by Eva Conrad
How to Get Something Done
The veil between the worlds seemed thin that evening. Some of the old citizens of the town came out to sit in the cemetery as dusk fell, whispering amongst themselves. Who would they see tonight?
Miriam Bennett sat demurely on a stone bench, patting the back of her hair to make sure it was holding its arrangement. She raised her head high. Her mother, Elizabeth Bennett, sat beside her whispering some gossip about the Reynolds family, which had convened nearby. Miriam giggled aloud, then caught herself, pressing her lips together to stifle herself.
Old Arlie McIntosh stumbled across the ground, which was uneven from the sinking of graves. His black cat scurried around his feet chasing phantom prey. Arlie was one of Gatestown’s first citizens, a genuine pioneer, known for his skills with knives and guns as well as his drinking and his poor temper, which was always overcome by his good nature. He’d had seven wives in the course of his life, and the last one was Genevieve Bee McIntosh, a woman seventy years his junior and heavily pregnant. She was seated at the edge of the group, her condition concealed by a shawl. James Bee, her bachelor brother, sat beside her, watching after her protectively and minding their kid brother, Reese, a beautiful flaxen-haired boy.
“Everyone, listen up. We have to do something about these brat kids and vandals coming out here in the middle of the night, and what we have been doing is not enough,” croaked Arlie, who was just now reaching into his pocket for his flask. “Now we need to do a better job tonight and maybe we can settle things down. Who can get a night’s rest with all of this nonsense? We need to come up with a plan, folks.”
The group gathered close together in a circle of whispered discussion. After a half-hour’s passing, they all nodded at one another, broke into groups, then hid themselves away in the fringes of the bushes and trees. They waited and waited, restless to move. Finally, a couple of drunks walked into the grassy lawn, but instead of proceeding into the center of the cemetery they secluded themselves under the thickly foliated, low branches and passed out peacefully, leaving their observers to sigh collectively with disappointment.
“Shhhhh,” commanded James Bee. “We don’t want anyone to hear us,” he said as the others exhaled.
Mist commenced settling over the graveyard. It was a thing of beauty, the gauzy fog and old stones glowing slightly in the moonlight. Genevieve’s parents were buried in the oldest part of the cemetery, and their stone was tall and white; now it shimmered, bringing a tear to her eyes.
“Oh, don’t be sad, Genny,” whispered James, watching the direction of her gaze. “They are with God now.” Genny placed a hand on her belly, but the baby inside was still.
Lights passed, sweeping through the graveyard in pieces.
“You are as lovely as can be, Miss Bennett,” commented James.
“Why, thank you, Mr. Bee,” responded Miriam, fanning herself coyly. It had always been assumed, because of their traits, that they would marry someday. Milky-skinned and petite, Miriam was the prettiest young woman in the county; James’s father was the wealthiest, and James’s fairly good looks were enhanced by his prospects. Elizabeth nodded at her daughter approvingly.
Arlie pointed toward the center of the cemetery. “There,” he whispered. The group waited for a moment; it was three teenage boys with cigarettes passing a bottle of gin and laughing loudly. Arlie raised a finger, pointing at the sky, his signal to the others.
Miriam stepped out of the shelter of the brush and quietly approached the boys, then seated herself on a headstone. She watched them for a few minutes, seemingly unnoticed, then touched one on his shoulder, ever so lightly. He shivered, and his friends laughed.
“What?” he sputtered.
“There’s a girl behind you,” said one of the others, raising his eyebrows provocatively.
He turned around and she was gone.
“You’re just trying to scare me,” he said, shrugging, but by now the other two were pale with fright. That’s when Arlie jumped out, his thin, lanky arms spread raised, his old suit buttoned askew as always. The three boys screamed and ran off, dropping their smokes and leaving their gin behind. Arlie, who was enjoying a good belly laugh, picked up the bottle and took a large swig.
James Bee walked over to Miriam. “Your charms are inescapable,” she remarked. She placed her gloved hand upon his arm and smiled.
The rest of the night was peaceful.
Two weeks later, the Gatestown Chronicle ran a story stating that not only had vandalism been on the rise in Old Centennial Cemetery, but reports alleging hauntings were on the rise as well. Arlie read the paper aloud to the others in the fading light; his eyesight was sharp despite his advanced age.
“We’ve turned their heads, I do believe,” he said.
“That’s progress,” commented James, rubbing his hands together.
“Here’s what we’ll do tonight!” said Arlie, beginning to instruct the others with great relish.
In the morning one of the townspeople went to the sheriff to report that there was something strange in the old graveyard. The sheriff came out to see it himself.
Discarded liquor and soda bottles had been gathered up and placed on the ends of upward turned limbs on a tall, dead sycamore. Newspapers had been shredded and draped in the tree limbs, all the way to the top. Other discarded garbage was placed around the tree trunk in a circle. Who could have reached that far up without having been noticed? And why? The sheriff didn’t like how this looked and spoke to the mayor of the situation, and they decided that the tree must be cut down and the garbage removed, because it was a blight in the center of town.
That evening Arlie and his conspirators met and declared a small victory. “But what about the broken stones?" asked Miriam. “Reverend Watt’s stone was pushed over by those Byerly boys last month, and this month they took Alice Walker’s stone and used it for third base across the street on their ball field. We have to do something, and we have to do it fast!”
Arlie stroked his grey beard with his long, bony fingers. “I know, we will send a message that won’t be forgotten. I need some paper and a pen and ink. Also, bring me two envelopes”
The next morning, two envelopes waited for the mayor. One contained a letter from Alice Walker demanding that her stone be taken from its current position as a base on the ball field and reinstalled as her headstone. The other enclosed a letter from the esteemed and beloved Reverend Watt, who stated, “I am sorry to think that after the years I spent looking after the people of the town, whether they were part of my flock or not, my grave should be so dishonored. Pray, Mayor Bigbee, what did I do to deserve to have my grave desecrated so? And Alice Walker, who cared for the ill at her own peril, that her stone should be removed entirely to be used for play of baseball?”
The stones were fixed in their places before dinnertime.
That evening, the cemetery meeting convened as usual.
“What about getting these bushes and weeds cut back, and some tree trimming done?” suggested Mrs. McIntosh, her arms crossed protectively over her belly.
“Genny, I’m glad you though of it,” sighed Arlie, your six predecessors are buried in forgotten graves in that nasty tangle over there. It’s profane!”
Mrs. McIntosh smiled weakly. Her brother gently encircled her with his arm.
“What shall we do to bring attention to this, Arlie?” asked James.
That evening they gathered together pieces of wild vines and wove them into the word “WEEDS” and hung it on a fallen branch shoved into the dirt. A woman visiting the cemetery went hysterical with fear and ran screaming through the middle of town. The newspaper ran another story reporting on all of the strange things happening, quoting Mayor Bigbee: “Next Saturday we must all come together to help clean up and beautify Old Centennial Cemetery.”
Able-b
odied children and grownups gathered together that day and cut down and burned weeds. The ladies of the garden club stood and bickered about what to plant and where to plant it. Mrs. Gruner brought fried chicken and mashed potatoes. Mrs. Densford brought lemonade and pie. Widow Woodridge supervised with a critical eye; she suggested to Mayor Bigbee’s wife that a fence of some kind should be erected. Mrs. Bigbee agreed and ordered her husband to make it so. Broken stones were repaired. Periwinkle and lilies were pulled from yards and transplanted in the graveyard.
Arlie yawned. “I think we can rest now, at least for a while,” he declared. The others nodded. “I am glad to settle in for a nap, aren’t you, dear?” Genny nodded. As they walked away, James followed them, tousling Reese’s hair, then catching his little hand. Mrs. Bennett winked at Miriam as James turned to smile at them and wave good-bye, and then they, too, slipped away, their eyes meeting as they settled back into their graves.
