Miss Dimple Rallies to the Cause

by Mignon F. Ballard

  It also brought a backache she would have liked to forget. The children had been busily running back and forth to empty their small bags into a large basket where Emmett Hutchinson weighed the cotton before it was loaded onto a wagon to haul to the gin. Now Miss Dimple hoisted in her hefty burden to do the same. Ordinarily workers would be paid according to the number of pounds they picked, but in this case the farmer gave whatever he could to the school. Many of the teachers, Miss Dimple included, hoped it would be enough to replace the wooden stairs to the second-floor auditorium as the passage of years and hundreds of small feet had taken their toll on the existing steps, wearing a smooth dip in the middle.

  * * *

  Nine-year-old Willie Elrod ran bare toes through the rich, loamy soil at the edge of the cotton field. He had shed his shoes immediately upon arriving, and the moist river bottomland felt cool to his feet. Willie couldn’t make up his mind which of his teachers was prettier. Miss Charlie, who had taught him the year before, had hair almost the same color as that yellow hat she wore, and didn’t she always wave and smile when she saw him? But Miss Annie, his fourth-grade teacher, had short dark curls all over her head and lived right next door in Miss Phoebe Chadwick’s rooming house. He had brought her a bunch of zinnias from his mama’s garden on the first day of school, and she’d made a big fuss over them, too.

  After a morning in the fields, the children lunched on lemonade and sandwiches brought from home, except for the few who either had forgotten or didn’t have any, and some of the mothers had brought extra for them. Willie talked Junior Henderson into trading his peanut butter and jam for the pimento cheese his mama had made him bring, but he had to throw in the plastic whistle he’d found in a Cracker Jack box. Some of the older children had already gone back to picking, while the younger ones played quiet games in the shade until the Hutchinsons brought the watermelons up from the spring. Willie could hardly wait. He spit on the scratch on his foot and rubbed it in real good. It sure was hot, and that creek looked inviting. They were absolutely not to go wading, Miss Annie had told them, and this was reinforced by their principal, Oscar Faulkenberry. Willie wondered if the man knew that almost everybody, including some of the teachers, referred to him as Froggie because he sure did look like a first cousin to one.

  “I don’t reckon it would hurt if we just sorta stuck our feet in a little way,” Willie suggested to Junior after they tired of chasing each other through the browning cotton stalks. Because of recent rains, the creek had overflowed its banks, and the two made a game out of racing through the sticky mud and laughing at the sucking noises their feet made as they ran. Willie knew there was an unspoken dare between them of who would reach the water first, but the creek was swollen with rushing reddish brown water, and he didn’t like the sound of it as it leapt and foamed over fallen logs and boulders in its path.

  “Let’s make boats,” he suggested, throwing a stick into the turbulent stream. “See which one’s the fastest.” That way they could keep a safe distance and still play in the creek.

  “Aw, you’re just chicken!” Junior taunted, but he took a step backward and looked about for a suitable “boat.”

  They had found a good launching place from an overhanging sweet gum tree when their teacher, Annie Gardner, demanded in no uncertain terms that they come down at once.

  “I told you boys you weren’t supposed to go near that creek! What if you had fallen in? Why, it could carry you all the way to the Oconee River before you knew what was happening. What am I going to do with you two?”

  Miss Annie sure sounded mad! Willie hoped that didn’t mean he wouldn’t get any watermelon, but he and Junior climbed reluctantly from their perch and slogged their way to join the others. And that was when their teacher screamed.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Why was Miss Annie making such a big fuss about an old pile of rags? Willie turned to go back to where his teacher and several others gathered at the edge of the woods. Miss Moss, the sixth-grade teacher, was crying and hollering so that one of the mothers had to lead her away, but then she was always carrying on about something. He hoped she’d retire before he got that far—if he ever did.

  “It’s probably just an animal,” one of the teachers suggested.

  “That’s no animal. Somebody call the sheriff!” another shouted.

  The sheriff? Wow! This was getting interesting. Willie edged closer for a better look. And that was when a hand came down on his shoulder. “William Elrod! You have no business down here. Now hurry on back with the others where you belong.”

  Willie sighed. You didn’t argue with Miss Dimple Kilpatrick.

  * * *

  Miss Dimple had been helping to distribute wedges of watermelon when she heard the cry and thought immediately of a snake. With the creek close at hand, it wouldn’t be surprising to encounter cottonmouth moccasins as well as the nonpoisonous variety, and she had warned the children in her care to be careful where they stepped. Instructing her excited charges to stay seated, she hurried to see if she could be of help. Years ago a hired hand on her father’s farm had been bitten by a water moccasin, and he had to be taken by wagon eight miles into town to see a doctor. Dimple was told to try to keep the man calm along the way, and she had never been as frightened. She remembered her father splinting the man’s leg to keep it immobile and below the level of his heart, but it had begun to turn dark and swell by the time they got there. The doctor did manage to save his life, but he was one sick fellow for a while.

  And of course there was that rascal, Willie Elrod, right in the middle of all the commotion! If asked, Miss Dimple would deny ten times over that she favored one child over another, but little William would always hold a special place in her heart, and she was grateful to see that he was all right as she sternly sent him away.

  “Has someone been hurt?” she asked Geneva Odom, who was hurrying away from the scene. Geneva taught second grade in the classroom next to hers and was stalwart and calm in most emergencies, but she looked a bit unsteady on her feet and was almost as white as the cotton they’d been picking all morning.

  “More than that, I’m afraid, Miss Dimple. It appears that human remains were exposed when the creek overflowed its banks. I think we should get these children away from here as soon as possible.”

  Dimple Kilpatrick agreed. The skeleton, partially shrouded in dark mud, lay in a shallow grave inches deep in foul water in a wooded area several yards from the edge of the creek where the water had now receded. Fragments of rotting fabric clung to the pathetic remains of what had once been a human being. Miss Dimple turned away. Even after all this time, she could still discern bits of color in the cloth. How long had the body been there? The area had been deluged with an unusual amount of rainfall the past summer, but the year before, farmers had complained of near-drought conditions.

  “Do you think this might’ve been part of a family cemetery?” Geneva asked.

  It wasn’t unusual for people in the country to use a section of their land for that purpose, but there was no evidence of other grave sites or markers of any kind. The older teacher didn’t want to alarm her, but she was very much afraid this poor soul had been buried without benefit of a casket, or even a decent service, and probably not all that long ago.

  “Has anyone seen Buddy Oglesby?” she asked Annie as the teachers herded their young flock away from the grisly scene. “I’d like to get these children on the bus right away.”

  “He was here just a while ago,” Geneva said. “Maybe he went up to the house with Mr. Hutchinson to phone the sheriff.”

  But Annie shook her head. “I saw Mr. Hutchinson take off in that direction in his truck a few minutes ago, but Buddy wasn’t with him. Frankly, Buddy didn’t look so good to me. I’ve eaten collards that weren’t that green.”

  Geneva groaned. “Poor thing! I know how he feels. We’ll probably all have nightmares—and I’d just as soon you hadn’t mentioned collards, either!”

  Miss Dimple thought Lucy H
utchinson, whose family owned the farm, looked as distraught as anyone would who’d had a skeleton discovered on her land, but she deserved an A for accountability, thanking each child for their help with the cotton as she collected watermelon rinds for disposal. The Hutchinsons had owned that acreage since the mid-eighteen hundreds, the woman confided, and although they did have a small family cemetery on the hillside across the road, no one would have considered using that low area for such a purpose.

  “I can’t imagine who that person might’ve been, or how he—or she—got there,” she whispered aside to Miss Dimple, “but the devil had a hand in it. You can be sure of that! I don’t think I’ll ever be able to come near that place again.”

  With the aid of a few bars of soap and several large containers of water hauled from the well, Miss Dimple and the other teachers did their best to see that the younger children washed at least the first layer of dirt from their hands and faces before starting for home. She wished she could wash away the memory of the day’s grim discovery as well.

  But Willie Elrod was not of the same mind. “I sure wouldn’t want to come around here after dark,” he announced. “You know what that thing is, don’t you?”

  “That’s enough of that, Willie Elrod,” Annie Gardner told him. “Now, wash your hands and face and try to think of something more positive—like the rally parade coming up. Your Scout troop will be taking part, won’t they?”

  “Yes’m.” Willie dashed water on his face and head, shook the excess on Lee Anne Stephens, who stood next to him, and received a kick in the shins for his efforts. “Ow! Miss Annie, did you see what she did? Old Raw Head and Bloody Bones will get her for sure. That’s who that is, you know. He lays in wait near the water … that’s what’s he’s doing, just waiting there for somebody bad to come along, somebody just like you, Lee Anne! Then he’s gonna come up outa that slime and drag you into the creek—”

  “If that’s the case, I’d hate for you to get left behind,” his teacher said. “If I were you, I believe I’d get on that bus right now.”

  Miss Dimple, standing by the bus as he boarded, did her best to look disapproving. What would become of this child, she did not know, but she hoped to be around to find out.

  Because Annie Gardner had been the first to discover the exposed remains, the sheriff had sent word by Mr. Hutchinson asking her to stay behind. Miss Dimple agreed to take her place on the fourth-grade bus while one of the mothers took charge of the smaller children during the ride back to town.

  “Are you going to be all right?” Miss Dimple asked Buddy Oglesby as he waited for the children to board. The man looked unwell, and she certainly didn’t want to take a chance with the lives of her children if he wasn’t fit to drive.

  But he made an attempt to smile. “Oh, yes, ma’am. I’m fine, really. I think I had too much sun and that watermelon didn’t agree with me. I feel much better now.”

  “And what about you? How will you get home?” Miss Dimple asked Annie, who was checking to be sure the children had cleaned up their litter from lunch.

  “I suppose the sheriff will bring me.” She smiled. “I guess everybody will think I’m under arrest. At any rate, it looks like I’ll be here while he looks into ‘this thing of darkness,’ and the sooner, the better.”

  Miss Dimple knew that Annie, who had a passion for the theater, was fond of quoting Shakespeare. “I’m afraid I’m not familiar with that one, dear,” she said.

  “I’m not sure, either, but I think it’s from The Tempest, and what we saw today really is a thing of darkness, Miss Dimple. Such an awful sight for the children—or for anyone—to see. I hope they’ll be able to get to the bottom of this soon.”

  * * *

  Having made certain that Willie Elrod and Lee Anne Stephens were situated as far apart as possible, Miss Dimple took her seat where she could keep an eye on the former and encouraged the children to sing a round they had learned in music class. She had much rather they try to outshout one another with “Frere Jacques” than to dwell on the appalling discovery that had taken place on what was supposed to have been a day of work and fun. Although most of the children hadn’t actually seen the skeletal remains, she had no doubt that the few who had would be eager to share the experience.

  Who could have done such a hideous thing? The Hutchinsons’ son, she’d learned, had enlisted in the navy the year before and was now serving somewhere in the Pacific Theater. Their daughter was beginning her junior year at Wesleyan College in nearby Macon. Did someone in the family harbor a monstrous secret?

  “Stay in your seat, Martha. You can talk with Joanne when we get to the school.” It was sweltering in the bus, and Miss Dimple removed her hat and dabbed her damp brow with a handkerchief that had somehow managed to stay crisp and white. Anyone could have had access to that area near the creek, she thought. Although it was screened from view by a wooded hillside, it was only a short distance from the road and convenient to anyone who knew it was there. Her heart went out to the person who apparently had been dumped unceremoniously into a crude grave. What had she—or he—done to deserve such callous treatment? And although she couldn’t be sure, Miss Dimple believed the unfortunate victim had been a female. She had only a brief glimpse of the sad thing the rains had exposed, but it was enough to see what was left of the clothing had once been bright blue and red, such as something a woman would wear.

  * * *

  “So what did the sheriff want to know?” Charlie Carr asked her friend Annie the next morning as they stood on the back steps of the redbrick building that housed the first through fourth grades of Elderberry Grammar School. The first bell hadn’t rung yet to summon the children inside, and they watched as a cluster of third-grade girls jumped rope on the red clay ground, chanting, Cinderella, dressed in yella, went to the station to meet her fella …

  The day was already warm and Charlie stepped back into the shade of the building. “I tried and tried to call you last night, but the phone at Miss Phoebe’s was always busy. Did you find out anything about who was buried out there?”

  “So many people called, we finally had to take the phone off the hook,” Annie told her. “And if they know anything, they didn’t share it with me. Sheriff Holland just asked when I first noticed it and if anybody had disturbed the area before he got there. I told him I didn’t know why anybody would want to do that, and that what he saw was just the way I found it. Of course there were a lot of footprints in the mud all around it where we’d been standing, but that was all.”

  “I guess he was asking to find out if somebody had tried to … you know … dig it up or something before we got there yesterday.” Charlie shivered in spite of the heat.

  Annie shook her head. “I think it’s obvious the creek did that when it overflowed. They took some pictures and then somebody came and put what was left of whoever it was in some kind of ambulance and drove away. I couldn’t watch.”

  “I can’t stop wondering whatever happened to … whoever that was and why. Somebody had to have put him there, Annie, and for all we know it could be somebody we know,” Charlie said. “I guess we’ll read all about it in the Eagle,” she added. “I’m surprised Bo Albright didn’t turn up with his camera and notepad five minutes after you screamed.” The paper’s editor was a notorious ambulance chaser.

  Charlie had an uneasy feeling in her stomach. “I couldn’t go to sleep last night for thinking about that person being buried there all that time, and there we were eating sandwiches and watermelon, not knowing it was there.”

  “You had trouble sleeping! What about me?” Annie lowered her voice. “At first I thought it was a dog or something … Believe me, I wanted it to be, but I could see that it wasn’t.” She turned away. “I thought I was going to be sick.”

  “How did you get home?”

  Annie flushed. “One of the deputies brought me. When I left, the sheriff was still talking to the Hutchinsons.”

  “Why are you blushing? What happened?”


  Annie shrugged. “He asked me out.”

  “The deputy? Really? Are you going?”

  “Of course not! He’s old enough to be my father! And you know I wouldn’t do that to Frazier.” She smiled. “He tells me it would be okay, but I know he doesn’t mean it, and besides, I don’t want to see anybody else.”

  Charlie frowned. “What’s his name? The deputy, I mean.”

  “H.G. something. Can’t remember his last name, but I wish you could see his boots. They look like the kind cowboys wear.”

  “No kidding! With spurs and everything? Maybe he’s trying to look like Gene Autry or Roy Rogers.”

  “No spurs—or I didn’t notice any. It doesn’t matter anyway as I don’t plan to see him again … Sandy, be sure and bring in that ball when the bell rings. If we lose this one, we can’t get another!”

  “Has Miss Phoebe come to terms yet with her nephew’s being drafted?” Charlie asked as the children lined up after the second bell.

  “Doesn’t seem like it to me. You’d think Harrison was already over there in the middle of a battle. I’ve never seen her so jumpy.”

  “Well, she’d better get used to it,” Charlie said. “It doesn’t look like this war’s going to be over anytime soon.”

  * * *

  “You’ll never believe what Emmaline Brumlow asked me this morning!” Charlie’s aunt Louise stormed into the house, plopped into the platform rocker that had belonged to Charlie’s grandmother, and began rocking at top speed.

  “Keep it down, Lou!” her sister Jo looked up from the notebook where she was writing up a wedding for the next week’s Eagle. “The baby’s asleep.”

  Charlie, who had just come in from school, unloaded a stack of workbooks on what had been her father’s old rolltop desk. She wouldn’t be surprised at anything Emmaline would ask, but she had a good idea what her aunt was referring to and tried her best to keep a straight face. “And what was that?” she asked.