by Lin Stepp
“I felt really proud of him. I admit it,” Martha told her during one of their evening chats. “I thought it courageous of him to assemble all the boys together at once and let them go at him—three on one. Hardly good odds.” She hesitated. “Blessedly, Laura noticed when the situation started to escalate into a free-for-all, took charge, and saw to it that they talked things out constructively.” Her throaty laugh echoed over the phone line. “Laura Bridger Cunningham is a force to be reckoned with when she gears into her administrative mode.”
Lydia smiled. “I’ve seen that a time or two.”
“Well, I stand amazed that resolution evolved so readily once reasonable sharing began.” She paused. “Most of that is to John’s credit. Once they all started to talk and not sling accusations, his love shone through blindingly—for the boys and later for you. No one could doubt the sincerity and humility of his words. Even I came away with a new understanding of the man.”
“I’ve heard some of the same from Parker and Will. Even from J. T., which surprised me.”
“The boys still nourish some anger and bad memories, but they’re coming around. You stressed so often to them that harboring resentment is destructive to the one who holds on to it—not the other way around.”
A spear of conviction made her wince. “Too bad I didn’t preach the same message to myself more.”
Martha’s voice softened. “You’re coming around, too. Finding resolution and forgiveness isn’t instant. It takes effort, risk, and bravery.”
“Ela gave me similar counsel. She said, ‘Cowardice can’t step free of the past . . . only bravery can.’ ” Lydia paused. “Ela encouraged me to go through the rooms of Main House to make peace with my bad memories of Estelle.”
“How did that work out?”
“Better than I expected.” What Lydia didn’t mention to Martha before they hung up was Ela’s further suggestion to visit Estelle’s grave.
Lydia hadn’t done that yet. Frankly, she knew she’d found a multitude of reasons to postpone it. But now, as she followed Black Camp Gap Road toward the farm, she gathered her courage and turned her car up the winding drive to Fairview Methodist Church on the hill.
After parking under a shade tree, Lydia walked across the grass to let herself into the iron-fenced cemetery, scattered with monuments. Toward the back of the cemetery she found the Cunningham graves—the joint stone of Mary and John Cunningham, the granite angel of Stuart’s grave, and the side-by-side monuments of John’s parents. She’d attended Grandpa Will’s funeral when he died, came to the gravesite service, but she’d avoided visiting Estelle’s grave, even though she came to church here on Sundays.
She stopped to read the words across the marker: ESTELLE WHITMEYER CUNNINGHAM. They were cut into a striking pink granite marker, the dates of birth and death below her name. Holly had told her Estelle insisted on colored granite stone, wanting to distinguish her memorial stone from the others of traditional Georgia gray in the cemetery.
“Even in death you had to find a way to put yourself forward.” She made an effort to bank the swamp of memories of the many times Estelle stressed how being a Cunningham or a Whitmeyer made her one step better than everyone else.
Lydia shook her head. “I need to forgive you here at the cemetery just as I did at Main House, Estelle, and I need to let all those bad memories and resentments go.” She straightened her shoulders. “Ela reminded me that you’re gone now and it’s time for healing—time to move on.” She sighed. “I wish I could forget all the times you tried to hurt and humiliate me, tried to hurt my children—worked to tear my family apart. You almost succeeded, Estelle, but—in the end—the love John and I held for each other proved stronger than your efforts to tear it apart. We’re being restored as a family now. Healing and moving on.”
She pushed away the rush of hurtful words and recollections that tried to invade her mind. “I’m purposing to think on the positive now, Estelle. To dwell on the good and not the bad things of the past. At Main House, I forgave you by faith and not by feelings. I’m doing the same here. I may have to repeat this again in the future when old hurts and memories try to creep back into my mind. But I’m purposed to succeed. To move on. To not let you hurt my life or my heart any longer.”
Taking a deep breath, she added, “I’m sorry if I hurt you in any way I wasn’t aware of. I realize you had problems I didn’t understand. I know we were very different women with different ways of seeing things. I regret we never found peace and understanding before you died.”
Lydia heard footsteps behind her and turned to see the pastor walking across the grass. “I saw you from the window.” He pointed toward his office on the corner of the church. “I hope I’m not interrupting by coming out to say hello.” He stopped beside her, looking down at Estelle’s grave and then turning questioning eyes to hers.
“Making my peace,” she said, deciding to be honest. “Ela said until I moved forward in bravery, the past would hold on to me, continue to hurt and control me, keep me from future happiness and freedom.”
“Sounds like a wise woman.”
“She is.” Lydia put a hand out tentatively to touch Estelle’s monument. “I can still hear Ela’s words: ‘You have to face your ghosts, your fears, and banish them.’ ”
“I wouldn’t be a good pastor if I didn’t remind you that you don’t have to face your fears alone. God will help.”
She nodded.
He tapped a foot on the ground, thinking. “With God’s help we’re empowered to break free of our fears. A scripture in Second Timothy reminds us where our fears come from, too—certainly not from God. Maybe you recall the words: ‘For God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind.’ ”
“It actually feels empowering to make an effort to let all the fears and hurts go.” Lydia drew back her hand, amazed it hadn’t burned to touch the stone. “You got another helpful scripture, Reverend?”
“It’s Oliver.” He offered a slow smile. “How about Psalm twenty-seven: ‘The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear?’ Or Hebrews thirteen: ‘The Lord is my helper . . . I will not fear what man shall do unto me.’ ”
“Those are good.” She released a long sigh.
“You know, Lydia, I think the truths you’ve learned since you came back, the fact that you sought for understanding and truth, and wanted to find a way to forgive and move on, really opened the door for freedom for you.” He steepled his fingers. “Truth is a powerful thing. A verse in John eight says: ‘And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall set you free.’ ”
She considered this. “You may be right. The things I’ve learned since coming back did help me get to this place.”
“Being in the Lord makes us more able to forgive and forget, too. It’s hard to do that only in the natural man—or woman.”
Lydia pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “I know God has helped me in this journey, Oliver, from the day I decided to come back. I’ve felt His help in the sweet days of new discovery and in the hard days when I bumped up against obstacles.”
“That’s a nice testimony.” His eyes moved across the Cunningham monuments. “Do you think you’ll feel better after coming here today?”
“I already do.”
Oliver’s cell phone interrupted them. Lydia watched him frown as he listened to the caller.
He punched the phone off, distress crossing his face. “There’s been a bad accident. Kristen Sheppard fell over the edge of a cliff above your farm. She’s been taken to the closest hospital, Haywood Regional Medical Center in Clyde. I need to head that way. She’s only eight.”
“I’ll follow you.” Lydia picked up her pace to match his. “What happened? Do you know?”
He let out an agitated breath. “She and her sister, Sara, saw the ghost on Drop Off Ridge. Kristen was frightened and backed up too near the edge of the cliff and slipped and fell.”
“Is it serious?”
“I don’t know.” He opened and shut the cemetery gate. “The family is at the hospital. Charlie called me from the waiting room. John’s there, too. If you want to ride with me, you can drive back with John later.”
Lydia ran to lock her car and get her purse, hurrying to join Reverend Wheaton as he started his SUV. He started praying out loud as they drove, and Lydia joined him mentally, hoping desperately Kristen wasn’t badly injured. It hurt to think of the small, carefree child with the laughing brown eyes suffering—or worse, taken away from them.
CHAPTER 18
John reached out to take Lydia’s hand as soon as she and Oliver Wheaton entered the hospital waiting room. “They’re still checking Kristen out.” He filled them in. “She took a hard fall.”
He watched Lydia go to Kristen’s mother, Nevelyn, to give her a hug and then move around speaking to each of the Sheppards in the waiting room, offering her love and support. The minister also spoke to each and then he joined Sam and Charlie, where they stood leaning against the wall, waiting for word about Kristen.
John reached out to shake the minister’s hand. “Thank you for coming, Oliver. Maybe you passed the sheriff coming in. He talked to Sara at length since Kristen is still unconscious as far as we know.”
Sam clenched a fist, glancing at the pastor. “I told the sheriff he’d better take this ghost business seriously now, Reverend Wheaton. Both of my granddaughters could have been killed.”
“We’re still scared for Kristen,” Charlie added. “And the waiting is difficult.” His eyes shifted to where Sara sat huddled miserably in a chair by her mother. “My girls like to play house on the lodge porch. They walked down into the woods above the ridge to pick berries for a dinner for their dolls.” He grimaced. “Dang ghost came out from the trees, waving its arms and hollering, scaring them out of their wits. Kristen—frightened—backed up, forgetting the edge of the ridge lay right behind her. She slipped and tumbled over. Sara scrambled down after her and then ran to find us when she found Kristen unconscious.”
Seeing her father’s eyes on her, Sara got up and walked over to lean against his side. He wrapped her in a warm hug.
She sniffled, trying not to cry. “We shouldn’t have walked down on the ridge. You told us not to, but we always go there to pick berries and we forgot. I’m sorry, Daddy.”
“It’s all right.” He petted on her, smoothing her sandy-blond hair back from her face. “It was an accident. Don’t fault yourself. The farm has always been your play yard, and none of us understands why this crazy ghost is wandering around the area scaring people.”
Sara sighed. “He crept out from behind a tree, all white, waving his arms, with blood all over him—just like everyone said. We both screamed, it startled us so.”
The doctor came out—interrupting their discussion—and everyone moved toward him anxiously.
“How is she?” Nevelyn asked, holding a hand to her heart.
“She’ll be okay. It’s a good report.” The doctor glanced down at his chart. “Kristen’s injuries are not life-threatening. She has a concussion, bruises, scratches, cuts, a sprained ankle, and a fracture of the forearm. The latter didn’t break the skin so surgery won’t be needed. We aligned the ulna and casted the arm. We’d like to keep her overnight for observation, but she can go home tomorrow if all is well.” He smiled. “She’s lucky. Children are resilient. She’s awake now and asking for you.”
“Can we go in to see her?” Tears of relief slid down Nevelyn’s face.
“Yes, of course.” The doctor glanced around at the crowd in the waiting area. “But limit the visits to immediate family for now, if you would. Kristen needs to rest.”
After a few more questions, Charlie, Nevelyn, and Sara followed the doctor to Kristen’s room. Sam slumped into an empty chair by his wife, Doris, in relief, patting her arm while she wept with gratitude.
“I’d better call Eugene,” he said after a moment. “He, Ozetta, and Clyde will be worrying.”
Doris pulled off her glasses to wipe at her eyes. “Call Chuck and Vera at the house, too, Eugene. They wanted to come over here with us, but I told them a hospital waiting room was no place for a three-year-old and a crawler.”
“I’ll call the prayer line at the church again,” the minister added. “Let them know to get the word around that Kristen will be okay. Praise God.”
As he walked over to speak to Sam and Doris, John put a hand on Lydia’s back. “I’ll drive you home with me, Lyddie. I left Ela, Manu, Mary Beth, and the kids at the house—concerned. I’ll call them as we head home to let them know all’s well.”
Thirty minutes later, they arrived back at Main House to find the family gathering around the table for dinner. John noted Neal added to the family mix but Manu was missing. “Where’s Manny?” he asked, pulling out a chair for Lydia after Ela insisted she stay to eat.
“I can’t rightly say.” Ela took off her apron to sit down at the table. “He had a theory about that ghost business he said he needed to follow up on.”
John lifted a brow.
“Don’t ask me,” she complained. “The man simply took off to see about it in his own way like he does sometimes.”
John bit down on a chuckle and reached for the platter of fried chicken.
“Is Kristen really going to be okay?” Bucky asked.
“Yes.” John passed the platter of chicken on and took a bowl of butter beans coming his way. “She’ll need to rest a few days, especially her ankle, and she’ll wear a cast for a time while her arm heals.”
Billy Ray reached for a roll. “Kristen could have got killed falling over that hill. I was scared when I heard how Sara found her all knocked out.”
“She was unconscious,” John explained. “That often happens temporarily when a person experiences an accident, an injury, or a fall like Kristen did. It’s sometimes a symptom of a concussion, too—a jolting or shaking of the brain.”
Mary Beth made a face. “Ugh. Let’s don’t get too graphic, Dad. We’re eating.” She glanced at Billy Ray, reaching for a second roll. “You eat your vegetables and chicken before getting another roll.”
The subject, however, wasn’t easily dismissed, and questions and comments continued throughout dinner. After they finished, Mary Beth suggested they go sit on the porch so the boys could play in the backyard. Manu had built them a big sandbox, and the boys loved driving a bevy of trucks and cars over the sand streets they’d constructed. They hardly noticed Manu striding across the yard toward the back patio.
“Have you eaten?” Ella asked, as he took off his hat and sat down on a metal lawn chair.
“No.” He shook his head.
“I’ll fix you a plate and bring it out.” She rose and headed for the kitchen.
“Our riddle is solved.” Manu turned toward John as she left.
“About the ghost?” Mary Beth leaned forward, her eyes eager for news.
He nodded, laying his straw hat on the chair beside him.
“Did the sheriff catch who is behind this?” Mary Beth asked.
Manu nodded.
Seeing her open her mouth with another question, John sent her a warning glance. “Quit asking questions and let Manny tell it, Bee.”
She sat back in her chair with a sigh. “Oh, all right.”
Manu grinned. “After you headed to the hospital, John, I kept going over and over the story Sara told us about the accident. A few peculiar facts kept standing out in my mind.” He paused. “First, Sara stated that someone—not the ghost—hollered when Kristen fell over the ridge. Second, she described the ghost as short in stature, not much taller than herself, and she’s only eleven.”
Manu stopped to take the dinner plate from Ela and to eat a few bites before he continued. “I kept thinking on the fact that two people were there and one was short.” He took a drink of iced tea. “Then I went back to explore the area after the sheriff left and found several things of interest.”
“What did you find?” John asked the qu
estion, even after telling Mary Beth not to interrupt and to let Manny tell the story. She sent him a saucy look.
“I found several small footprints, too small for a man, and one set too small for a woman.” He finished off a chicken leg. “Down at the bottom of the ridge, I noticed more footprints around the edge of a small cave under the ridge—you know, the one where the rocks hang over.”
He hesitated, eating a few more bites of his dinner, before looking up to catch John’s eye. “I found a body shoved back in that cave, buried under leaves and debris—”
“A body?” This time Neal interrupted, lurching forward and almost knocking a plant off the table. “Do you know whose it was?”
Manu reached out to push the plant back from the table edge. “I thought I did and now it’s confirmed. Silas Green.”
John felt his mouth drop open. “Silas Green? Did anyone even know the man was missing? I hadn’t heard.”
Manu shook his head. “His wife told the sheriff she thought he’d gone traveling with his company. She said half the time he never bothered to tell her when he planned to leave or when he might be back. Simply showed up again one day—sometimes a month or more later.”
Ela jumped into the conversation. “Loretha told me she felt right glad every time Silas went out of town. She enjoys life more when he’s gone and hates to see the day he comes back.”
Manu glanced her way, frowning at Ela’s words. “Well, Silas won’t be coming home again this time at all.”
Ela dropped her eyes, realizing she’d spoken insensitively.
“Do you know what happened? Was he murdered?” John wanted all the facts Manu knew now.
Manny picked up his hat to twist in his hands. “I meddled a bit in police business, John. Maybe I shouldn’t have, but I did.” He paused. “You see, when I moved some of the debris to see who lay under the rock cave, I noticed a piece of beaded turquoise jewelry clutched in Silas’s hand. It looked like part of a necklace.”
