The Strangers on Montagu Street
Page 35
“What is it with you Middleton women and family cemeteries?” Jack asked.
My mother raised her eyebrows and I knew she, too, was recalling the last time we’d been in a cemetery together as we’d tried to put the spirit of Rose Prioleau to rest. We’d come very close to having it all end in disaster.
“Except here I’m not feeling anything,” I said. “Like all the spirits here are resting peacefully.”
“Or aren’t here at all,” Nola added.
I hoped she was right.
We fanned out through the overgrown cemetery, reading fading inscriptions on the old grave markers. There were only about a dozen, and it didn’t take long for Jack to find it. “Over here,” he called, indicating a white marble marker in the shape of a cross. “Just has his name—no birth or death dates. Maybe Jonathan’s parents didn’t want their lie to be imprinted on a cross.”
We stood in front of the marker and stared at the flat expanse of dirt and grass that grew over the grave. Jack reached for the pick and I handed it to him, more grateful that he was there than I wanted to admit, and not just because of the added muscle. Still, I couldn’t look at him, and each accidental glance was like the slow peeling of a Band-Aid off a wound that wouldn’t heal.
“Move back,” he instructed. “I’ll start and then we can all take turns scooping out the dirt. We’re going to go about six feet long and six feet deep, and if we work fast we should have it done in a couple of hours.”
“Can you make it faster?” Nola suggested. “I’ve got plans tonight. With Alston,” she added hastily.
We stood back as Jack hoisted the pick and let it fall, and the first tremor of fear began at the base of my neck. I glanced at my mother and saw that she’d felt it, too.
“You’d better hurry, Jack,” she said. “I don’t think we’ll have two hours.”
His gaze traveled from my mother to me, and I knew he was remembering our last cemetery digging, too. He raised the pick above his head and drove it into the earth, and I felt the ground trembling softly below me, as if we’d awakened something that should have been left asleep.
We watched until Jack had obliterated the weeds and grass that had grown on top of the grave, loosening the soil enough so we could begin digging. I picked up my shovel. “I’ll go first. The faster we dig, the less time we’ll have to feel the pain.”
Because of the small space, my mother, Nola, and I took turns standing on the opposite end from Jack. He continued to dig throughout, changing sides with us so he could even out the depth of the hole. The hot sun beat down on us, and I found myself wishing I’d thought to bring water. In my old life, I wouldn’t have left anything to chance. In my new life, I found I could barely remember what I needed to do in the next half hour.
“Are you all right?” my mother asked.
I blinked at her, my eyes stinging from the dripping sweat, and realized that I was seeing double. “Just . . . a little hot,” I said.
She took the shovel from me. “Go sit over there in the shade next to Nola and cool off. I can do this now.”
“But it’s my turn. . . .” I stopped protesting, knowing that if I didn’t sit down sometime very soon, I’d end up facedown in the hole.
I sprawled next to a sweating Nola, her face and hands smeared with dirt and probably looking a lot like I did. If somebody came upon us now and demanded to know what we were doing, it would be very hard to prove our innocence.
I hadn’t been sitting down very long when the sound of metal hitting wood traveled up out of the grave. My mother and Jack stopped. “We’re barely at four feet, but I think I found a coffin,” Jack announced. His shirt was soaked in sweat, but he hadn’t removed it. I’m sure it was more for my mother’s benefit and Nola’s, but I was very, very thankful. If the heat didn’t make me pass out, that surely would have.
“I can finish this,” he said, then helped my mother out of the grave. She came and sat down next to us in the shade of the pine tree while we watched Jack.
He used his shovel to remove the dirt from the top of the coffin, then tossed it aside to grab the pick. “Just in case it’s not empty, I want you three to stay where you are for now.”
I wanted to protest, but I didn’t think I could have moved to a standing position even if I wanted to. He raised the pick once more above his head, and let it come down with a crashing, splintering sound. He moved back and brought the pick down two more times, using the broad-sided portion to pry away what was left of the lid.
He turned to face us. “You might want to come see this.”
Nola and my mother stood. I waited for a moment, focusing all of my energy on becoming vertical again. Using the trunk of the tree for support, I pulled myself to a stand, then joined the others.
Slowly, the three of us leaned over the edge of the gaping hole, staring inside at a splintered pine coffin, its lid demolished enough to reveal several large rocks lodged into packed dirt, filling the narrow space. We let out our breaths in a simultaneous exhale.
My mother shook her head. “I don’t understand. Why would Jonathan’s parents hide their son’s murder and give him a false grave?”
Jack wiped his hands on the front of his jeans. “I’d bet a lot of money that they didn’t know he was dead. That they were led to believe that he’d run off with William.”
I nodded. “From what I know of Harold Manigault, I think he waited to find out if what Julia had told him about William was true. I mean, he must have known that Julia was jealous about William’s inheritance, and he must have had his doubts. I think William was planning to leave, but wanted to see his lover one more time. So he got dressed up and that’s when his father confronted him. The argument must have been brief—or nonexistent—since the fact that William was wearing his mother’s clothes was evidence in itself, and in a fit of anger, Harold tossed William from the turret, killing him, either intentionally or not.
“I’m not exactly sure how the rest of it played out, but somehow Harold found out where William was meeting his lover, and waylaid Jonathan. Can you imagine his shock in finding out it was his future son-in-law? I have to imagine Jonathan’s death was no accident.”
“No, definitely not,” Jack said. “I think he threw both bodies in his truck and drove out to the family plantation, where he buried the bodies, then burned the house so nobody would go back and accidentally discover the graves. To keep Jonathan’s parents quiet, I’m guessing he told them that William and Jonathan had run off together—which would have been a huge stigma back then and would, in effect, silence them—and to save face, they faked Jonathan’s death—even had a funeral for him. Either way, he was gone from them forever.”
“Poor Julia,” my mother said, shaking her head. “To have blamed herself for William’s leaving all these years.”
Nola’s brow furrowed. “But then why would William’s ghost try and stop Julia from discovering the graves? Wouldn’t he want his death avenged?”
I had been staring at the coffin, listening to them speak, but seeing instead a dark night of violence and loss. And feeling William very close by. His presence wasn’t threatening, and before I could ask him why, I suddenly understood. Stop her. It will only get worse if she does not.
“He was trying to protect Julia,” I said. “He wanted her to believe that Jonathan had gone to his death loving her instead of allowing her to live with the knowledge of the worst kind of betrayal.”
Nola kicked a clod of dirt into the coffin. “Miss Julia said her mother and William were really close. I bet Anne hid the letters after William disappeared to keep Harold from destroying them. I bet she saw Harold kill William, too—that’s why they had to cart her off to the loony bin after he died.”
I turned to my mother. “What are we going to tell Julia?” This was the part I had no experience with, and wasn’t really sure whether or not I wanted to. “She’s dying. She might need to know the truth so she can rest in peace.”
Nola rolled her eyes. “I don’
t need another doll chasing me around. I vote we tell her.”
A heavy gray cloud covered the sun, casting us all in heavy shadow. We looked up to see that everywhere else the sky was blue. But the insects were now eerily silent as a wind materialized, pushing at us with sudden intensity.
“We need to go,” Jack said, his voice urgent but calm for Nola’s sake. But my mother and I were remembering another cemetery not that long ago where an angry spirit tried to take her revenge on those of us who sought to right an old wrong.
“Yes,” I said, leaning down to pick up a couple of shovels. “I think a storm is coming.” Spots formed in front of my eyes and I stumbled. My mother took my arm. “Are you feeling all right?”
“Just a little bit of heat exhaustion, I think. Would you mind driving?”
“Not at all. Just go sit inside the car and turn it on so you can get the air-conditioning blasting. I’ll worry about collecting all the tools.”
“Hurry,” I said without argument, squeezing her hand while examining the black cloud above us that seemed to be lower in the sky now, pressing the oxygen out of the air. “I think we’ve upset Harold. Julia told us that appearances were everything to him. Even now, after all this time, I don’t expect he’s going to be thrilled about the world seeing his family’s dirty laundry.”
She squeezed my hand again. “We’re stronger than him. Just keep saying that to yourself and I’ll be right with you.”
I nodded, not completely sure I believed her, then watched her walk back to where Jack and Nola were refilling the hole. I wasn’t feeling well, whatever strength I possessed depleted. I supposed that was a natural by-product of heartbreak, but I wouldn’t know, having never experienced it before now.
I sat in the car, then reached over to turn on the ignition, blasting the air-conditioning in my face. I spotted a water bottle, warmed from the sun, sitting in the cup holder. Not caring that it wasn’t ice-cold, I reached for it, then lifted my head to gulp it down as my gaze locked onto the rearview mirror.
The bottle froze halfway to my lips, the water splashing into my lap. The eyeless face of Harold Manigault stared at me from the backseat, the rotting smell of death and decay making me gag. I am stronger than you, I tried to say, but the lie stuck in the back of my throat. I had nothing left to fight him with, and my mother was out of sight, and I was inside the car where even my screams couldn’t be heard. And he knew it.
I warned you to stay away, but you wouldn’t listen.
I reached for the door handle and tugged on it, but it wouldn’t budge. Frantically I scrambled for the door lock, realizing even in my panicked state that it was already unlocked. Cold, dead fingers wrapped around my neck, the cloying smell of dead flesh gagging me, making it even harder to breathe as something pressed hard against my windpipe.
I had no hope of winning this battle, even if my mother by some miracle returned. There was nothing to fight for, no reason not to give in. I knew I was giving up too easily, but couldn’t make myself care. I gasped for breath, my body slumping into the driver’s seat as bright stars of light appeared in my eyes, obliterating my vision.
I thought for a moment that I could hear music—Bonnie’s song—and I wondered if this was what death must really be like, with music playing and utter peace. I felt no pain anymore, just my body and bones melting into weightlessness as I listened to Bonnie sing, louder now than I’d ever heard it before. It was like she was singing in my ear to make sure I heard it clearly.
Then suddenly I was floating outside of my body, looking down at the roof of the car, feeling more at peace than I ever had. And the music was there, too, louder and louder but so exquisitely beautiful that I didn’t care. I turned my head, trying to capture the words I’d never been able to understand before.
My mother shouted and I saw her looking upward, and she was seeing me spin higher and higher above the car. I wanted to tell her that it was okay, that I was fine going where I was going, that it was beautiful and peaceful and that my heart had finally stopped breaking. She ran to the car and tried to open each door, and in my mind I heard her say, I am stronger than you, right before she started crying. She was on her own, without my help, and she knew it wouldn’t be enough, just as I had.
Then I saw Jack and Nola running toward the car and Jack had the pick in his hand. He raised it against the back passenger window, the shattered glass splattering the car seat and the dirt outside like teardrops.
He reached into the driver’s seat and tried to open the door from the inside. The music was so loud now that I almost didn’t hear Bonnie’s voice. Nola needs you. So does Jack. And you need him too, in more ways than you know right now. Go back. Go back and find my daughter’s eyes.
I looked down at my weeping mother and Nola, and at Jack, who was frantically trying to reach me and get me out of the car. I allowed myself to feel, just one more time, and the pain around my heart burst anew, pressing through my chest, reminding me that I was alive. Yes, I whispered, no longer sure that the absence of pain was enough reason to let go of the tenuous hold on life. And you need him too, in more ways than you know right now. I needed to know the answer to that, realizing that I never would unless I returned to him. And to my mother and Nola and the rest of my life.
The pressure on my windpipe ceased immediately, and I began to fall through the sky, the cold air hitting my face as I fell back to the car and into the body of the woman slumped on the front seat. The passenger seat door was yanked open and I heard Jack call my name. I tried to reach for him and call his name, but my brain wasn’t communicating with the rest of my body.
“Mellie,” he shouted, his voice hoarse. “Somebody—call nine-one-one. Hurry!” I felt something warm and moist on my forehead and knew that he’d kissed me and that everything was going to be all right now. I heard Bonnie singing again, each word clear as tinkling bells, and I wanted to laugh out loud.
“Jack,” I finally managed.
“Oh, thank God,” I heard him say. “Don’t say anything—conserve your energy. They’re sending an ambulance.”
“Jack,” I said again, fighting the sleep that threatened to overtake me. “I know . . .”
“Shhhh,” he whispered as he held me tightly in his arms.
I finally managed to open my eyes. “Listen,” I said, wondering if he could hear the music, too. Lifting my head slightly, I said, “I know where to find my daughter’s eyes.”
Feeling confident that I’d said all that I could, and that Bonnie would keep me safe, I allowed myself to let go of consciousness and fall into a deep and dreamless sleep.
CHAPTER 29
I awoke with Jack’s name on my lips, opening my eyes with a start as I remembered all that had happened. Bright fluorescent lights and the antiseptic scent of the room would have been enough to tell most people they were in the hospital. For me, it was the lost souls lining the walls of the room and peering through the glass window on the door that told me where I was. I hated hospitals.
“She’s awake.”
I turned at the sound of my mother’s voice just in time to see her let go of my father’s hand. They both stood at the side of the bed, my mother’s cool hand pressed against my cheek. “Mellie, sweetheart. How do you feel?”
I thought for a moment, wiggling my toes and fingers, moving my arms and legs. “I’m fine, actually. I feel great. I think that’s the first real sleep I’ve had in a while.” My stomach grumbled. “What time is it?”
“It’s a little past five. You’ve been out since Jack pulled you from the car this morning.”
I shook my head. “It seems like weeks ago. And I’m having the oddest craving right now for a piece of coconut cream pie from Jestine’s.”
My dad took my hand. “I’ll go get it for you. Anything you want, just ask.” I thought I saw moisture in his eyes but he quickly blinked it away.
I squeezed his hand, grateful that both of my parents were there but painfully aware of the one person who wasn’t.
He at least knew me well enough not to blink. “Done,” he said, leaning down to kiss my forehead. “I’ll bring it to your mother’s house, since I don’t expect they’ll keep you overnight. I’ll be back to help her bring you home.”
I smiled my gratitude, my stomach growling again in agreement as I watched him leave. Then I turned to my mother. “Has anyone told Julia what we found?”
She shook her head. “After I got you settled here, I called Dee to let her know. But Julia slipped into a coma this morning—about the time we were digging Jonathan’s grave. They don’t expect her to awaken.”
An inexplicable sadness settled on me. “So all of that was for nothing?” I shook my head in disgust, trying not to think about the trauma of the morning.
“I think it’s too early to tell, but I doubt it was for nothing.”
I closed my eyes, trying to accept what she was telling me, then opened my eyes again as I recalled that I was in the hospital. “Why am I here?” I asked, noticing for the first time the needle in my hand and the IV fluid drip by the bed.
A look I didn’t recognize passed over my mother’s face. “You were severely dehydrated. At least, that’s the medical explanation for why you passed out. But I saw Harold Manigault in the car with you, and then I saw you—” Her voice caught. “You weren’t fighting, Mellie. You weren’t even trying.” A fat tear rolled down her cheek.
“I’m sorry, Mother. I . . . couldn’t. I had nothing to fight with, and . . . there was nothing left to fight for.” I turned my head away, not wanting to see her face as I told her the rest. “It was so much easier to just . . . let go.”
She pulled her chair up to the side of the bed and grabbed both of my hands. “That was Harold’s doing, filling your mind with his poison.” She closed her eyes. “Promise me you will never do that again. That you will always fight. You are stronger than them. Even without me—although there was a reason your strength was drained today. But you should always fight. Especially now . . .” She stopped.