What Lies Buried: A Novel of Old Cape Fear

by Dewey Lambdin

  “Oop!” she suddenly gasped, flinching as she felt something brush her skirt and shin! Snake! her already-heated imagination gibbered! A glance at the dogs showed them ready to pounce on something, and …!

  But it was a cat, a large black-and-white with a speckled face and a white blotch around its pink nose. It swiped back and forth on her gown, purring madly, then got down to its real business at the food basket, pawing, peeking and fumbling for a way in.

  “Naughty Flora,” Biddy MacDougall mock-scolded as she came back to the porch. “Naughty kitty, that’s not for you!” She bent over and hefted her cat into her lap as she sat down beside Bess, brushing its head and chops. “Ye brought vittles with ye, Mistress Livesey?” she asked. “Must’ve come a fair piece, did ye hae t’fetch food along.”

  “Only from over the river,” Bess told her with a laugh. “But I thought to share, ifl came before you started your dinner.”

  “Och, that’s kind of ye, Mistress Livesey, ‘deed it is! I’ve barely started th’ tea water, an’ that happy I’d be t’set out anything else ye may care for!” Biddy exclaimed, all but clapping her hands as the cat finallyjumped down.

  “I’ve enough for three, really,” Bess replied. “No need for you to do anything else. My brother rode me out, far as the ferry tavern, anyway. But he, uhm …”

  “He met ma daddy,” Biddy finished for her with a wry expression.

  “We’ve fried chicken, four-beans in sweet oil and biscuits,” Bess promised. “And an apple pan dowdy.”

  “La, but ye provide handsome, Mistress Livesey!” Biddy whooped. “An’ here I woz, fixin’ t’slice some bacon an’ ham for a simple soup. Bless ye forever, for fetchin’ fried chicken. We’ve a few, mostly for eggs, an’ ain fryer of a Sunday. Rest o’ th’ time, Gawd! ’tis bacon, ham or pork chops, pig this an’ pig that. Swear t’ye, Mistress, I’ve et sae much pork I think I’m growin’ trotters. Aye, I do! Come inside, Mistress Livesey. I’ll pour us both a cuppa tea, an’ we’ll enjoy yair generosity!”

  Chapter 18

  OOH, THAT WOZ handsome,” Biddy said with a sigh of pleasure as she un-self-consciously licked her fingers, and sat back with a purr of utter contentment. “Couldn’t eat another bite!”

  The MacDougall house was simple, neat and Spartan, but it was a clean, well-ordered place, its furnishings home-crafted, by the father’s skilled hands. The chairs, tables, benches, cabinets and cupboards were very plain of line, but they gleamed with resin, pine oil or precious bee’s wax polish. The large main room was half home, half workshop, for Biddy had a quilting frame against one wall on which a colorful Tree of Life was taking shape, with a pile of finished ones on top of a nearby chest. There was a shuttle loom on which a short bolt of linsey-woolsey hung. Next to the loom was a spinning wheel and wool carder. By the signs of things, when not making gowns to order, Biddy MacDougall spun or wove to make her own curtains, coverlets or clothing.

  “Aye, woman’s work is ne’er done,” Biddy chuckled as she laid out small wooden plates for their dessert. “We get visitors s’seldom, ’tis time an’ mair I hae for mine. Thank Gawd we’ve a sma home, else I’d be hard at it, licht tae mirk, an’ not be able t’sew. That makes us a braw bit o’ money, beyond th’ pigs an’ ma daddy’s wages.”

  “Licht to… ?” Bess asked. “Light tae dark. Sunup tae sundown.”

  “You’ve so many talents, Biddy. You should have a place in town to work at, to show your wares. Your quilts and all!” Bess gushed.

  “Och, away wi’ ye!” Biddy shyly scoffed. “I get to town often enoo.” She turned more sober. “Father dinna hold much with towns, in the main. All reeks, dins an’jostles, he says! We go to Wilmington almost ev’ry Saturday, sometime a rare Sunday.”

  “Seems a waste that you have to keep your skill under the bushel basket, this far across the river, though, Biddy,” Bess said. “Did you ever live in a biggish, settled place?” she gentlybegan to probe.

  “We once lived up-country in the Scots’ settlements, with guid neighbors an’ all, but ma daddy, well…” Biddy bleakly said, with a sad expression. “He can be a hard man t’know, with little need of others. Come south an’ cleared a farm on Hood’s Creek, an’ Gawd, that was even worse than here! Nought but rank strangers passin’ by on th’ trace, but nae close neighbors, “lis better here, with folks settled round th’ ferry landing, but…” Biddy frowned, and crossed her arms under her breasts.

  “Father,” she expounded on her theme, with an exasperated toss of her head. “Ye met him. Naebody comes un-asked, an’ he dinna ask many. I ‘spect this is as close as he’d ever wish t’get to a place as big as Wilmington.”

  “Wilmington’s not all that grand, Biddy,” Bess said, hoping to lighten her sudden mood. “We came down from Philadelphia, and even if I was real little when we left, it was a dozen times bigger and …”

  “Oh, but Wilmington’s grand enoo for me, Mistress Livesey!” the girl insisted. “Biggest place I’ve ever seen! Shops an’ stores full o’ wonders… to a puir lass such’z me, that is. All th’ ships come in, all th’ bustle an’ industry? An’ folk strollin’ about as grandly cleed as lairds an’ ladies in London. Got a fine kirk built, where a body can worship … e’en is Saint James’s Church of England. Father don’t hold with anythin English, ‘coz he fechted for Prince Charlie in The ’45, ‘fore we come tae th’ Colonies, ‘fore he gie his Bible-oath tae King George an’ got his pardon.”

  “You must have beenjust a babe-in-arms, then, Biddy,” Bess said, wondering if Biddy had any inkling of the rumors of her father killing her mother, or if she’d been old enough to recall it herself.

  “Aye, I woz.” Biddy smiled briefly. “I ken thayr’s no Scottish kirk hereabouts, but that Reverend McDowell, well! With a name like that, he must be some sorta Scot, an’ might not mind me prayin’ thayr!”

  “Dissenters aren’t welcome,” Bess told her, “nor are Catholics, Baptists and such. But we’re Lowland Scot … that and Scots-Irish. We were Presbyterian, once, and no one objects to us being parishoners. I’m sure you’d be more than welcome, Biddy!”

  “Och, that’d be grand!” Biddy declared, perking up of a sudden. “Ah I’ve made mahself some grand gowns t’wear, should I e’er. Might e’en make friends with some o’ th’ other girls ma age at kirk … get asked in for tea, or something after? Hear ain o’ those musical concerts they hae. Real music, ‘stead o’ ma daddy’s tuning-box! Gae in th’ front doors a guest… ‘stead o’ th’ back tradesman’s entrance.”

  Bess was startled by the intensity of Biddy’s wishing, and she shifted uncomfortably as Biddy’s eyes began to moisten as she stared upwards as if voicing a heartfelt prayer.

  “I’d care tae dance, Mistress Livesey,” Biddy said in a shuddery voice. “Dance in a bonny gown I made for mahselfjust th’ once!” Then her large blue eyes squinted shut as tears began to flow, and she shoved away from the table blindly, scooping up dirty dishes along the way, almost sprinting for the back porch. “Sorry!” she stammered from a tight throat, over her shoulder, as she exited.

  Startled, and slightly ashamed, Bess rose to follow her, found her wiping crumbs, bones and scraps into an earthen slop jar near the pig troughs. Biddy set the plates down on the ground and went to the well to winch up a bucket of wash water, cranking fiercely, and dabbing angrily at her eyes with the hem of her apron.

  “Let me help,” Bess hesitantly offered, unsure of what to do to ease the girl. She took hold of the crank and finished the hauling as Biddy turned away to mop her shame-reddened face. “I’ll do the wash-up, too. Once you … whenever you wish, Biddy.”

  “I dinna ken what comes o’er me, sometimes,” Biddy said, trying to make light of her tears. “Here I fin’lly get some comp’ny, an’ I make a hash of eet. I’m not tetched in th’ head, nae matter what yair thinking, Mistress Livesey. It’s just … !” She heaved a controlling sigh to master herself, though it sounded broken.

  Bess secured the water bucket, then went to put an
arm around Biddy’s shoulders. “They’re not all they’re cracked up to be, Biddy. The dances. Once around with my clumsy brother, and that’d cure you! Everyone catty andjudging how you’re gowned, hold your tea cup or …”

  “Th’ ain ye left at th’ ferry tavern?” Biddy asked, snuffling, trying to play up chipper, though she began to shake with stifled sobs. “I dinna know, but I … !” Then she started to keen, turning to bury her head on Bess’s shoulder and cling to her, crying out loud.

  “There, there,” Bess whispered, stroking her back. “Cry it all out. Sometimes girls are due a good one, and no telling why. Done it often enough, myself. Father and Sam’l away, and none but me to cope with things. So many things, all at once. Half-bankrupt, poor …”

  “You!” Biddybawled. “Puir?”

  They both sat down on a rough bench near the well and held each other for what felt like ten full minutes as Biddy had her a sorrowful cry. Finally, she leaned away, sniffing and groping for a handkerchief in her apron pocket.

  “Gawd, I’m sorry t’gae all silly on ye, Mistress Livesey,” she muttered. “I’m not like this, swear I’m not! What ye must think! We get by, braw enoo, most o’ th’ time, but…”

  “It’s lonely out here by yourself,” Bess intuited, “and your father’s so strict, so… prickly.”

  “Aye, that’s th’ way of eet.” Biddy mournfully nodded, looking as if one wrong word would set her off, again. “None t’talk to, tell ma cares to … ‘cept for Flora an’ the dogs. An’ the mule. An’ th’ pigs! An’ thayr not guid list’ners, in th’ main. Yair own mother?”

  “She died a few years back,” Bess admitted. “’tis none but me, the sole woman of the house. Since I was barely into my Weens.”

  “I’m sorry,” Biddy said, blowing her nose and swiping a sleeve across her eyes. “Least ye kenned her. Ma own died when I was just a wee’un, still in swaddlings. Forgive me asking, for ’tis hard t’lose yair mother, nae matter how auld ye are.”

  “Your father never thought to remarry?” Bess asked. “He’s not that hard to look at… ‘cept for being, well… prickly.”

  “I dinna think he e’er really tried verra hard. An’ we’ve gaed about sae much, place t’place, job t’job, an’ aye … Daddy’s th’ sort who likes keepin’ tae himself. Truth be told, I ‘spect he’d be happier high up into th’ Piedmont, round King’s Mountain or farther, with nary a neighbor by at all” Biddy said with a doomed chuckle.

  “You couldn’t have been alone all this time. Weren’t there …?”

  “Oh, our neighbors up by Cross Creek or Campbelltown. Daddy’d leave me with neighbor women wheelst he worked, then fetch me home in th’ ev’nings. Other children t’play with, things t’learn. Letters an’ cyphers. A bit o’ real schooling, noo an’ ageen, if Daddy could afford it, an’ we bided somewhere lang enoo. Believe me, we moved a lot! Nae proper education, but I can read an’ figure as guid as anybody I know!

  “Thayr’s another reason I’d wish tae get to Wilmington an’ meet people, Mistress Livesey,” Biddy continued, her eyes now dry, her voice scratchy and phlegmy. “Only book we got is th’ Bible, an’ I’d dearly love tae borrow new’uns! I heard talk of some folk ‘cross th’ river starting a library, where ye canjust up an’ be lent any one ye care tae read! Choose ain of a Saturday market day, soak it up durin’ th’ week, an’ return eet th’ next, wouldn’t that be a marvel? That way, I could talk as smart as anybody, even do I tutor mahself, ‘stead o’ having a proper schoolmaster. Oh, eet might cost ha’pence or so. Och, what ye must think o’ me, ramblin’ on so, and you probably with ain hundred books in yair own house, Mistress Livesey …”

  “Biddy, will you stop calling me Mistress Livesey?” Bess said. “My friends call me Bess.”

  “I could?” Biddy asked, perking up as if offeredjewels. “Do ye mean it? E’en do I sew for ye, an all?”

  “Hang that mistress-seamstress rot, Biddy,” Bess declared, her heart breaking for the girl’s heretofore bleak prospects and swearing that she’d find a way to change them, heart opening to a fellow young woman in need … and coming to like her a great deal. “Next time you come to town, come to my house through thefront door. We only have about forty or so books, but you’re welcome to borrow anything we have.”

  “I doan know … Bess,” Biddy shyly responded. “Daddy might hae t’see them first t’see thay’re uplifting, not novels or wasteful trash.”

  “My father’s the very same, Biddy!” Bess chuckled. “He wouldn’t let anything too salacious under our roof, either. You could come this Saturday! We could have dinner, go shopping and all! You could put on one of those gowns you said you’d made for yourself,” Bess slyly teased, “and we could go calling at other homes, together. I could ask about, see if there’s any music planned … well, good music. The last one I went to, your pigs made better, they were so …”

  “Och, gown!” Biddy cried, shooting to her feet. “Ye came for me tae make ye a gown, an’ here we quite forgot all about eet! Let’s gae in th’ house, an’ see what I’ve got t’suit ye. For a promise like that, I’ll do ye up a gown sae fine, ye could dance at yair wedding in eet!”

  Chapter 19

  BESS WAS IN TORMENT. She’d come all this way to “smoke” a possible murderer, and had found a needful friend! How can 1 carry on this miserable charade? she guiltily wondered.

  “I’ll wash up, Biddy,” Bess re-offered, stalling. “You go take your ease on the porch. Oh! In my bundle, I’ve two shirts I made for my brother. No great shakes, but… I said I’d bring them … if he’d ride me out. I had to bribe him! Could you take a look at them, and see what could be done to … ruffle them up for him?”

  Minutes later, Bess returned to the front porch, just as Biddy was polishing off a dish of the apple pan dowdy. She looked up with a sheepish smile as she licked the last morsels offher spoon.

  “Lovely dowdy, Bess,” Biddy congratulated. “Ye bake as guid as ye sew … yair seams an’ stitchings air all sae neat an’ fine? Fine as mine, when I’ve ma wits about me!” She picked up one of the shirts and held it out. “This linen sark … I’ve some guid ecru lace that’d gussy it fair enoo. Nothing fancy. This white cotton sark, though, would be perfect for Sunday come t’meeting, with layered lace ruffles, and a layered neck-stock t’go with it, above th’ plaquet.”

  “So those are sarks?” Bess exclaimed. “Shirts! I didn’t catch what your father was saying.”

  “Not many people do,” Biddy snickered. “Guid as ye sew, Bess, I dinna see why ye’d need me t’do for ye.”

  “Ease, Biddy,” Bess chuckled, taking a seat by her, explaining what desperate straits the Liveseys had been in, and why, the last few years. “Now we’ve our heads above water, again, thank God, and if He continues to bless us, we might be able to take on apart-time helper round the house, at least. Like you said, woman’s work is never done, but I think I could cope well enough, if there wasjust a bit less ofit!”

  “Och, aye!” Biddy heartily agreed.

  “I’d like to go to parties and teas and such, too, Biddy,” Bess told her, “have the time for them, even if it’s only every now and again. You wish to dance? Well, I would, too. In a gown I didn’t make myself, in something really elegant, ‘stead of scrimped together!”

  “Ye mean it’s notjust me feeling dawkish?” Biddy gasped. “But… yair a fine lady, Bess!”

  “And the other so-called ‘fine young ladies’ snicker when I do attend something, ‘cause I couldn’t afford their … flounces, and all, and had to piece together my own gown out of left-over cloth, wear the same two to everything, and …” Bess carped. “Well, you understand.”

  “Aye, I’ve heard tell.” Biddy nodded with a wry grin. “I call on some t’take measures, an’ I’ve heard ’em sneer. Swear t’Gawd, did I ever live in Wilmington an’ be a Society lady, ye’ll ne’er hear me say a cruel word ‘gainst another body. Ain thing my daddy taught me, ’tis whether thayr’s a guid person in th’ gown, nae matter how gr
and her trappings be, an’ no amount o’ frippery can make th’ bad guid.”

  “Ever and amen to that!” Bess chimed in agreement.

  “Someday …” Biddy said, looking dreamy at a better future. “I just might become a lady, mahself! Ye ne’er can tell! A’doing quadrilles, sae grand an’ graceful…”

  Biddy got to her feet and picked up Bess’s blue taffeta gown, put the end of a sleeve in each of her hands, and let it drape against her like a dance partner, then began to step around the porch.

  Sawye ma Maggie, Sawye ma Maggie,

  Saw ye ma Maggie, linkin over da lea?

  She sang in a pure, piping alto as she danced.

  “Quadrilles an’ minuets,” Biddy fantasized, “an’ then, we’d go all breathless at th’ contre-danses! Dance th’ night away, an’ not stop ‘til th’ cows come home! Dancing with handsome, successful husbands, acleed sae fine, them an’ us, th’ other lasses’ll grind thayr teeth with envy tae be us! Dance at our wedding’s, me at yours, you at…!”

  She wa seen wi’ wir johnnie,

  She wa seen wi’ wir johnnie,

  She wa seen wi’ wir johnnie,

  He’ll be takin her fae del

  So wistfully said, or sung, that Bess was touched. Turning red at her own actions, Biddy stopped, held the gown out and came back to her chair. “Here, then, what ye wish tae add t’this’un? An’ ev’ryday, Sunday church gown? Or”—Biddy slyly grinned—”a courtin’ special?”

  “Oh, ah …” Bess said, groping, amazed by Biddy’s dreams. Had Uncle Harry dallied with her, Biddy couldn’t help but be distraught by news of his death; she would be the sort who’d fall head-over-heels in love, with all her soul. Was that what made her weep?¥>