by Rita Kano
“Nash?”
“Yeah, it’s me.” he chuckled. “Guess you don’t get many phone calls.”
“I feel excited. Should I be?” asked Shirley.
“There’s a good chance; a real good one. I found Grandma Sadie’s grave and more.”
“More? More what? What did you find?”
“I know you’re excited, but hold onto your horses. You need to see this for yourself.”
“Okay. When?” Shirley didn’t wait for an answer. “Now?”
“No, it’s too late today. There ain’t enough daylight left for where I’d be taking you. Can you get tomorrow off?”
“Tomorrow? Take a day off? That’s kind of late notice.” Shirley bit down on her lip. Time was running out. She had to say yes if any chance remained to save Lizzie from the fate she believed Martha Ann met. Even if saying yes to Nash’s request meant calling in sick for the first time ever. “Sure.” Shirley answered. “I can do that. Any particular time I should be at your place?”
“By noon. When the sun’s high. That’d be best.”
The next day:
“Where are we going?” Shirley asked Nash as he veered the truck off the main road and headed up a two-rut path through a stand of trees. “All the cemeteries I know are right off or within sight of a well-traveled road.”
“Well, Miss Shirley Foster, I reckon you’re forgetting the passing of time changes things. And one of the things time changes is roads. I almost forgot that myself, until I remembered stumbling, and I do mean almost falling on my bottom, over a headstone near the back of my property a few years back looking for a stray calf.”
“Are you saying it wasn’t just any tombstone? Did you literally stumble over Sadie Redding’s gravestone?”
“That’s what I’m saying.”
“And you remembered? Thank God. This is amazingly good luck.”
“It is that. And here we are.” Nash hit the brakes. “It’s only a short walk. I came out early to be sure I could find the stone again and be sure it hadn’t been destroyed. Nobody comes back here except hunters, but when they’re on their way out of the woods with nothing to show for the bullets used up, other than sweat, they ain’t against smashing forgotten old grave markers to pieces. But Sadie’s okay. I stomped the weeds down and gave the moss a whack with my handkerchief.”
Shirley smiled. “Thank you, Nash.”
“There it is. Right over there. It was almost grown over.”
The tombstone, corroded by age and leaning a bit to the left and back, almost concealed an engraved rose at the center top. Shirley wiped off a black growth blocking the words carved into the marble. Sadie Redding’s life spanned 1842 to 1936. The stone read: Time’s a funny thing. It ain’t nothin’ but dust.
“Grandma Sadie went to the grave trying to right a wrong,” said Shirley from her knees with both hands on top of the headstone. “So, now we know the meeting place and the hanging tree could be anywhere in these woods. But the one on Luke’s property isn’t necessarily the one we’re looking for. It is another step, though. Although, a small one.”
Nash reached out to help her up. “Maybe not as small as you think. There’s something uncommon about this grave marker. Something I didn’t see the first time I tripped over it.” He walked Shirley to the back of the stone that leaned down toward the ground. “Here. Squat down and take a real close look at this.”
“Oh! What is that?” Shirley ran her fingers over incised lines. “They’re broken up. Do you have any idea what they are? A foreign language? Symbols?” she asked.
“I ain’t sure. They ain’t nothing I ever seen before, at least what I can make out.”
Shirley pressed the palm of one hand against the cut stone and closed her eyes. “Well, I know what it isn’t. It’s something that shouldn’t be here. Unless…” Shirley turned her head up to Nash. “I need paper and a soft lead pencil to make an etching of this. Do you have anything in the truck?”
“No. We’ll have to go back to the house for that. Come on. This place gives me the shivers.” Nash scrubbed his hands over his upper arms.
Shirley rose to her feet. “You’re right about that.” She glanced around. “Feels like we’re being watched.”
“And we probably are,” said Nash. “By a rabbit or a mouse.”
Shirley laughed. “Okay. Yes. My imagination does have a tendency to get ahead of me. I tell you what; you go back to the house. I’ll stay here and look around. I might come across something that will help.”
Nash shook his head. “I ain’t one to tell anybody what to do, but I’ve got to say, you staying here alone is against my better judgment.”
“I’ll be just fine.” Shirley reached for Nash’s hand.
Nash squeezed the tips of her fingers. “Can’t change your mind?”
“No.”
Nash aimed a head full of second thoughts at Shirley. “You promise not to wander off?
“Yes, Mr. Nash.”
“Then, I’ll be back faster than you can snap a whip.”
Nash’s footsteps crunched through fallen leaves and pine needles. The truck started up and the motor’s hum faded; at first muffled and then smothered by the tightly packed trees.
Sunlight drizzled its way down through the canopy of leaves. A few kicks to fallen leaves and pulled weeds, exposed other tombstones. Older than Sadie’s; most of them fallen, all long forgotten and too corrupted to read. Shadows dodged the thin ribbons of light; moving as the minutes passed as if carried on a breeze. Shirley grew less and less sure why she stayed behind.
Once the grinding hum of Nash’s truck outdistanced her hearing, life reanimated the forest. Birds chirped and wings flitted from tree to tree. Other well-camouflaged creatures gave away their watchful presence only when they dashed from one spot to another, expertly avoiding visual detection.
Shirley heard the crunch of footsteps and turned expecting to see Nash, even though she hadn’t heard the truck return.
“Nash,” she called out.
She heard another step and then two more, staggered on three others.
“Who’s there?” Shirley whirled to face the step behind her just in time to glimpse a shadow dashing between two trees.
Immediately, a strong wind shuddered through the treetops, releasing a shower of leaves and pine needles. Another gust parted the high branches with a whistling rush and a ray of light flashed so bright, Shirley stumbled backwards and fell into the shadow of enormous wings soaring above.
“Shirley…” The low voice came from behind.
Shirley spun around, paled by a stifled scream. “Nash! Nash, it’s you. Where… how did you…”
“I didn’t mean to scare you. I thought you heard me coming. My sizes 12’s are hard to miss. You’re shaking. Are you okay?”
“Yes. I think. No, I’m fine. Something… Did you see it? There was something,” her eyes darted about. “I… I don’t see it now. Just shadows playing tricks, I guess.”
“Are you sure that’s all it was. You can tell me, you know.”
“It was nothing. Really.” She laughed nervously. “It was nothing.”
“Okay, if you’re sure. Tricks I can deal with,” said Nash, handing her paper and pencil.
Shirley found it hard to hold the paper steady enough to get a good image from Sadie’s tombstone. “Nash, will you hold the top and bottom of the paper, while I lift the etching?”
“Absolutely.” Nash kneeled down next to her.
As Shirley rubbed pencil lead over the symbol, she and Nash intertwined. His breath ruffled through her hair and kissed her neck. Being that close accentuated the size of his body compared to hers. Twice her hand brushed his. Did he see her blush? Did he feel the tingle escape her flesh? Shirley closed her eyes, breathed through the uninvited sensations and pulled away from the stone.
“That looks good,” she said. “The images are much clearer now.”
“Still look like hen scratches to me,” confessed Nash.
&nb
sp; “There’s definitely a lot of damage from corrosion.” Shirley turned the paper to various angles. “These lines didn’t just pop up on their own. They mean something. It’s no coincidence the symbols are on the back of Grandma Sadie’s headstone.”
“You sound awfully sure of that.” Nash pushed to his feet and helped Shirley up.
She brushed away dry twigs and leaves clinging to her skirt. “I guess you think I’m some kind of nut. Most people do. Even Miss Bessie called me peculiar the last time I saw her alive.”
“No. No. I don’t think any such thing. It ain’t that, Shirley. I’m trying to believe as much as you that all this is going to get us somewhere. It’s just really hard keeping up hope that Martha Ann’s alive. I’m her grandpa. I’ve watched her grow from a wailing baby to a beautiful young lady. Nobody wants to find her more than me. The truth is… I don’t know what keeps you going, pretty lady. But, I’m thankful as I can be something does. I thank you, Miss Foster. I thank you for all you’re doing.”
Nash addressed her as Miss Foster again. Did he sense the feelings causing her to blush? Feelings he didn’t share and wasn’t ready to deal with.
“I tell you one thing,” said Nash. “You’re staying for supper. There ain’t no buts about that.”
“Thank you. I appreciate the invitation, but suppertime is hours away. I can’t impose on your hospitality that long.”
“It’ll take me just about that long to stir up a big pot of chicken and dumplings. Ain’t no female alive or New York City chef that makes it any better than me. I’d be real pleased if you stay. Besides, when it comes to making sense out of scratch marks, two heads gotta be better than one. Ain’t that so?”
“I can’t argue with that. Okay, then, let’s get back to the house and put our two heads together.”
Shirley blushed at the literal reality of her words. Thankfully, her hair hung over her cheeks. She didn’t think Nash noticed the rosy nature he brought out in her.
Nash opened the house door and motioned Shirley to enter. “I’ll get supper started,” he said, “while you see what sense you can make of those scratch marks. Call out if you need me. Even if you don’t, I’ll pop my head around the corner now and again to see how you’re doing.”
“This could be fun,” said Shirley. “When I was a child, I really enjoyed connect the dot games. Maybe my old playtime experience will be helpful.”
Within the clinking and clanking of pots, pans and dishes in the kitchen, Shirley examined the etching. She studied the lines for some time, before calling out to Nash. “I think there’s more than one image here. Three of them … overlaid in a way that … a way intended to convey a message.”
Nash appeared in the doorway; a dishtowel thrown over his shoulder. His height and breadth almost filled the space. “A message?” he said.
“I think so,” replied Shirley. “A message or … what do they call it? I can’t remember. I’m too wound up; the name isn’t coming to mind. But, it’s like using white magic against black magic. Could be someone’s been trying to put a stop to the killings ever since they started.”
“Trying to?” Nash scowled. “If you mean the killers want to stop killing… why don’t they? Why scribble messages on an old lady’s tombstone? Ain’t it just a choice?”
“Not when honor is at stake… or a lot more. In this case, I think there’s quite a lot more involved.”
“So, why all the mystery? Why not just tell us what they want? This is a hell of a mess, damn it.” Nash snapped the dishtowel against the doorframe.
“Nash, any woman can answer that question.”
“That’s how it is, huh? Okay, let me have it.”
“Unless something comes from the heart, it isn’t real. It isn’t sincere. If you have to tell someone what you want, you’re getting the wrapper, not the package.”
Nash flipped the towel onto one shoulder. “You’re like a ghost coming back to haunt me. I remember Sable saying that a few times… more than a few, in fact. Guess I wasn’t really listening. You’re a lot like her. She had some peculiar notions, too. Just the same, I still don’t see why anybody would keep doing this awful thing for so long. Sable used to talk to me about forgiving and forgetting. I could never see it that way… her way. But now, I’m so tired and worn out over this I’m ready to try. If I can do that, why can’t they?”
“I don’t claim to know much about blood feuds, but I’m pretty sure that’s not the way it works. The town of Purity committed a horrible injustice. They murdered an innocent man; a crime that demands atonement. That which was lost or taken has to be returned. You’re probably thinking they’ve taken more from your family than Purity took from theirs, but…”
Nash interrupted. “I don’t think I’m going to like what you’re about to say.”
“I know,” said Shirley. “It’s not easy for me, either. I just want to point out that after all this time; the feud being passed from one generation to another… it may be as hard to be a killer as it is to be a victim.”
Nash cast a curious eye on Shirley before turning back to his cooking.
After a few minutes of contemplation, Shirley called out to Nash, again. “The outside image is a diamond turned on its side. I’ve seen that before. I think the four points stand for north, south, east and west. And in the center, I see a four-pointed star, but in between those two… that’s not so clear. I don’t know. I can’t be sure. The broken lines go in all different directions.”
Nash returned to the den, wiping wet hands on his overalls. “Let me take a look.” He examined the etching. “I ain’t sure, either, but…” he hesitated.
“Do you see something?”
“There’s… There is something familiar about it, but the memory of it ain’t materializing just yet. I’ll keep thinking on it. I have more dumplings to pat out. It’ll come to me when I ain’t fixed on it so hard.”
“I’ll be glad to help you pat out the dumplings,” said Shirley. “Maybe a break will open up my mind too.”
“No, ma’am. You don’t need to set a foot in my kitchen. Thank you just the same, but I’ve got everything under control. This is my pleasure. Besides I’m out to prove what a great cook I am.”
“If you insist,” Shirley shrugged one shoulder. “Just don’t forget I offered. Oh, ah… Nash… do you mind if I open the door for a minute. It’s a bit steamy in here with that pot of chicken boiling.”
“Hold on.” Nash called back. “Let me open a window, instead. I took the screen door off to paint it and all the mosquitoes ain’t dead yet. I still find myself chasing one of them buzzing boogers around my bedroom ceiling every few nights. Give me just a second to wash my hands.”
“No, no, Nash. No need to stop what you’re doing. I’ll just step outside for a minute or two.”
Shirley opened the door and a giant gust of wind pushed her back and toppled a picture of Martha Ann on a table nearby.
Nash heard the commotion and the door slam shut. He rushed into the den with his hands covered in cornmeal. “Miss Shirley. What happened? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“I think I have, Nash. In a way…” she blinked back to steady breathing. “I think I have. I…” Shirley grabbed Nash’s arm to steady herself. “I need to sit down.”
“Your eyes are as big as the dumplings I’m pattin’ out. What’d you see?” Nash held Shirley’s shoulders, leaving cornmeal handprints on her blouse. “Here. Sit down. Careful. Okay? There you go. Now, tell me what you saw.”
“Remember earlier, in the graveyard, when you came up behind me and I didn’t know you were there?”
“Yeah. You were deep in thought. I get like that sometimes.”
“It wasn’t that… at least, not that alone.” Shirley stopped as if someone had pushed her off button.
Nash brushed his hands on his pants legs, reached out for Shirley’s hand and touched it lightly. “Go ahead. You’re safe here. You can say it to me. You ain’t by yourself. I’m right here.”
“Well… at the graveyard… the wind,” Shirley stared back at the memory and forward to a thought she really didn’t want to see, “an unusual wind came up there, too. Out of nowhere… so strong it shook the tree tops. Leaves and pine needles fell all around and then a light flashed so bright it blinded me for a second. When I looked up I saw wings. There was a giant bird, soaring, across the sun. That’s why I didn’t hear you come up behind me.” A scratch of a smile and a raised eyebrow waited for Nash’s response.
Nash released her hand and walked across the room to a window. He stood looking out for a moment, walked back over to the coffee table and picked up the etching.
“Nash, what is it?”
“Giant bird. You saw a giant bird.” One finger traced the lines of the etching. “I think that’s it. Yeah. That could be what I was trying to remember.” He opened a desk drawer and fumbled through it. “Where is that pencil?”
“Right here,” said Shirley, holding it out towards him.
Nash knelt down at the low table and began connecting lines. “That’s it. It’s a thunderbird.”
“A thunderbird?”
“An Indian symbol,” said Nash, “of a supernatural being.”
“Really? Let me see.”
Nash handed Shirley the etching.
“So… so, I saw a giant bird and there’s a bird on the back of Sadie Redding’s tombstone. I… I also saw a light flash and a star is part of the symbol. And the diamond shape, which I think represents the four directions…” She looked up, “Could that have something to do with wind?”
Nash scratched his beard growth.
“Nash, are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“I’m thinking you’re right, Miss Shirley. The symbols are a message. Someone… is trying to help us.” Nash turned away, but not before Shirley saw tears well up in his eyes.
She walked over behind him and put both hands on his shoulders. “We’re getting close, Nash. We’re going to put a stop to this nightmare.”
With the words barely out of Shirley’s mouth, Nash turned and wrapped his arms around her.
