by Tony Martin
Now she was fully awake, and recognized that she had been awake the night the man had been in her room, and because of that she felt terror. She had no one to talk to – she didn’t want to tell Bernadine, for fear she’d leave – and as a result, her mind capered with fear. She was alone, but perversely she now realized that she had not been alone. Or had she been?
“God,” she said aloud, “Oh, God.”
With that, she eased toward her desk and found her Bible. The Bible was stiff and unyielding and smelled of fresh leather. She seldom looked at it. Now, needing something as a talisman, she climbed into her bed, holding the Bible as though it were a shield, folding her arms around it in an embrace.
Meredith tried to relax, but her mind was shuttling back and forth between reality and unreasoning fear. I can’t be losing my mind, she thought, because crazy people don’t think they’re crazy.
“I don’t know what to think,” she said, and her words echoed faintly in her room. She looked around, and everything seemed perfect and orderly and – normal.
“You big baby,” she said, and tried to laugh because she was talking to herself. She got up, turned on her CD player. Faith Hill’s sweetly comforting voice filled her bedroom.
Meredith changed into her pajamas – actually, just an Alpha Gamma Delta jersey that came below her knees. She was already calmer. She turned off the overhead bedroom light, but not her bedside lamp. She turned back the covers and slid between the crisp, cool sheets.
Meredith thumbed through the pages of her Bible. She’d been a sporadic churchgoer at best, generally going with Christine when she did go. She wanted to read something but didn’t know where to turn.
She ended up with the 23rd Psalm. “The Lord is my shepherd,” she read in a whisper. “I shall not be in want.”
Meredith read the entire Psalm aloud, and embraced the comforting, idyllic words. “Amen,” she said, but drew her hand back just shy of turning off her bedside light.
She rolled over in the bed, still clutching the Bible, and drifted off to sleep.
Had Meredith stayed awake, she would have known in the deepest watches of the night that there were once again voices in the hall outside her room. She would have known that as she slept that the door to her bedroom swung open silently. And she would have known that her Bible, held close to her chest, would have been slipped gently from her hands and taken away.
When she woke up the next morning, she realized her Bible was gone, but after a few moments of groggy wonder, she didn’t give it another thought. The events of the previous evening were more dreamlike than real. As the morning sun streamed through her windows, the terrors of the dark seemed far, far away.
Mercifully, she was aware of nothing that had happened while she slept.
Chapter Four - First Meeting
Joshua spent a fruitful day at the church. He'd put the final touches on his Sunday night sermon, and had made significant headway on his morning sermon. Joshua worked backwards, he once told someone. He tended to prepare his evening message before his morning one. When asked why, he couldn't really give a satisfactory answer. "I'm just like that," he said helplessly, and let it go at that.
Joshua had also spent part of his day at the public library. There, he'd found a book on the history of Pelham County, and had whiled away a couple of lazy hours getting a sense of history of his adopted home. Pelham County was named for "the Gallant Pelham," a Confederate artillerist during the Civil War properly named John Pelham. He was struck down at a young and promising age and had joined the pantheon of Confederate greats. Joshua also saw that the history of the county in general and St. Helena in particular connected significantly with the Dubose family. The war ruined the livelihood of many people in the South, but the Duboses had prospered.
Most of what he read verified what Gretchen had already told him. There was much more, of course; 1929 had seen a tremendous tornado that had devastated part of the county, and rebuilding had just put that much more money in the Dubose coffers. It was an opportune time to own a sawmill. There were plenty of accounts of how the two World Wars had impacted the county, of how some industry had come in since the end of the World War II, and how the county had managed to remain quietly viable in the years since.
Joshua tried to imagine how the Duboses had figured in all that he read. He concluded that the family had been the uncrowned monarchs of St. Helena, the family to which all others deferred. Lives were so easily entwined in small towns. Even in 2005, there were plenty of local folks who had never been more that a hundred miles from the city limits. Life was slow paced, and while many homes sprouted satellite dishes and were connected round the globe via the World Wide Web, there was still a significant sense of time and place that hadn't changed much for over a hundred years.
Joshua wasn't sure if that was a good or a bad thing. There were deep roots among the people, a sense of belonging to the earth and each other. While Southerners were universally known and believed to be gracious and accommodating people, there was just below the surface a simmering gumbo of dark family secrets and scandals long covered. If it suited them, families and entire communities would carry unspoken horrors to their graves rather than have others find out. Joshua believed that unlike the rest of the country, Southerners still had the capacity to be ashamed.
Even though Gretchen had been forthright about the Dubose family, Joshua knew that there were quite some tales to tell that even she didn’t know. He wondered abstractly if it would do any good to know any more about the Duboses; perhaps it would help him minister to Meredith if he knew a bit more of her culture and family. Or, perhaps, he just wanted to sate himself with some more gossip; he was a Southerner himself, and hearing a good tale was part of that cultural nature.
Joshua looked up from his history book. He scanned the stacks, the uniquely pleasing musty smell of an old library filling his nostrils. Abruptly, he arose, shelved his history book, and went to the card catalog. St. Helena Public Library hadn't managed to catalog its holdings on computer yet, but there was still something appropriately quaint about flipping through yellowed index cards.
Joshua found four books on ghosts and hauntings. Feeling foolish and giddy at the same time, he took the books he'd pulled and found an even more secluded table in a shadowy nook of the reading room.
"I don't even know what I'm looking for," he muttered as he thumbed to the table of contents of his first book.
A Dr. Hans Holzer wrote Ghost Hunter in 1965. A brief perusal gave a good sense of Holzer's theory of ghosts and hauntings. Apparently, Holzer was in the "ghost hunting" business, taking a pseudoscientific approach to his work. The book consisted of several vignettes of what Holzer claimed to be actual hauntings, his experiences with mediums, and his peculiar "psychic ether" theory. As best as Joshua could figure - and he wanted to return the books before anyone saw him looking at them - Holzer believed that certain people who died, passing out of the physical body, remained in an ethereal state at or near the place of passing due to some emotional trauma. He believed that ghostly manifestations took place by the departed spirit drawing energy from the physical world. He called these "real" ghosts. Other manifestations happened when a past emotional or traumatic event is "played over" in a specific location, because the psychic residue of the event has somehow been left behind and impressed into the atmosphere of the place or house.
"That's pretty wild," Joshua commented to no one in particular. There was no way what he'd read worked into his theology.
Another one of the books was The Edge of the Unknown, by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. The book was a treasure, he thought, since it had been so long out of print and was actually Doyle's last publication. Again, a quick scan satisfied him. Doyle was involved in the spiritualist frenzy that spread across England and the United States in the early days of the century. Specifically, Harry Houdini and his promise to try to make contact after his death from beyond the grave fascinated Doyle. Joshua found it intriguing from a historical s
tandpoint but useless otherwise.
Joshua closed this book and pushed the others to the side. "This is lame," he said to himself. While he was willing to concede that Samuel had made a post-death visit to Saul, and while he knew that cultures from the beginnings of recorded history had spoken of ghosts, he simply couldn't warp his belief system to accommodate what Holzer and others of his ilk were saying. It just wasn't biblical, it was dangerously pagan, and he found himself ashamed of even thinking in that direction.
Joshua also thought that Meredith might have been influenced by popular culture, and had taken some entertainment events to heart. After the bizarre runaway success of The Blair Witch Project - a movie Joshua and Bethany had rented on the sly and both found abysmal and disgusting ("I've never seen a bunch of kids with such a limited vocabulary," Bethany said) - all sorts of "reality" shows had been cropping up on television. The Sci-Fi Channel had a series, Ghost Hunters, hosted by a group of men who were plumbers by day and ghost hunters by night. The Discovery Channel and the History Channel ran periodic documentaries on hauntings, and while the content was scholarly and sober, their shows depended on spook house thrills with cheesy production values. Even ABC Family, the home of the 700 Club, managed to enter the fray with The Scariest Places on Earth, hosted by a deadly earnest Linda Blair, well past her pea-soup spewing days in The Exorcist.
Joshua returned to the church in a deep gloom. He knew he had to counter the cultural falsehoods that Meredith had experienced while at the same time offering comfort in the face of fear and loss. He knew she'd been enslaved to a rampant imagination, and he planned to offer hope and peace while somehow telling he she was nuts for tampering with the supernatural. "That'll be a neat trick if I can pull it off," he told Bethany, and she heartily agreed.
"You ready to take a field trip?" Joshua asked Bethany.
"Absolutely," Bethany said, heading for the door. As planned, Joshua and Bethany went to pick up Christine about five-thirty. They exchanged pleasantries at the Tracy home before heading out of town for their visit with Meredith Dubose. Christine was chatty, talking about school and the church and everything else in the world. Joshua made small agreeable sounds. Bethany was uncharacteristically subdued.
They passed through the crossroads community of Pleasant Hill. Christine, in the back seat, pivoted around to watch the little white church disappear around a curve in the road. “I think Meredith’s parents went to that church, but not very often,” she said thoughtfully. “That’s where their graves are.”
Bethany spoke up. “I know that - that they were never found. How was the funeral?”
“Ugh,” said Christine, shivering at an unpleasant memory. “It was terrible. Meredith planned it with the preacher at Pleasant Hill. They just had a graveside service. Meredith had sort of a his-and-her tombstone carved, but there weren’t any caskets or burial. It was all so, so sad. Meredith’s aunt came with her two boys, but those were the only relatives that came. Of course, there were plenty of folks from town, but since whatever Duboses there are around the rest of the country aren’t close, Meredith still had it pretty much by herself. I don’t know how she handled it,” she said finally, and looked out the car window at the passing trees.
Bethany didn’t want to pursue what was obviously a painful subject. “We won’t say anything to Meredith about it,” she assured Christine, “unless she brings it up first.”
“I’m sure she’d appreciate that,” said Christine, still staring out the window.
Joshua was lost in thought. He wondered what his approach toward Meredith would be. Christine, he believed, would guide the conversation along, and he was glad Bethany was with him. Having his wife along as an older lady - if only by ten years or so - would be a nice stabilizing influence. He’d determined that he wouldn’t go into the situation with guns blazing, but he did feel that he needed to find out where Meredith was spiritually. Mostly, he just wanted to listen, and then take his cues from whatever might come up in conversation. If Meredith wasn’t willing to talk, then the evening would be uncomfortable for all involved.
They rode in silence for the last couple of miles. Joshua wondered why Bethany took such an interest in this situation. He stole a sideways glance at her. Her face was impassive, and he couldn’t get a read at all.
Joshua slowed the car at the turnoff to the old plantation. He stopped long enough for Bethany to read the historical marker. She read it aloud. “Well, I’ll be,” she said. “These folks have got some deep roots.”
“That they do,” said Joshua, as he maneuvered down the narrow lane toward the house. He kept one eye on Bethany, wondering how she’d react upon seeing the mansion.
He wasn’t disappointed. As the car cleared the embankments on either side and the Dubose mansion loomed ahead, Bethany let out a low whistle. “I am not believing this,” she said slowly. Joshua turned to wink at Christine, who returned his wink.
“Dream house,” Bethany said breathlessly. “Stop the car and let me get a good look.”
Joshua shifted into neutral long enough for Bethany to take in the amazing vista. “This is unbelievable,” she said. “You mean people actually live like this today?”
Christine leaned forward. “Some people do. Meredith’s just plain folks. You’ll see.”
Joshua drove up the circular drive and parked at the front door. Bernadine met them.
“How’re you folks doing?” asked Bernadine. Her voice was deep and earthy. She offered a little smile. “Hey, Christine. It’s always good to see you.”
Christine gave Bernadine a hug. “We’re just fine, Bernadine. I want you to meet some folks. This is Brother Joshua Nix, our pastor at Calvary Church, and this is his wife, Bethany.”
Bernadine reached and gave both their hands a firm squeeze. “Bless your hearts,” she said, her eyes shining. “I sure am glad to see you folks. Meredith isn’t feeling too well tonight. She’s in the parlor. I told her that when y’all came I’d see you in. I hope you don’t mind me meeting you here at the door. Meredith -” she paused, looking anxiously at Joshua, “well, Meredith, she just hasn’t been herself lately. I hope you can talk to her and do some good. She’s so sweet.”
Joshua studied Bernadine for a moment before answering. Clearly, Bernadine thought of Meredith as her own family. “I’ve wanted to meet her, Miss Bernadine. We’ll just talk some, and I’ll see what we can do.”
Bernadine clasped her hands beneath her chin. “Thank you, Lord,” she said, squeezing her hands together. “That child has been through so much. So much hurt for such a tender young lady.”
Bernadine's genuine concern warmed Joshua. He looked over at Bethany. Bethany was looking up at the small balcony above, taking it all in. This is amazing, she mouthed silently to Joshua.
Bernadine saw them through the front door. To call this area a foyer was a supreme understatement. The entry hall was vast, reaching up two floors to a shadowy white ceiling. A magnificent cut glass chandelier hung from a molded medallion in the ceiling into an open atrium-like space. Before them was an enormous fireplace, and above the fireplace was a mural depicting an antebellum river scene - docks covered with cotton bales, men and women in their finest livery strolling along the waterfront, a sternwheeler riverboat in the distance. To the left of the fireplace was an intricately carved staircase, the banisters made of dark mahogany, which curved sinuously up to the second floor landing, which in turn wrapped around the second level of the entry hall.
“They call this the great hall,” whispered Christine to Bethany, who would have been embarrassed to know that she stood at the door, slack-jawed, looking for all the world like a tourist.
Bernadine led the three past the foot of the staircase into what Joshua assumed was the library, a dark and heavily draped room lined with bookcases and furnished with heavy port wine colored leather chairs and sofas. A roll-top desk the size of a tipped-over refrigerator was in one corner, as well as a couple of other smaller tables and chairs. Family portraits lined
the walls. Joshua glanced at Bethany, who was still awestruck.
The next room was the parlor. It was completely different in style from the library. It was a light and airy room, the walls painted an eggshell white, sheer rose curtains at the windows, and with furnishings that tastefully incorporated the same color scheme. French doors opened onto the veranda.
Now it was time for Joshua to catch his breath. Propped up on the sofa, wearing jeans and a pullover cotton sweater, was one of the most beautiful girls he’d ever seen. Meredith Dubose smiled wanly at her visitors. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a simple ponytail. He noted the almost translucent clarity of her skin; she looked ethereal and fragile. He caught himself studying her green eyes; they were deep set and seemed to be illuminated from within. Joshua was taken entirely off guard. Whatever he’d expected from Miss Dubose, this certainly wasn’t it.
“Meredith, I’m Joshua Nix, and this is my wife, Bethany,” Joshua said, taking her hand as she offered it. Meredith gave his hand a lingering squeeze. She didn’t take her eyes off him, and Joshua suddenly felt awkward. Bethany gave him a quizzical look, a wry smile playing at the corners of her mouth.
“Hello, Brother Nix and Mrs. Nix,” said Meredith, rising slowly. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“Please – we’re Joshua and Bethany,” Joshua said.
“OK, Joshua,” said Meredith. She looked over at Christine, who was trying to gauge this initial meeting.
Christine recognized that no more formalities were necessary. She offered Joshua and Bethany seats in matching wing chairs, and sat over to one side in a bentwood rocker. Meredith sat erect on the sofa, pulling an afghan around her knees. She shivered. “Are y’all comfortable?” she asked. “I can get Bernadine to bring us something to drink, if you’d like.”
Joshua politely declined, wondering why Meredith seemed to be cold. The room was quite comfortable. Meredith said, “Mrs. - Bethany, would you like something? We’ve got some sweet tea, some lemonade, some Diet Cokes. How about you, Chrissy?”
