The Storycatcher

by Hite, Ann

  “I never even heard they had a visitor.” I frowned.

  “I think we have to be careful. We have to find out if that cross you have is the same one Grandma’s story mentions. That will give us some solid proof.”

  “Amanda’s not going to talk to you, Zach. I’ll go back to see her tomorrow.” Maybe he needed to see what I had found. “Are you really busy?”

  He looked at me strange. “Why?”

  “I want to show you the abandoned cemetery where the Danielses are buried. Paul Dobbins’s grave is there. There’s something I want to do up there too.”

  He nodded. “I’d like to see the place.”

  And we walked through the woods in silence. That was one of the things I always liked about Zach. He enjoyed quiet and didn’t need to fill the air with small talk.

  “Look at the ironwork on those gates.” He walked in the direction of two large gates I had somehow missed the morning before. “Artwork at its finest.”

  The letters across the top of the gates spelled ELLA CREEK. I stood beside him. “I brought you here to help me with something.”

  He gave me a wary look. “Those words always get me in trouble.”

  What I wanted most of all grew inside my chest, a pressure against my ribs, a completely unhealthy desire. “Over here.” Part of me believed the angel wouldn’t be there, that I had imagined it. A shadow scurried across the corner of the Danielses’ plot. I stopped walking.

  Zach nearly ran into me. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. The sun got in my eyes.” I refused to see ghosts everywhere. The sun cut through the trees in bright swaths.

  “There.” I pointed to her.

  Zach knelt down and ran his hand across her face. “She’s beautiful.”

  “I want to sit her up. I found her yesterday. Actually, I want her for my garden.”

  He gave me a stern look.

  “Don’t look at me like that. No one is looking after this plot. I want her.”

  “It’s still theft, Maude.”

  “What a fuddy-duddy.” I squatted down beside him. “She deserves to be on her feet.”

  “Be careful. Her wing is broken, but here’s the piece. She could be repaired.” His stare settled on Paul Dobbins’s gravestone just across from the angel.

  “I don’t want you around Charles Dobbins.” He pulled my angel free of her vines with one smooth motion. “Grab her good wing.”

  I did.

  Zach righted her that easy.

  “I will see if Amanda knows anything about the cross.”

  “Okay, but I swear if you get hurt—”

  I laughed. “Then what?”

  “You know what I mean. You’ll come see me right away?”

  “Yes.”

  “Promise?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay.”

  We walked down the mountain.

  ON TOWARD EVENING, I pushed my wheelbarrow up the path to Ella Creek Cemetery. I worked with the angel until I had her propped in the wheelbarrow. Going downhill with her wasn’t as bad as I thought. By the time the gray of dark washed the yard, I had her righted in the middle of my garden. I could have sworn she smiled at me. In her beautiful marble hands sat a perfectly carved rabbit. I touched it. Somehow I hadn’t noticed it until that moment. Cold drops of rain began to hit my angel. The drought was breaking. I stood there with my hand on her broken wing. Tomorrow I would go see Amanda with the cross. Then maybe Shelly and Faith could come back to the mountain.

  Ada Lee Tine

  “WE GOT TO TAKE the old truck and leave it at the dock so we got a way back Monday morning.” Lord, Shelly looked like she might break in half, no meat on her bones at all. But she was right handsome to look at. She didn’t know how she looked, and that was best kept as it was.

  “It’s pretty here ’cept for the gray stuff.” Shelly pointed at the Spanish moss hanging off the old oak trees. “That makes me think of dried-up hair like goes in a spell.”

  I laughed. “You talking about root. What you know about that?”

  Shelly looked at me like I lost my mind.

  “Root is what we on the island call voodoo, spells, you know, conjuring, magic.” I gave her one of my real laughs.

  She smiled. “Nada been conjuring since she was little. She comes from New Orleans, and it comes natural to her.”

  The top of my head tingled. “This be moss.” I pulled a string off the big twisted oak near the truck. “See?”

  She took the curly gray piece. “It’s soft like hair.”

  “Yep.”

  “The air smells like salt here. I ain’t used to that.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I never get tired of it. You be a long way from home, but old Ada here will help with that loneliness. Before you know it, you’ll be headed back. Where does Miss Lydia live, anyway? Mr. Tyson never said.”

  “Black Mountain, North Carolina.”

  “I heard of that place. I just can’t place who told me about it.”

  That girl watched out the old truck’s window. I couldn’t quite figure her age, maybe fourteen or fifteen. “You have good friends back home?”

  “Only one. She be a white granny woman who is teaching me to read better. So I guess she ain’t really my friend, but she believes I can become a writer one day.” She gave me a shy look.

  “Lord, girl, why you ain’t got no colored friends?”

  “No coloreds on the mountain but me and Nada.” She waited a minute like she was going to say something else and then shrugged.

  “Then you going to have the time of your life here. I’ll make sure.” I touched her shoulder and a tingle went through my arm. “It’s hard being away from home. I remember the first time I worked for Mr. Tyson and left the island for a whole week. Lord have mercy, I was the worst thing. I cried myself to sleep each and every night. Aunt Hattie petted and talked to me, but it didn’t make no mind. Every chance I got, I stood in the topmost room of Mr. Tyson’s house and looked out that little round window and caught me a glimpse of Sapelo. I’d feel better for a while.”

  “So you never slept in the house?”

  “No, sirree. Not me or no other colored in Darien. None of us will stay on the Ridge.”

  Shelly turned her pretty gaze on me. “You be stuck in that darkness at Mr. Tyson’s house.”

  I let her words settle in me. “How you mean stuck?”

  “Part of you is held there ’cause of what happened. The knowing hit me as soon as I walked in the door. Then I seen that dern ghost.” She smiled. “That fancy ghost ain’t come back for you. It be me. I don’t know why. I just know.”

  “You got some powerful sight.”

  “Yes, ma’am. It be strong, or so Nada says. She should know.”

  A chill blew over my arms, and I rubbed it off the best I could. “I had me a run-in with that haint when she was alive. That’s probably what you’re feeling. You stay clear of her and pray she don’t want you.”

  Shelly cut me a look. “It already be done.”

  “What you mean?” This girl was starting to wear on my nerves.

  “You’re thinking you were part of her passing, the fancy ghost, but you wasn’t. I know this. You was close but not part of it.” She looked straight ahead.

  As silly as it sounded, I believed her. I took comfort in those words. But a part of me worried. I never could remember what happened that night. All I knew was the old woman spirit used me. Took me with her to that house. “So who killed them two if I wasn’t part of it?”

  Shelly watched the road. “Don’t know. Just know it wasn’t you. I got a feeling.”

  “What would that feeling be?”

  She shook her head. “Something is coming at me. It’s moving as fast as fast can be.”

  The air felt different. That girl was something else. “That white girl with you is strange.”

  “Yep.”

  “I seen her sewing things.”

  “She calls herself a quilter. The quilt she be work
ing on now is the worst. It be charmed. I seen her taking the hair from the white granny woman’s brush. I don’t know what she’s up to.”

  “I had me a look. It looked strange.” I gave a little shiver. “We got us a shrimp boat to catch.”

  She gave me a straight-face look.

  “You be liking to ride on a boat. Sweet Jesse is solid.” The dock was in plain view. “There she is.” I parked the truck near the edge. Will stepped out of the cabin of the boat the same time as Shelly got out of the truck. I told him he had no business fishing when he was almost finished with his degree, but that boy loved the sea. He even slept on Jesse some nights.

  That dern girl had stopped dead in her tracks.

  “Come on. What you doing way back there?” I pointed at the boat. “That be my boat and my boy.”

  Her shoulders relaxed and she took a few steps. “I thought it was someone I knew a long time ago.”

  My fingers went numb. “You don’t know my boy.”

  Will cupped his hand over his mouth to yell but went stone-still. He was staring at Shelly.

  “This here . . .” I yelled a little too loud for how close we was.

  “Lord,” he said.

  Shelly stopped walking. I was about to start throwing me a fit. This was my boy, and they wasn’t going to start getting goo-goo eyes for each other. Then I seen her hands shaking something terrible like she was seeing her first haint.

  “Lord, Lord, Lord.” Will smiled bigger than I’d seen him do.

  That’s when I knew something was going on, something bigger than a summer love.

  Arleen Brown

  “THIS IS SO GOOD,” the missus moaned as she stuck a piece of lobster meat into her mouth. Butter dripped from her fingers.

  I had to find my guts to taste the stuff, but when I did, the bite melted in my mouth. Shoot, sweet potatoes was the best thing we had to eat in my family. I smiled thinking on it.

  “There’s my girl. She’s been hidden for the longest time behind frowns. This meat is so rich. I’d forgotten how good it was.”

  “Like folks with lots of money.” I smiled. She was softer since she ran off from Pastor, and I knew she was going to figure out—if she hadn’t already—that I wasn’t Faith. A mama always knew her own child better than anyone else.

  “Yes.” Her laugh sounded like tinkling glass, and I felt Faith stir around inside her hiding place. “Open the window wide, Faith. Let the salty air in. The marsh comes alive in the evening. It’s too long since I’ve been here. This is my peace and I have forgotten about its existence.”

  That Ada woman had closed most of the windows probably ’cause she was so scared of spirits, something I sure didn’t worry on. I pushed the large kitchen windows open wide, and a breeze came through like it had been waiting. The house’s ugly brown made me think of our old farmhouse on the mountain. Daddy had given it a fresh coat of paint right before I died. His boss at the quarry told him to take the gallons ’cause they ordered the wrong color.

  “I love that smell. Thank you. I can’t imagine not staying here tonight. What is there to be afraid of, Faith?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t have one reason to fear some ghost.”

  “Here, eat.” The missus dished yellow rice on my plate.

  It was spicy, and I closed my eyes as it sat on my tongue.

  “And look, fried corn, just like Amanda’s. It’s like having her right here.” She spooned corn on her plate and pushed the bowl to me. I knew all about fried corn and dipped out three spoonfuls. A warm loaf of homemade bread sat on a heavy brown plate. I cut a piece off and spread butter, warm honey butter, on it.

  “Aren’t you glad we left your father, Faith? We needed to just get away from him and the mountain.”

  “I can do without him, but I love the mountain.” I looked at the missus across the table. She was wearing a bright-red wraparound skirt and a white blouse tied in a knot at her waist. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail. She looked like a child. Like me when I died. This made me about as sad as the day I woke up holding on to that baby boy, both of us dead. Funny how I could love him so much, seeing how I came about having him.

  “Eat. You’re too thin,” the missus said.

  “It’s right good.”

  She gave me a sharp look. “Something is so different about you, Faith. Nothing bad, just different.”

  “Thank you.” A pain, maybe love, jabbed in my ribs. I had no time to be sloppy.

  “We have some decisions to make. You and me. Because it has always been you and me. Hasn’t it? We’re the product of everyone’s deeds. Aren’t we?” Her smile was sad.

  “I guess.”

  She nodded. “Did you bring the quilt you’re working on?”

  “Yes.”

  “Go get it.”

  “It’s not nothing.”

  She looked at me with an odd catch in her expression, almost like pity. “Nothing? It’s you, Faith. Of course it’s something. Go get it.”

  “After I finish eating.” I took a big bite of the butter-coated meat and tried to smile.

  She nodded. “Do you still have the old sewing basket you took from Amanda?”

  Now I didn’t even know what she was talking about. “Only that one basket with all the old thread.”

  Missus touched my arm. If she kept it up, Faith would come back before I made everyone safe. “You deserved that basket. You didn’t do wrong for taking it. Don’t ever let anyone tell you different.”

  I looked away ’cause, Lord, I didn’t want her to know I didn’t understand. Part of me wanted to tell her who I was, what happened to me, and who did it. But I wasn’t sure how much that woman could take. I wanted to tell her about the death quilt, the buttons and the hair. But all that talking would give away what would happen. See, my death quilt had one key ingredient sewn into the making: magic. My quilt had the best of some people and the worst of others, little pieces that made up their souls. When woven together, they brought the most powerful protection.

  Missus talked about being a young woman and coming to stay in the big, ugly brown house. She talked about seeing blue herons in the marsh, of snakes ten feet long. I ate and listened to her words. The marsh played music that slipped in the windows. Somewhere a night bird called as if to say good-bye to the sun. No haunted woods here. Only the marsh and the big, mighty river.

  After I finished cleaning off my plate, Missus began to run water in the sink. I couldn’t help but wonder if she’d ever washed a dish. “Go get your quilt. You can sew while I wash.”

  “I want to help.”

  She looked at me with a sweet smile. “I want to wash them and look out the window. Go get the quilt.”

  Upstairs in the room I picked to sleep in, I unfolded the quilt from the cloth sack that I brought it in. All different colors. Some bright, some soft, some dull. Outside in the backyard two alligators moved into the marsh from the tall grass. I pushed open the window and sat there watching the water way in the distance. And beyond was Sapelo Island. Shelly was there, probably having the time of her life. But Ada was strange, maybe a witch, a lot like Shelly’s mama in many ways.

  “Maybe,” I heard over my shoulder. I spun around and saw the pretty colored woman I’d seen earlier.

  “You’re a haint.”

  She threw her head back and laughed at me. That’s when I seen her scar across her throat. “You’re from Black Mountain.” The woman watched me.

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m a long way from home.” I picked up the sewing basket Missus had been talking about earlier.

  “Yes you are. You have a memory box.” She looked at the basket.

  “It’s not a box and there sure ain’t no memories of mine here.”

  “It’s memories. I can almost see them. Old memories.” She looked back at me. “And you’re not a bit afraid of me. How can you see me and your mama can’t?”

  “I’m different.”

  The woman wore a fancy city suit, nothing a colored woman would wear
in the mountains. “There’s something not right about you, girl. Are you crazy? I’ve been around crazy.” Faith’s fear bubbled up in my chest. For a minute the whole room spun around. She was listening to every word. She wanted to come back.

  “Why you bothering me?” I asked.

  The woman took a step in the door. “I have a story on Black Mountain. Did you know that? I know more about that place than you think.”

  “How?”

  “My granny lived there. Shoot, I lived there as a child. That Negro girl with you.”

  “Shelly?”

  “Yes, I played with her daddy when we were children. Part of my story is right there on that mountain. What’s your name?”

  “Faith Dobbins.”

  She got the most hateful look on her face. “Liar. Don’t mess with me. I don’t have time for lies.” She turned to leave.

  “Arleen. Arleen Brown. I’m using Faith to finish my story.”

  “Yes, the truth will set you free. So you’re a spirit?”

  I nodded. “Come here.” I stood in front of the looking glass.

  The woman looked and saw the real me in the reflection. “You got a story as big as me. I’m Mary Beth Clark. My grandmother was known as Ma Clark. Did you ever hear of her?”

  “No.” But I answered to an empty room. The woman was gone. Time was running out. Faith wanted free, and if she came back now, things would be a mess. The story would never be told.

  “EXCUSE ME, MA’AM!” I yelled from the top floor of the big house.

  “I’m in the kitchen, Faith. I’ve made pancakes and soaked them in butter. Come on down.” Missus walked into sight. She was wearing men’s pants and a sleeveless blouse. “Bring down your quilt. You fell asleep on me last night. I want a good look at it.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” I went back for the charm quilt. She might as well see it up close. I buried my nose in it and took in the lavender smell from Missus’s own perfume.

  “A quilt?” Mary Beth Clark was blocking the door.

  “More than a quilt.”