Graveminder

by Melissa Marr

  Rebekkah frowned. Release the claim on her bequests?

  “Cissy?” The sheriff walked up beside them. “How about we get a little air?”

  Rebekkah didn’t stay to find out if Cissy went with him. She turned and walked into her grandmother’s kitchen. It was full of people, some familiar and some not. Her visits home weren’t that frequent, and it had been years since she lived there, but every time she came home, Maylene seemed to want her to accompany her everywhere. The result was that she knew a fair number of the Claysville residents even though she had only truly lived there a few years.

  “Ladies.” Byron had followed her into the kitchen. “Would you give us a minute?”

  “So, I thought that went fairly well.” Rebekkah forced an I’m-not-falling-apart expression to her face before she turned to look at him. She knew he’d see through it, but she wanted the illusion that she hadn’t already slipped into the habit of letting down her guard around him.

  He snorted. “She was waiting for that.”

  “I’d ask why, but I don’t think you know any better than I do.” Rebekkah looked at the kitchen floor. “The rug’s gone. My grandmother died right here, and they had to get rid of the rug because of it, didn’t they?”

  “Don’t do this to yourself, not right now. ” Byron wrapped his arms around her.

  “That was a yes.” Rebekkah leaned into his embrace. “I don’t understand why Cissy wants to hurt me. I don’t want to know that Maylene ...” She closed her eyes for a moment. “I don’t want her to be dead.”

  “I can’t change that.” He held her for a few moments, and when she relaxed a little, he asked, “Want me to kick Cissy’s ass?”

  Rebekkah laughed a little, but the laugh didn’t completely hide the sob.

  They were still standing like that when Evelyn came in a few minutes later. She was only a few years older than they were, but she’d always had a maternal streak to her. When Byron had spilled his first bike during a race out at the reservoir, it was Evelyn who hovered over him until Chris got him to promise he’d go to the doctor and got Ella and Rebekkah to promise to call him to wake him every forty-five minutes to make sure he wasn’t concussed. Being the sheriff’s wife and mother of four kids had made her even more of a nurturer.

  “Cissy and her daughters agreed that it was probably for the best if she went home to rest a bit,” Evelyn said.

  With a watery smile, Rebekkah turned to face her. “Thank you.”

  Evelyn waved it off. “It wasn’t me, shug. Christopher does a good job of handling difficult women.” She lowered her voice. “He had to learn that skill with his sisters. He comes from high-strung women.”

  “Well, please thank him, too.” Rebekkah gave a small laugh. When she’d lived here, the McInney family had been responsible for more than its fair share of disturbing the peace, and to hear Maylene talk, one of the reasons the town council made Chris sheriff was that he knew all the troublemakers—or was related to them.

  “Everything will be okay, Rebekkah.” Evelyn pulled out a chair. “And it will be easier once you get a little food in you. Grief is exhausting, and you can’t keep up your strength on an empty stomach. Come on.” She patted the chair. “Sit.”

  Obediently, Rebekkah did so.

  Evelyn looked at Byron. “You go on and see if your father’s here yet. He’s hiding it well enough, but he’s having a rough time of it, too. Those two were always thick as thieves.” She made a shooing motion at Byron. “Go on. I’ll stay with her for a bit.”

  Byron glanced at Rebekkah, who nodded. Leaning on Evelyn didn’t feel as dangerous as leaning on Byron. With Evelyn, there was no confusion, no conflict. She was simply being kind. Most likely, she’d do the same for every person currently in the house if they were grieving.

  “I’ll be right out there,” he said.

  Evelyn started fixing a plate for Rebekkah, filling the kitchen with the same sort of easy chatter that Maylene always used to when Rebekkah was upset. Which is why she’s doing it , Rebekkah realized . She smiled gratefully at Evelyn. “Thank you.”

  “Shush.” Evelyn patted her hand.

  Over the next hour, a number of people flowed in and out of the kitchen, telling little tidbits of stories about Maylene—a fair number of them about conversations in that very room—and generally helping Rebekkah erase the thought of her grandmother dying there.

  Then Rebekkah felt a tug, as if she were being drawn along a cord she couldn’t see. She walked back into the living room, trying to make sense of the utterly unfamiliar feeling inside of her. She’d grieved before, but grief didn’t compel you to follow unseen paths.

  “Bek?” Amity stepped toward her. “Rebekkah? What are you doing?”

  Rebekkah ignored her and kept walking. She opened the door and stepped onto the porch. Vaguely, she realized that she should say something , explain herself in some way, but a pressure inside insisted that she keep moving.

  Amity followed. “What are you ... Oh my gods.” She turned and ran back inside yelling, “Sheriff? Daniel? Somebody?”

  A child Rebekkah didn’t know was lying on the ground. She had several long gashes in her arm, at least one tear in her shoulder, and scrapes on her legs as if she’d been dragged over the ground. The child’s eyes were closed, and her face was turned away.

  In a haze, Rebekkah knelt down beside the girl and felt for a pulse. It was thready, but there. It took all of her efforts to force herself to focus on the child.

  This isn’t what I am looking for.

  “Oh my God.” A woman, presumably the child’s mother, sobbed the words as she shoved in front of Rebekkah and scooped the little girl into her arms. “Call an ambulance. Oh my God, Hope ...”

  Sheriff McInney helped the woman over to the porch. “Let me see her.”

  Then Father Ness and Lady Penelope, the local spiritualist, were both there. Evelyn was steering the crowd. Someone had come outside with a kitchen towel and was using it as a makeshift bandage on the little girl’s arm. Everything was as under control as possible, but the compulsion Rebekkah was feeling hadn’t abated.

  It’s farther away now.

  Rebekkah walked past the child and the people clustered in the yard. Beyond her was a small patch of woods. At the front of the woods were trees and bare ground; Maylene had always kept the front-most bit clear of underbrush. Beyond that, it grew wild. That’s where it went. Rebekkah searched the trees and underbrush for movement, eyes, something to help her locate the animal that did this.

  Why would I feel an animal outside?

  Byron came up beside her. “The EMTs are on the way. Evelyn called them the minute she heard Amity. The station is close enough that they should be here in a couple minutes.” He paused. “Bek? Are you okay?”

  She kept watching the shadows in front of her.

  “Do you see something?”

  “No,” she said.

  “Did you see anything?” Byron looked out into the small wooded area. “Cougar? Dog of some sort?”

  “No, I didn’t see anything.” She felt like her voice wasn’t entirely her own, as if the sound of the words echoed around her.

  For several moments, they both stood silently. Then the tug that had pulled Rebekkah outside released all at once. She rubbed her hands up her arms, trying to chase away the prickled feeling on her skin.

  “There were a couple other children out here. Are they all here? I don’t know a lot of these people. I’d think their parents would check, but ... I don’t know.” She kept her voice low, as much in hopes of not spooking anything that waited in the trees as not to alarm anyone who overheard her. “Can you check?”

  “Sure. Let me go ask Chris. Are you—”

  “I need a minute,” she told him.

  Obviously, the shock of the past two days had hit her. I was in California yesterday. Today she was at her grandmother’s funeral breakfast staring into the woods in some strange attempt to find an animal that had attacked a child. Grief wasn�
��t always the same, and if she was acting irrationally, it was to be expected. That didn’t feel like grief. She wasn’t sure what else it could be, though—or if she wanted to know. What she wanted was to kick everyone out, go upstairs, grab a shotgun, and sit on the porch watching for whatever big cat or feral dog had bitten the child.

  The EMTs pulled up. Right behind them were William Montgomery and the young rabbi who’d moved to town a few years ago. William’s gaze immediately sought first Byron and then Rebekkah.

  The rabbi went over to the child’s mother, but William walked past the small crowd until he was beside Rebekkah. “Are you okay?”

  “I am.” Rebekkah gestured to the crowd. “A little girl got bit by some sort of animal.”

  Daniel came over and took charge of keeping the bystanders out of the way. He paused and gave Rebekkah and William an almost accusatory look.

  Rebekkah flinched. She hadn’t been gawking, but she hadn’t been much use either—but neither had anyone else. They’d wrapped the wound and called for help; there wasn’t much else anyone could do. What did he expect?

  “Why don’t you go on over to the house, Bek,” William said.

  There was no graceful way to refuse William’s suggestion, and she didn’t want to argue with him—he was the only other person who’d lost as much as she had when Maylene died—so Rebekkah did as William suggested.

  She walked toward Byron, and as she approached she caught the tail end of his comment. “ ... just like Maylene,” he said in a low voice to Christopher. “So don’t tell me to calm down, Chris.”

  Rebekkah blanched. Like Maylene? That didn’t make sense. Byron had said Maylene was murdered; animals didn’t murder people. “Byron?”

  Byron looked over his shoulder. “Bek ...” He rubbed his hand over his face. “I didn’t realize you were behind me.”

  She looked from him to the sheriff, who shook his head and remained silent, and then back at Byron.

  Lady Penelope came up beside Rebekkah and put an arm around her. The spiritualist was gentle but insistent. “Come inside. It’s been a stressful morning. Evelyn already put on the kettle. Why don’t we get a nice cup of herbal tea? I brought several blends that should soothe your nerves.”

  Rebekkah gently extricated herself. “You go ahead. I need a minute.”

  The reverend came up and gave Penelope a questioning look that Rebekkah pretended not to notice. Penelope shook her head once.

  Sheriff McInney said, “There’s nothing we can do here, and Evelyn could probably use our help. Come on, Reverend.” He glanced at Penelope. “Lady P.”

  Penelope embraced Rebekkah quickly and whispered, “Byron is a good man, Rebekkah. You can trust him ... and yourself.” Then she stepped away. With an implacable smile, she turned to the reverend. “Did Cecilia get escorted out peacefully? That detail was unclear.”

  “Of course. Thank you for the warning,” Reverend McLendon murmured.

  Then the three of them went inside. The porch door closed with a small snap, and Byron and Rebekkah were left alone on the porch.

  Byron started, “About what I said to Chris—”

  “No. I can’t. Not right now. I can’t hear anything else today.” She shook her head. “Please?”

  Byron put his arm around her shoulder as they watched the EMTs load the stretcher into the ambulance. The child’s mother and the rabbi climbed in after them.

  Rebekkah leaned against Byron.

  The rabbi leaned out and said something to Father Ness and William; then the doors closed on them. Father Ness kept his back to the house as the ambulance left the drive, and William walked over to where they stood on the porch. He cradled his arm awkwardly, but said nothing for a moment. He looked weary and suddenly far older than he had that morning, but he gave her a warm smile. “Maylene would’ve been proud at the way you’re handling yourself, Rebekkah. You’re stronger than you realize.”

  “I don’t feel very strong, but I’m glad it looks like that at least.”

  “Mae knew strong, and I’ve never had reason to doubt her where you were concerned ... either of you.” William glanced at Byron for a moment, and then pulled a thick envelope out of his jacket pocket and held it out to Rebekkah. “She wanted me to give you this.”

  She accepted the envelope. “Thank you.”

  He nodded, and then looked to the side as Father Ness came over to the porch. The priest stopped on the bottom step. “There are limits to what we can forestall, William. The council will step in soon.”

  “I know.” William’s face was drawn and pained; his posture was tense. “I’m handling it.”

  Rebekkah and Byron exchanged a confused look, but before they could ask any questions, William told Byron, “We need to talk about some things. I need you to come with me now.”

  “ Now? But Rebekkah—”

  “I’m okay,” she assured them both. She stepped forward, leaned up, and kissed William on the cheek. “Thank you for everything.”

  “Maylene was right about you, Rebekkah: you’ve grown into a fine woman. Byron is lucky to have you.” William pulled her into a firm embrace. “It’ll get easier. I promise.”

  He pulled back and stared at her silently, and she didn’t have the heart to tell him that she and Byron weren’t ... whatever he thought they were. All she said was, “Thank you.”

  She turned to Byron. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Then she fled into her house before she had to think about William’s words or the look of hope that came over Byron’s face when she said she’d see him tomorrow.

  Chapter 18

  S ILENTLY, BYRON FOLLOWED HIS FATHER. WILLIAM HADN’T BEEN WILLing to talk at Rebekkah’s house, and Byron hadn’t felt much like arguing, so he accompanied his father to the funeral home in silence. They didn’t stop in the part of the house that was their home; instead, William proceeded to the door that separated the living quarters from the funeral home. He winced as he opened the door.

  “Are you okay?” Byron reached out, but his father dodged him.

  William called out, “Elaine, we’ll be in the basement. There are memos on your desk.”

  Elaine poked her head out of her office. “Most of them are already done.”

  “Of course they are.” William paused for a moment and gave his office manager a smile. “Thank you ... for everything.”

  “The package you ordered came in earlier. I’ll take care of it.”

  “Good.” William nodded once before resuming his steps. He paused at the door of his office, pulled out a key, and locked the door. Instead of pocketing his keys, he held them out to Byron. “Put these in your pocket for me.”

  “Why?” Byron took the keys and held them in his hand.

  His father ignored his question. “Come on.”

  Byron stood in the hallway. The list of things that didn’t make sense grew longer every day, but all of those were unimportant as he noticed the increasing caution with which William held his arm against his chest. “What happened to your arm?”

  “It’ll be fine. That’s not what we need to talk about right now.” William opened the door to the basement and started down the steps.

  Byron shoved the keys in his pocket and followed his father downstairs. “What’s going on?”

  William opened the door to the storage room and flicked on the lights. “Close the door.”

  Byron pulled the door shut.

  “Lock it.”

  “You’re worrying me, Dad.” Byron locked the door. “Do you want to tell me what’s going on?”

  William laughed humorlessly. “No, not really, but we’re past the point where I can keep it from you.”

  “Dad? What’s wrong?” Byron went to stand beside his father. He reached out again toward the arm his father was holding against his body.

  “Stop that.”

  “Sure, if you tell me what’s wrong with your arm.” Byron glanced at his father’s ashen face. “Is it a heart attack or—”

  �
��No, it’s not. Let me start at the beginning.” William paused, and when Byron nodded reluctantly, he continued, “A long time ago, the town founders made an agreement, and it’s been honored ever since. There are terms, responsibilities that some of us must bear. A select few of us can ask questions that not everyone can”—he stared pointedly at Byron—“but it also means that we are held accountable for keeping the town safe when there is trouble. We are what stands between the living and the dead. Being an Undertaker is an honor, son.”

  “I know.” Byron grew increasingly alarmed. His father was making less sense by the minute. Wasn’t it a stroke that made patients have illogical thoughts? Byron wasn’t used to diagnosing anything; his “patients” were already dead when he met them. Arm pain can be a sign of a stroke, too. He stepped toward his father. “Dad, let’s go upstairs. Let me call Dr. Pefferman.”

  William ignored him. “I’m telling you what you need to know. I wish this wasn’t such a shock, son. I’m truly sorry about that.”

  “What are you talking about?” Byron debated running upstairs to call for the ambulance. Nothing about his father’s behavior made sense. Is he grieving? In denial? Having a heart attack? A stroke? Byron tried to remember symptoms beyond arm pain, but he couldn’t.

  “Listen. Stay focused.” William slid his hand down the outside of a pale blue metal cabinet that sat against the back wall.

  “On what?”

  The cabinet made a clicking noise, and as it slid to the side, a tunnel became visible. William added, “And trust your instincts.”

  “Holy f—”

  “No.” William’s gaze snapped to Byron’s face. “Reverence here.”

  “Here?” Byron stepped up to stand shoulder to shoulder with his father. Of all the answers he had imagined for the myriad unanswered questions, a tunnel behind a cabinet in a storage room wasn’t anywhere on the list. “Where is here? Where does this go?”

  William stepped into the tunnel and took a torch that looked like it belonged in a medieval dungeon—gray rags wrapped around a weathered bit of wood—from the wall. The torch flamed to life as if a switch had been thrown. Torches don’t do that. The touch of his father’s hand had caused flame to appear and cast some scant light into the tunnel. On the ground was what looked to be an abandoned stretch of railroad track, overgrown with mosses and covered in dirt. The walls of the tunnel looked like nothing so much as a rough-hewn access shaft into a cave. The abandoned coal mine tunnels Byron had once gone exploring with spelunker friends might’ve looked less safe, but not by much.