29

 

Ten Months Later

 

The package came while Jenna was finishing up breakfast. Scraping bits of egg from a frying pan, she paused at the sound of the door buzzer for her Maryland apartment.

When she saw it, she knew what it had to be. Full of anticipation, she cleared a spot among the papers on her desk. Ripping tape from the box’s top, she pulled back cardboard flaps to reveal six glossy hardbacks among the packing materials.

Advance author copies for her latest book, still a month away from being released. Slowly, she pulled one from the depths, studying the title splayed across the cover. Stories Behind the Stones: A Tour of the Deep South’s Forgotten Cemeteries.

Flipping open the cover, she read the dedication printed inside.

 

To the real ‘ghosts’,

Who never fade as long as we remember them,

and

To those who dedicate their time and talent to keeping those memories alive.

 

She flipped the pages, watching sections go by for places in Georgia and Mississippi, Louisiana and Tennessee. Slave cemeteries left to sink in the swamps; private family graves forgotten behind a rotting plantation.

Reaching the section for Alabama, she paused where a set of images had been inserted. Pictures of graves that all bore the same carving of an inverted half-moon, its shape pierced through with a broken arrow. She touched the picture, her eyes closing in a memory.

The feel of her fingers tracing a beveled edge in a piece of rough-hewn stone. Bits of dust and sand clinging to it in the trailing touch. Strong hands closing around her own, guiding them to form a shallow curve in a piece of slate, hammer and chisel beating a steady rhythm.

“You should celebrate,” her agent said, calling to congratulate her for the critic’s favorable reviews. Quotes from some of these were displayed on the back of the book, dubbing it achingly romantic, and haunting, down to the last page. According to Joyce, such lofty praise called for a night on the town with friends, or someone even more special.

“Actually, I already have plans for how to celebrate,” Jenna said. Her gaze returned to the page where the Celtic V-rod peered back at her from beneath the layers of rust and grime.

 



 

Dust rolled off the wheels of the rental car as Jenna steered it down the dirt lane. Her knapsack lay in the passenger seat, a bouquet of violets tucked carefully beside it. There had been two others of a different kind, which she left at the cemetery in town: roses for Josephine Maudell’s headstone and a mix of flowering herbs for Colleen Taggart’s marker with the ivy pattern carved around its edges.

She had stood in front of this one the longest. As her hand rested against the chiseled slab, her mind wandered back to conversations with the man who fashioned it.

The peace she felt was unexpected, no guilt or self-doubt rising to twist her heart. It was as if she was forging a connection with the woman whose body was sleeping here, although she knew no ghosts or souls lingered in this peaceful grave. When she left, it seemed a clearer purpose drove her towards the cluster of woods by the spring.

The sign was the first thing she noticed. It was metal, with an arrow pointing in the direction of the cemetery’s hiding place with the words Historic Crooked Wood Cemetery, 1.5 Miles painted in white lettering. She looked back at it in the rear view mirror, not at all sure she hadn’t imagined it.

Had the county put it up from mere formality? The possibility had to be considered, though part of her couldn’t help wishing another reason—another person—was behind the change of scenery. By the time she parked, her hands shook so much they nearly dropped the violets as she climbed from the car.

Gravel crunched beneath her feet, the path altered since she last took it months ago. Her steps were quick until she came upon the actual destination. Pulling off her sunglasses, she stared in disbelief at the scene before her.

A wrought iron fence surrounded the graveyard’s perimeter. Inside, rows of headstones reflected the morning sun, free of the stains and cracks that marred them before. A few bore wreaths and flowers, decorative ribbons fluttering in the breeze.

Slowly, she pushed against the gate. It swung open without a sound, her steps muffled in the woodland ground cover. She passed through the yard, fingers trailing over the fully restored monuments with wonder. When she reached the three which sat beneath the sycamore, she crouched to study them with tears in her eyes.

They were just as she remembered, except the doctor’s had been cleaned of the rust that tried to engulf its lettering. She reached out, tracing the name and then the symbol, with its eerie connotation, smiling ever so slightly when she thought how death’s power was defied in the final brave gesture from the woman whose tomb it graced.

Beside it were the graves of the soldier and his wife, loyal to their friend even in death. Three hearts with the same faith to save them from a living nightmare, even as the shadow of those events had managed to survive over a hundred and fifty years of time.

She placed the bouquet of violets before the group of stones, still lost in the memory of their story when she heard a footfall in the grass behind her. Heart racing, she turned to face them and found Con standing there.

He stood on the path behind her, a look of shock in the blue gaze. It was as if he saw a ghost from one of the graves instead of the woman who found them by accident one rainy afternoon. “It’s you,” he said. “I thought I was seeing things. Wishful thinking.”

This was her exact sentiment. “You did this,” she said. “After what happened, the way we left it…in boxes, with labels...” She shook her head, struggling for a way to finish. “I thought you weren’t ready to move on.”

Con’s face had softened as she spoke. He stepped closer. “It wasn’t just me. The heritage society raised money for the fence, and sent volunteers out for the cleanup. So did one of the churches.” He cleared his throat. “I, uh, started going there again. The church. You were right—it was time. Past time, actually, for me to be part of something again.”

Jenna could feel herself trembling with the unexpected words. It was an outcome she had imagined countless times but never expected to find as reality when she finally summoned the courage to come back.

“I brought you something,” she said, digging through her knapsack. “It’s not the same as what you did here—” with another glance at the newly restored cemetery “—but I hope you’ll like it.”

Handing him one of the hardbacks, she watched him study its cover with a long look. When he read the dedication inside, a half-smile appeared on his quiet features. His gaze rose to meet hers, full of an emotion she recognized from her own barely contained feelings.

“I missed you,” he said. “It’s different from missing Colleen. Because you’re still here, there’s still a chance we could be together. Which makes it worse, somehow, when I think how it might not work out.”

“But it might.” Something inside her came undone with the words. Thoughts and emotions bottled up since they last spoke came tumbling out, with barely a breath in between. “That’s why I had to come back,” she said. “To see you again, to see if you still felt the same. I kept thinking of our time together, even though it was just a few days and that—” She stopped, drawing a breath. “That must mean something.”

Across from her, Con grew still. “Then you feel it, too,” he said. “I kept hoping you would. Praying I wasn’t the only one who thought we could have a future together.”

“We’ll see it through this time,” she promised. “We won’t let it go just because it seems impossible. This time, we’ll let faith guide us instead of doubts.”

Tentatively, he took her fingers, drawing her closer to him as he searched her face with a tender look. “I never thought this could happen again,” he murmured. “But it’s real. That much I’m sure of. “

Jenna reached for him, stroking his jaw before they shared a kiss more tender than their first. She had wanted this to happen again since that day in the spring, when she hoped it was more than just a rash moment between two uncertain hearts.

When they pulled apart, she rested her forehead against his shoulder. “Thank you for looking after this place. Even though you weren’t sure I’d ever see it.”

“I’m glad you did,” he said.

A breeze ruffled her hair, goose bumps traveling over her skin. With his arm curved around her, they moved slowly towards the gate, Jenna glancing back for a last look at the three graves nestled beneath the sycamore’s tall shadow.