Hidden Falls

by Newport, Olivia

  “I can’t say I’m sorry you’re here,” she said, “but I’m sorry you took such a risk and it turned out like this.”

  “I’m not.”

  Nicole held on to his hand but didn’t look at him. She had nothing to do with the changes at her paper, but if Ethan lost his job—his career—it could be because of her, no matter what he said.

  “Are we still going to the cemetery now?” he asked.

  “Old Dom,” she murmured. “He may be our best hope now.”

  Ethan turned into the cemetery from the back side and circled around the curved roads to the main building that housed the offices. Nicole waited for him to come around and hold the door open while she got her crutches situated.

  At the desk inside, Ethan asked for Dominick. They still didn’t know if the name was his first or last.

  “Mmm,” said the pleasant looking young woman at a computer. “Not too many people come looking for Dom. He keeps his own hours.”

  “So he still works here?” Given his age, Nicole wasn’t sure whether to be shocked or relieved.

  “Not officially.” The nameplate said the young woman’s name was Jasmine. “But he likes to putter around, and he knows a lot of things no one else does, so they don’t mind if he comes and goes.”

  “If he’s on the grounds, where would he likely be?” Nicole asked.

  Jasmine pointed out the door. “Just go around the back of the building. There’s a room he calls his office.”

  Nicole hopped on one foot to turn around and set her crutches in a new direction. Ethan went ahead of her to open the door. Outside, a sidewalk ran alongside the building, easing her effort.

  At the back of the building, Ethan tried the only door they saw. It opened.

  “It looks more like a storeroom than an office,” he said.

  “He was a groundskeeper,” Nicole said. “It wouldn’t be the kind of office you expect.”

  Ethan felt around for a light switch. An overhead lamp went on, revealing an old wooden desk and the most uncomfortable looking chair Nicole had ever seen. But she needed a chair just then, so when Ethan pulled it out for her, she sat in it.

  “He may not even be here today,” Ethan said. “Do you want to wait? I could go ask some other people.”

  She wanted to put her foot up. Instead, she stretched it out in front of her and tried to find an angle that didn’t shoot pain up her leg.

  “You’re not feeling well,” Ethan said.

  “No, Dr. Jordan, I’m not.”

  “Let’s go,” he said. “We’re going to get you home.”

  Nicole took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Unfortunately, I have to admit you’re right.”

  Ethan held her crutches and Nicole pulled herself upright. She looked up to see an old man shuffle through the doorway.

  “Goodness,” he said, “if I’d known I was having company, I’d have brought hot chocolate for you.” He sipped from a steaming cup.

  “Excuse us,” Ethan said, “we’re actually just on our way out.”

  “No,” Nicole said. “He’s here now. We might as well ask our questions.”

  “What questions are those?” Old Dom set down his hot chocolate and pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket to blow his nose. “Are you looking for your mother’s grave?”

  She blanched. Nicole hadn’t been to her mother’s grave in fifteen years. “You remember me?”

  “I remember a lot of folks.”

  “Do you know Ted Quinn?” she asked.

  “Of course. He hasn’t been out to visit me for a couple of weeks, though.”

  Nicole’s eyes widened. “Quinn comes to visit you?”

  “He likes to look at my books.”

  “Your books?” Nicole saw nothing around the office but sparse furniture and a space heater.

  Old Dom shuffled across the room, taking keys off a chain hanging from his belt. He unlocked a door Nicole hadn’t even noticed and turned on a light.

  “I started keeping these books with my daddy when I was just a boy.”

  The room was only about nine by twelve, but three walls had counters and shelves. Several oversized record ledgers lay open. Nicole could see they were filled with handwritten entries.

  “Quinn always said genealogy was a hobby,” Old Dom said. “I let him think I believed him.”

  “But you didn’t?”

  “He was looking for something. Lately I got the idea that he might have found it.”

  4:02 p.m.

  The trail wasn’t one that recreational visitors to Hidden Falls used, which was why Dani chose it. The only sounds she wanted to hear were her own feet hitting the ground, breaking the occasional twig underfoot, and the orchestra of nature. Birds calling to each other, squirrels chasing each other up one tree and down another, wind scratching leaves, insects buzzing, water hitting rock in the distance—those were the sounds that would soothe Dani. At this time of year, she could count on a thick layer of fallen oak and maple and river birch leaves swirling, dry and shriveling, as Dani shuffled through them.

  Quinn always liked the crunching sound. He said stepping on leaves and watching them crumble was his way of making sure the organic matter got back into the soil. Some future generation would thank him.

  Dani and Quinn had hiked this trail together about three weeks earlier. If she followed the path in a strict way, Dani would end up at a high point overlooking the river. By then she would be ready to sit for a few minutes in the dirt on the bluff, with her feet dangling over the river.

  At the sound of a crunching step that wasn’t hers, Dani paused. Slowly, she put her foot down and turned to look behind her. A white tennis shoe disappeared into the brush on one side of the trail.

  Dani peered into the trees. “There’s poison oak in there.”

  The warning caused a brief flurry of movement, but the owner of the tennis shoe did not emerge onto the trail.

  Dani knew she couldn’t prevent others from using the trails, but that didn’t stop her from wishing for solitude each time she set out to hike. She turned back to the trail and pulled a bag of dates from her vest pocket. Sliding one into her mouth, Dani chewed into its sweetness with deliberation but hiked at a normal pace. A couple of glances over her shoulder revealed no one behind her on the path.

  Yet she knew she wasn’t alone.

  The woods were thick in this stretch, with low-lying growths filling in places where sunlight wormed its way through branches. But Dani knew well the sounds of the forest, and what she heard now didn’t belong there—any more than the shadows she’d seen outside her cabin on the lake belonged there.

  This white tennis shoe could belong to some kid avoiding homework, or it could belong to someone who knew how to drill a hole in a boat and camouflage a plug that was sure to work loose. Either way, Dani wasn’t going to put up with someone following her now. She knew these woods better than she knew the quirks of Quinn’s ancient laptop. In another twenty yards, she could ignore the sign to remain on the trail and the yellow arrow pointing to the approved path. Dani would know where she was going, but a less experienced hiker would get lost. In the woods, every turn looked the same as a half dozen others.

  Dani veered off the path. She didn’t have to listen hard or long to know that her shadow now flailed against sticky bushes and tripped on tree roots. Following someone in the woods wasn’t as simple as lurking at the edge of a well trampled trail. Dani kept going, choosing a route that grew even denser. It was only a matter of time now.

  The thud she’d been waiting for was followed by a sharp cry of pain.

  Now Dani turned, retraced her steps, and saw the girl sitting in the dirt with a fresh rip in one knee of her jeans.

  Some kid, Dani thought. She won’t know poison oak from a four-leaf clover.

  Dani stomped toward the girl, put her hands on her knees, and leaned into the frightened face.

  “Why are you following me?”

  The girl tried to scoot back in the dir
t, but Dani moved with her.

  “I come here to be alone.” The only exception Dani made was hiking with Quinn, because he knew how to keep his mouth shut and enjoy the view.

  The girl said nothing, her chest heaving. Whether it was from the exertion Dani had induced or fear, the movement made her look frail.

  Dani knew this girl—or at least she’d seen her somewhere.

  “You’re Jack Parker’s kid.”

  The girl nodded. “I’m Eva.”

  Dani had never known her name and didn’t particularly have a use for it now. “Stand up.”

  Eva complied.

  Dani assessed the girl’s size. She was tall enough to match the shadow Dani saw moving through the trees at the lake, but she seemed more slender. Then again, a shadow was never an exact match to the shape that cast it. Angles and levels of light could distort anything.

  Eva gasped when Dani grabbed her arm and felt the muscles under her long-sleeved T-shirt. Dani only wanted to know if this kid could have the strength required to get a boat out of the water and apply sufficient force with a drill to tamper with Dani’s boat.

  “It’s not you.” Dani pushed the girl’s arm away.

  “What’s not me?”

  “Never mind. But leave me alone.”

  Eva started to cry.

  Dani rolled her eyes. “Look, I’m sorry if I scared you, but you were following me, and I don’t like that.”

  “I hear what people say about you.” Eva choked back a sob.

  Dani knew she was going to regret this. “What are you talking about?”

  “I just want to know how you do it.”

  “Do what?”

  “You don’t fit in, and it doesn’t bother you.”

  At least the girl had her facts straight. “What does that have to do with you?”

  “I don’t fit in either,” Eva said. “But it bothers me, and I hate that it does. I don’t want to care that I don’t fit in. Like you.”

  Dani sighed. “We’re not very far from the river. Let’s go there.”

  She turned and resumed hiking. Behind her, Eva shuffled but kept pace. Dani followed an arc of bushes back to the main trail and eventually emerged at the bluff she’d been aiming for all along. With the swift motion of experience, she sat on the ground and hung her feet against the rock.

  “Is this safe?” Eva asked.

  “Is that what matters?” Dani tuned into the sound of water flowing beneath her and watched a couple of kids fishing on the opposite shore.

  With some care, Eva lowered herself to the ground beside Dani. Her fingers probed the tear in her pants.

  “Okay,” Dani said, “if you insist on talking, this is where you do it.”

  Below the bluff was the promise that the river would widen into the lake. From experience, Dani knew the kids would find better fishing if they went downstream about half a mile.

  Eva’s voice was tiny. “Have you always been so … independent?”

  Independent was a kinder word than many people would choose.

  “I suppose so.”

  “Everyone says you don’t like to be around people much.”

  Dani puffed out her cheeks. “Certain people in small doses are all right.” Liam called her socially inappropriate. If he weren’t her cousin, he might not make the list of people she tolerated.

  “That’s how I feel!” Eva picked up a rock and dropped it down into the river. “I had friends in Memphis who understood me. But here everybody wants me to be like them.”

  “And you’re not?” Eva looked like a pretty normal teenager to Dani.

  “I went to a party last Saturday, and all I could think about was how I wished I could call my parents to come get me. But they were at that banquet for Mr. Quinn.”

  “Well, I know how the banquet came out, but what was wrong with the party?”

  “Nothing, I guess,” Eva said. “Except that it feels like so much work to go to a party.”

  Dani knew the feeling. “So don’t go.”

  “My mom thinks I need friends.”

  “Do you think you need friends?”

  “I feel like I’m supposed to say yes.”

  “You’re not supposed to say anything.”

  Eva was silent for a minute and then said, “It was Melissa’s birthday. She’s nice to me and I like her, but I hated being at that party.”

  “So next time don’t go.” What was unclear about this dilemma?

  “Is that what you do?”

  “Look,” Dani said, “I’m no role model, and I don’t want you thinking I am.”

  Eva’s head turned toward the lake, and she maneuvered to her feet and shaded her eyes for a better look. “I can see his truck from here. I have to go!”

  Dani saw no reason to protest the girl’s departure. She wanted peace and quiet, and now she had it.

  5:02 p.m.

  Old Dom lifted a volume off the second shelf up. The ledgers were so tall that the only way to store them was to lay them flat. Ethan had been scanning the room, trying to discern a system to the way the books were organized.

  “This was the one where Quinn left off,” Old Dom said.

  “Left off?”

  “He studied quite a few.” Dom laid the volume on a clear space on the counter and opened the cover. “But he kept coming back to this one.”

  Ethan kept a hand at the small of Nicole’s back in case she lost her balance leaning on her crutches. The first page—and all the others, Ethan supposed—was marked off like an oversized sheet of notebook paper, with a red line down the left margin and rows of faint blue lines.

  “Are these the official cemetery records?” Ethan asked.

  “Might as well be.” Dom shuffled out of the way so Ethan and Nicole could get closer. “My father copied over all the entries in the official records.”

  “But why?”

  Dom pointed to a notation. “So he could write what the records left out.”

  Ethan peered at the florid handwriting. After a few seconds, he began to see the system to the flourishes and cramped spacing between words. This particular note said, Infant. Bad breather.

  “What does that mean?” Nicole asked.

  “Cause of death,” Ethan murmured. He looked at Dom. “Your father made notes about what he thought caused the deaths of people buried in this cemetery?”

  Dom nodded. “Sometimes he took it from the death certificate. Sometimes he took it from what folks said. And sometimes he had his own ideas.”

  “Was he a doctor?”

  “No sir. He was a groundskeeper, same as me. Started tending graves in 1918 after his own father died. Folks were afraid of anything to do with dead bodies because of the Spanish influenza, but Daddy figured he’d already been exposed. He started digging graves and stayed on.”

  Nicole gingerly lifted one of the thick pages to turn it. It made the sound of creasing cardboard. “And Quinn was looking at this book?”

  “Last I saw.”

  Ethan scanned the dates copiously entered in the left margin next to the names on the first page. “This is from the early 1930s.”

  “Well, he’s a history teacher. I figure liking old records comes with the occupation.” Dom scrunched up his wrinkled features to inspect Ethan. “What did you say your name was?”

  He hadn’t. “I’m Ethan Jordan.”

  “Richard’s boy?”

  Ethan winced but nodded.

  “You don’t look like him.”

  Ethan had heard that all his life. His older brother was the spitting image of their father. Ethan had his mother’s eyes but little other family resemblance.

  “Jordan was one of the names on Quinn’s list,” Dom said.

  Nicole looked up. “Quinn had a list?”

  “Just a scrap of paper he kept in his shirt pocket.” Dom patted his own pocket. “He borrows my pencil a lot. He’ll scratch something out and write something else in and make his thinking noises. But I saw it once. He wrote Jordan in big le
tters.”

  It made no sense. Ethan’s parents didn’t move to Hidden Falls until his father started working at the screw factory in Birch Bend after they were married. Ethan had no relatives buried in town, and Quinn knew that.

  “My hot chocolate is getting cold,” Old Dom said. “You folks stay as long as you like. I’ll just be in the other room.”

  “Wait,” Nicole said. “Can you tell us what else Quinn was looking at?”

  Dom pointed. “Those right there. That was his stack.”

  Ethan glanced at Nicole, balancing on her crutches, trying not to put weight on her bad foot while using her hands to turn pages in the records book.

  “I don’t suppose there’s a stool Nicole could use.”

  “Maybe in the front office. Tell them I said it was okay.”

  Dom left the room. Ethan heard the creak of Dom’s chair as he sat and the slurp of hot chocolate that followed.

  “Are we staying?” Ethan said to Nicole.

  She looked up. “How can we not?”

  “Then I’m going to find you a stool. And there’s a pain pill in your future.”

  She nodded. “I know. I need one. But we might not get another chance with these books.”

  Ethan was persuasive in the front office and returned with a wooden three-legged stool. It wouldn’t be comfortable, but at least Nicole would be off her feet.

  Dom whistled softly at his desk and turned on a radio.

  “Old Dom doesn’t know about the photo,” Nicole said softly as she adjusted herself on the stool with the oversized volume on the counter in front of her.

  Ethan agreed. “So what are we looking for here?”

  “We go back to our own list of names, especially Tabor, Fenton, and Pease.” Nicole looked at the stack Old Dom had pointed them to. “Can you pull those books down and see when they’re from?”

  Ethan laid two more volumes on the counter and opened one to a random page toward the back. “June 3, 1934.”

  “And the other? Earlier or later?”

  He opened to another random page. “September 8, 1956.”

  “So we have three volumes covering roughly twenty years.”

  Ethan put fingers to his temples. The cemetery wasn’t large, and the population of Hidden Falls had always been small and was probably smaller in the decades represented in these books than the present ten thousand residents. Old Dom’s father wouldn’t have needed so many pages to record basic information about deaths. There had to be more to it. He flipped to the back of one book and found rubbings of tombstones pasted in.