her grandfather she knew and loved was not real in the sense that living, breathing, humans are real, but more along the lines of a happy apparition, a translucent loved one.
We had walked all night after leaving the cemetery. Janie was too wound up to go home and sleep, and rightly so. Every now and again a bird would chirp or a stray car would pass as the night wore on to morning. I knew Priscilla and Rainey were still at home sleeping for a little while yet.
“But how could he be here and we could talk to him and everything?” Janie asked. “I know Poppy was real. I just know he was! I’m not imagining!” She was trying her hardest to piece it all together.
“No, you weren’t imagining things. Your grandfather really was here.”
“But you said he died two years ago! Why, he came to see us for the first time—”
“Two years ago, correct.”
“So, you’re saying Poppy died and then came to live with us?”
“That is what I’m saying.”
“But why? Why didn�
��t he go straight up to heaven?”
My goodness, children have so many questions. “He came because your mother needed him. Plain and simple. She had unresolved feelings where her father was concerned. He died before she could settle those feelings. Sometimes people have a hard time letting loved ones go. They carry them around, bearing them.”
“But he’s gone now. Did he die again? Did Poppy die twice?”
“Shhh, shh.” I took her hand in mine and squeezed it. “Oh no, Janie. Quite the opposite. He’s alive and well up in heaven now.”
“But why did he go? Why couldn’t he just stay? I miss him.”
We were getting ready to pass the Shoemaker house, so I brought my voice down a little. I didn’t feel like running into Clarabelle if she happened to arise early.
“Do you remember the last time you saw your grandfather?” I asked her.
“Yes. He said good-bye to me on the porch. He was going to talk with Mama. Did she make him leave?”
“Sweetheart, your Mama never even knew he was there.”
“She didn’t?”
“Honey, I told you, he was there for her because she couldn’t let him go. When she came to this house, your mother finally forgave Grayson for letting her go off into the world alone. And she finally forgave herself for not seeing him before he died. She made peace with your grandfather, honey. That’s what set him free.”
Janie was breathing heavy now, and I could hear her voice escalating to tears. “How could she not see him? How come I could see him? And you? And Rainey?”
She’d had enough for the night, so I told her truthfully, “There are some people who have the gift of seeing folks who’ve passed on. They’re called seers. I suppose we’re some of those people and your mother is not.
“Now come on, let’s get you in the bed before you fall asleep walking. I know this is a lot to take in. Let’s give it some time. We can talk about it all when you’ve digested it as much as you can. But remember this, Janie: Tell no one. Not your mother, not Rainey. Can you do that? It’s our little secret.”
Janie nodded and clasped my hand tighter. Earlier in the night it had been all I could do to get her to leave the house with me, and here she was, clinging to me. It filled me with such joy, I . . . well . . . who could blame her for not wanting to be with me? I’d been awful to her and everybody else for so long. But finally I could drop my veil. I must say it felt good. We walked back into the house as allies that night, Janie and me, and I led her up the stairs to her bedroom where green light was beginning to spill over everything, the floor, the dresser, the beds. Rainey wasn’t awake yet.
My little Janie hugged me before she got into bed, and I kissed her on the forehead, praying her mind could settle after what I’d filled it with. I was hoping with morning light that Janie had the strength I thought she did. Knowing her mama’s state of mind, she was going to need every bit.
Chapter Forty-seven
RIPE FOR THE PICKING
{Janie}
I didn’t want to sleep at all, but I couldn’t help myself. When Rainey woke up, I stirred and heard her moving around, yawning. I tried to open my eyes but I was too tired. I remembered with a jolt the night at the cemetery, walking with Grandma Mona, the fact that my grandfather, the only man who ever really loved me, had been a ghost.
My eyes popped open and my mouth did the same. I started to say something to Rainey, but I stopped myself. Grandma Mona had told me to keep it a secret. Why, I didn’t know. I slowly sat up and rubbed my neck. I stared down at my body and saw that I had walked to the graveyard in my pajamas. Then I realized, it was ridiculous to walk to a cemetery in the middle of the night in your pajamas. It must have all been a dream. Of course, it was a dream. My grandfather was a real, live human being. He loved me. He’d held my hand, hugged me, kissed me, just like Grandma Mona.
Grandma Mona was pulling my leg.
That was it. She was playing a cruel joke on me. Maybe she was getting even meaner in her old age. I’d watched it happen, more day by day, year by year.
I plopped back on my pillow. I was so tired I couldn’t think straight.
“We pickin’ peaches today,” said Rainey, sliding her pajama bottoms off and replacing them with a pair of shorts. She struggled to pull her shirt off, and when she did, she just let everything hang out for all to see. I had to look away. Even though Rainey thought like a child most of the time, her body had turned into a woman’s, and I didn’t think it was right to watch her put on her brassiere and other grown-up-lady things.
“Mama say Fritz can come,” she said, excited. “I gonna see Fritz.” Then she finished dressing and grabbed some socks and tennis shoes, darting out the door. “Come on!”
I just grunted and rolled over. I was glued to the mattress. I lay there, thinking on all the things that had happened last night. All the things Grandma Mona had said. Then I realized something and sat straight up. She didn’t say I couldn’t tell Fritz. Or did she? She mentioned Rainey and Mama, but I’m pretty sure she left off Fritz. I sat up again and focused on the light from the window. I’d found the perfect loophole. I could talk to somebody about Poppy’s being a ghost without actually breaking my promise.
Mama had made herself look nice for the first time in days. She had her hair brushed and makeup on, and she’d taken her time getting her lips placed just right. She wore a pretty flowered dress that tied in the back. She let the tie go loose as if her belly was growing bigger, but to be honest, I looked and couldn’t see anything.
When the doorbell rang, Mama went to open it as nice and proper as she could. “Well, hello, Fritz. I hear there’s a tree in the backyard just waiting to be plucked.” She smiled a strange smile, like it wasn’t really Mama smiling. She didn’t say any apologies for not answering his calls or letting him in the house for days, and the whole thing just looked odd to me. I didn’t understand grown-ups so well as I thought I did.
Fritz leaned in and she let him kiss her on the cheek. “Thanks for letting me come over,” he said, which struck me as funny, seeing as a few weeks ago we were the ones he was inviting into this house. Now he was the guest. Fritz had a ball cap on, and he took it off his tall head and set it on a little table beside the front door.
“Uncle Fritz!”
“Hey, Fritz!” Rainey and I ran and hugged him. He was the only man we had left in our lives, and by goodness, we were gonna show him how much we cared so he might choose to stay and not run off.
Before we walked out back, Grandma Mona came down the stairs, and I saw her glaring at me. With her eyes, she was telling me not to say anything. I was telling her right back I needed to talk with her some more about this Poppy-being-a-ghost business. She looked away and said, “Hey there, Fritz. Good to see you, sweetie.”
Then we all went to the kitchen to grab some pots and large plastic bowls for picking peaches.
“With your arm still tied up like that, Rainey, I tell you what we’ll do. Let’s set you a pot on this chair, and when you get a nice peach, you bring it over and put it in here. Okay?” Fritz was rubbing his hands together and seemed like he was having so much fun.
“Okay.”
“This is gonna be fun!” I squealed, forgetting my troubles and enjoying being a kid for just a second. Mama was leaning against the trellis, white bowl in hand. She was watching Fritz with amusement.
“Your mama probably knows more about this tree and picking peaches from it than any of us. Right, Priscilla? Why don’t you tell us some tips?”
“Oh, Fritz. I don’t know any tips. You go ahead.”
“Why, sure you do. Tell us about how we should pull the peach off. Should we pull it off the branch if it’s hard to pull?”
Mama shook her head no.
“That’s right, because if the peach doesn’t come easily, it doesn’t want to come. It means it’s not ready yet. Here. Let me try this one. Yep. See that? Came off real easy. These are the kind you want.”
“Like this?” Rainey reached u
p and grabbed a peach on the tree and pulled it. She got it, but her thumb went right on through.
“Now, hold on, Rainey. Remember what you know about bagging groceries? Are peaches hard or are they soft?”
“Soft,” said Rainey, grinning and licking the peach juice off her thumb.
“That’s absolutely right. What you wanna do is use this part of your fingers, not the tips, all right?”
Rainey nodded and I did too.
“Okay then. The only thing left to remember is to set the peaches down gently in our bowls and pots, and if you fill one up, let me know. I’ll grab you another container.”
For being late July, the air was steamy hot as it wore on to lunchtime. My bowl was mostly empty, seeing as I couldn’t find any peaches that wanted to come off the tree. Rainey was going to town, though, and I suspected some of hers weren’t ripe either, but she pulled them anyway. Fritz was up high on a ladder picking all the peaches on top.
I saw Grandma Mona sitting in the rocking chair next to Mama. The warm breeze kicked up real nice, and the two of them sat there quietly just rocking and rocking. I wanted so bad to talk to Grandma Mona some more about Poppy, but she was beside Mama, and Mama wasn’t supposed to know. I thought about climbing the ladder and grabbing Fritz’s ear, but Grandma Mona was watching me like a hawk. The novelty of picking peaches had worn off. I was getting sleepy again because I might have had only three minutes of sleep all night. I yawned, and Grandma Mona said, “Don’t fall asleep now, Janie. The fun part’s about to begin. After picking, there’s cutting and freezing and making pie and ice cream.”
I said, “Yes, ma’am.” And it surprised me that I’d called her ma’am. It’s the first time in a long time I’d shown her any real respect. I figured if Grandma Mona wasn’t lying and actually did know all sorts of secrets about ghosts and life and death, she might be somebody I wanted on my good side.
