The Return

For the first time since he’d made the offer, Luke wondered how he would get the casket out of the truck. It had been fairly simple to get it from the hearse to the truck bed. He’d just backed the truck up the open door of the hearse and slid it from one to the other, but there was no way he and this slender young woman could lift it out on their own.

“We’re going to need some help unloading,” he said. “And there’s the grave. What about digging the grave?”

Her gaze was steady, her voice confident. “Help will be waiting.”

His eyes rounded. “Are you sure you know what—”

“Just get me and my grannie there and leave the rest up to me.”

He shook his head at the foolhardiness of it all, gave his cargo one last check to make sure it was safely in place, then crawled into the cab of Maynard’s truck. Moments later, he was on the way out of town with the woman not far behind.

As they passed by the city limit sign, the rain began to lessen, and by the time they were out of sight of Camarune, it had stopped.

The relief Catherine felt was overwhelming, but she was starting to shake. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten, and sleep had been scarce this past week. But she’d made her grannie a promise, and she wasn’t about to quit on her now. She’d come this far. She could hold out a little while longer.

And there was another thing—something that had happened to her when she’d seen the man’s face. It had been a true but quiet knowing that he would matter.

“Grannie, do you believe in love at first sight?”

Annie tried not to laugh. It was a pretty serious question from a girl who’d just turned ten.

“Well, now, I suppose that I do,” she said.

Catherine giggled. “Did you know you were in love with Grandpa Billy when you saw him?”

“Lord, no, girl,” Annie said. “But you have to remember that I knew Billy Fane all my life. You don’t fall in love with a boy who puts frogs down your shirt. That comes after he becomes a man.”

Lord, where had that come from? Catherine thought, and then caught herself staring at the breadth of the sheriff’s shoulders in the truck in front of her. Nerves tightened, knotting her belly and bringing tears to her eyes. Oh, Grannie, she thought. I would like to believe in such things as destiny, but I don’t think I do.

It was only after they drove out of town and started up the mountain that she began to take note of her surroundings. The trees over the road were tall and dense, often forming heavy canopies that prevented both rain and sun from getting through. The bare ground that was the road was heavily rutted and in places quite rocky, making her thankful for the durability of her Jeep. The pain between her shoulder blades was moving toward her neck. She took a deep breath, rolling her head to loosen the muscles and hoping it went no farther. She’d had a few migraines before. This wasn’t a day to have one.

The truck ahead slowed down for a pothole. She hit the brakes, waiting while he negotiated the obstacle, and again caught herself focusing on the back of his head and the set of his shoulders. She squinted her eyes, trying to remember what he looked like.

His eyes had been dark, probably brown. And what she’d seen of his hair was thick and short, but she couldn’t remember if it was brown or black. His face was something of a blur, but she had an impression of strong features. What she did remember was his voice. It had been kind. So kind.

Tears spiked, but she blinked them away. She was so tired of crying. But after what Annie had told her, would she ever be able to let go of the pain?

Suddenly, she realized that he’d made it on through. She straightened her shoulders and followed. Gradually, the incline began to steepen. She downshifted once, then again, until she was driving in first gear, bouncing in and out of rock-laden ruts and often just missing being stuck on high center. The forest around her now was so thick it was impossible to see more than a few feet past the trees at the edge of the road. It was daunting to realize how far away from civilization a mere four miles could be. But before she could panic, the truck ahead of her pulled over. She followed suit, wondering if they were already there.

Catherine got out. “What’s wrong?”

Luke was already out and shuffling through the jumble of objects in the truck bed.

“There’s a tree down in the road. Surely Maynard has a…oh, good…here it is.”

Catherine stepped backward, her eyes widening as he hauled a chain saw over the rim of the truck bed.

“What are you going to do?”

He paused, giving her a slow, curious look, then pointed past the truck with his chin.

“Move the tree, ma’am,” he said.

Catherine nodded. As he started to walk away, she hesitated, then spoke.

“Call me Catherine.”

He stopped then turned, giving her the full force of a dark, silent stare. Then he smiled, and she caught a quick flash of white teeth and what looked like a small dimple to the right of his mouth.

“Catherine it is.”

She clasped her hands in front of her stomach to keep them from shaking as he disappeared around the front of the truck.

Grannie, do you believe in love at first sight?

Ignoring her flight of fancy, she stood out of the way, watching as he bent to the task. Moments later, the chain saw roared to life. She leaned against the hood of the Jeep and thrust her hands through her hair, massaging the muscles at the back of her neck. After a bit, the pressure eased. Curious now, she surveyed the area, trying to picture her grandmother traipsing about these woods gathering her herbs.

To her right, a large projection of rock was visible above the tops of the trees, and in the same moment she saw it, she knew it had to be Pulpit Rock. The skin at the back of her neck suddenly crawled. She needed to see—to stand in the place where it had all ended.

But how?

She couldn’t just walk away without telling the sheriff where she was going, yet she needed to do this alone. She stood for a moment, trying to decide what to do, then tilted her chin and headed toward Luke DePriest.

The chain saw vibrated the length of Luke’s arms as the saw blade ate through the wood. The tree was large and would have to be cut in several pieces for him to be able to move it aside. The roots were gnarled and dry. The tree had been here for some time.

The piece he was cutting off suddenly dropped to one side. He grunted with satisfaction and was setting the chain saw aside when Catherine Fane walked into his line of vision.

“Something wrong?” he asked.

She pointed toward Pulpit Rock. “I’m going over there to take a look.”

He frowned. The idea of her wandering off in any direction bothered him, never mind that she was pointing toward Pulpit Rock.

“If you don’t mind waiting a few minutes, I’ll go with you,” he said, then wondered at the way her expression blanked.

“No. This is something I’d rather do alone.” Without waiting for him to agree, she walked away.

Luke watched her go, taking careful note of her direction—just in case. The last thing he needed was to have to instigate a search party, especially up here, and especially for her. He doubted if he could round up a half dozen people who would be willing to set foot on this side of the mountain to look for the lost granddaughter of Annie Fane.

Then he remembered what he’d been doing and turned back to the tree. The quicker he got it out of the road, the quicker he could deliver her to the cabin.

The trees were alive with sounds, from the insistent squawk of a blue jay to the chatter of squirrels as they leaped through the leafy branches, using them like a highway as they moved from tree to tree. On another day, this would have been charming, but everything inside her was in knots. Even now, she could hear the echo of her grandmother’s shaky voice, relating the events that had led to her being orphaned.

A couple of minutes passed as she continued to move toward the looming promontory. The closer she got, the denser the trees became. Tension knotted in her belly, and her legs began to shake. Less sunlight filtered through the canopy, which in turn meant less undergrowth beneath the trees. In places she could see bare rock showing through the earth, and the forest was silent, absent of life.

Suddenly she was standing in the clearing and looking up, trying to imagine what freak of nature had created this natural pulpit. It stretched out from the face of the mountain, as if defying gravity, to overlook a spacious meadow. The natural resonance of sound must be amazing in this place. Then her gaze fell to the shadow below the rock, to the place where Grannie had seen her mother die. Sorrow moved through her like a wave.

She walked closer, needing to see—to touch—to be in the place where her parents had died, and as she did, she saw that what she’d taken for shadow was actually barren ground. She knelt, fingering the thick, dark earth and then stood, letting it filter through her fingers, and wondered why nothing grew in earth this rich.

Then she spun, suddenly aware of faint whispers, but there was no one there. In spite of the heat, she shivered as she searched the area for signs of life, but it was as empty as her heart. In the distance, she could see leaves moving in the tops of the trees, and convinced herself that was the source of the sounds. Yet as she turned away, a powerful urge to run overwhelmed her. She didn’t believe in ghosts, but there was a miasma here that had no earthly roots.

“Cath…rine.”

The faint sound of someone calling her name made her jump. She spun, subconsciously expecting to see the specter of Fancy Joslin, but when the sheriff walked out of the trees instead, she silently scolded herself for the fantasy.

“I’m here,” she called back, and as she started toward him, she realized she was glad to see him.

He met her at the edge of the clearing.

“Are you all right?” he asked. “I’ve been calling you for several minutes.”

“Sorry,” she said. “I suppose I was lost in thought.”

He hesitated, then touched her shoulder. “Do you know about this place?”

She hesitated, unwilling to reveal her identity to anyone. “Just what my grannie told me,” she said. “Something about some people dying up here because of a feud.” Then she turned, pointing toward the pulpit. “Isn’t that odd?”

He looked in the direction in which she was pointing, trying to decide what she meant. “Isn’t what odd?”

“That bare spot beneath the pulpit. It’s not rocky like some of the other places up here, and yet nothing grows.”

Luke sighed. What he was going to tell her would only add to the legend, yet the truth of it was there for the world to see.

“It didn’t used to be,” he said. “Story goes that after they carried away all of the bodies, the grass began to die. Supposedly, nothing has taken root there for almost thirty years.”

Catherine blanched as she spun around, looking at the place with new meaning. Unwilling for him to see how the news had upset her, she took a deep breath and turned, and for the first time since she’d walked into the woods, realized that her grandmother’s casket had been left unattended.

“We should be going. I apologize for the delay. Please lead the way. I’ll be right behind you.”

A short while later they were back at the truck. Relieved that her grandmother’s casket was still intact, she ran her fingers along the fine finish on the cherry-wood casket.

“Sorry, Grannie. I didn’t mean to leave you alone.”

“I’m the one who should apologize,” Luke said. “I didn’t think.”

Catherine shrugged. “We can both take the blame.” Then she looked—really looked—at him, appreciating the quiet grace of the man, as well as his strength. It wasn’t until she focused on his face that she found herself caught in a dark, silent gaze.

“You okay?” he asked.

Brown. His eyes are brown, just like his hair. Then she nodded. “Yes.”

He glanced at his watch. It was just after two-thirty. “You want to ride the rest of the way with me?” he asked.

The urge to do so was great, but she didn’t want to think of being isolated without convenient means of getting off the mountain.

“How much farther?”

“About a quarter of a mile.”

“I can make it.”

He didn’t bother to hide his admiration. “You’re not a quitter, are you, Catherine Fane?”

“I am the way my grandmother raised me.”

“I’m thinking she did a fine job,” he said quietly, then settled his Stetson a little more firmly on his head. “Let’s go. If you get into trouble, just honk.”

Then he got into the truck, leaving Catherine to scramble back to her vehicle, as well. Minutes later, they were in motion.

Annie Fane’s journey was almost over.

4

L uke wasn’t a believer in the supernatural, yet when he came out of a sharp curve and saw a small, two-story cabin at the end of the road, the hair on the backs of his arms suddenly rose. It wasn’t like anything he’d ever seen in these hills. Fashioned more in the style of a miniature Swiss chalet, it reminded him of a cuckoo clock his aunty had owned. It looked as if the owner had just left for the day, instead of the twenty-odd years he knew she’d been gone. To add to the aura of timelessness, four men seemingly materialized from the deep shadows of the porch and came down the steps to meet them as he parked.

They were tall and spare, with solemn expressions. He didn’t know whether it was in deference to the occasion, or if it was their normal manner. Their faces were shaded by matching weather-stained hats with wide, shapeless brims and their clothes were simple—faded denims and cotton. Catherine pulled up beside him and killed the engine. He glanced over, curious as to what her reaction would be. She looked relieved. It would seem she’d been expecting them.

Still, when she emerged from her Jeep, he got out and moved to her side, approaching the men with caution. Mountain people didn’t like strangers, so even if they knew Catherine, they were going to be wary of him. As they neared the porch, something began to dawn on Luke. He’d been sheriff of Taney County for more than eight years and knew everyone in the area—and these men were strangers to him, too. He thought of the thefts that had been going on up here for years. It would be too easy to believe that in a random act of kindness to Catherine Fane, he’d found the people he’d been trying to catch. But his musing ended when the eldest of the men suddenly took off his hat and reached for Catherine’s hand.

“You’d be Annie’s girl,” he said, without question or hesitation.

“Call me Catherine,” she said. “And you’re Abram Hollis?”

“At your service, Miss Fane. These are my boys, Jefferson, Dancy and Cleveland.” Then he turned to the boys. “Boys, this here is your cousin Annie’s granddaughter.”

The “boys” were all thirty-something in age and well over six feet.

Catherine smiled to herself at the term. Their gentle manners and soft words went a long way in washing away the hurt from the earlier incidents in Camarune.

“Grannie used to read me your letters, so I feel like I already know you. I just wish we could be meeting under different circumstances.”

“No one ever said life was fair,” Abram said. “Annie lived a long life. It’s time she came home to be with Billy.”

Belatedly, Catherine remembered the sheriff.

“I’m sorry. I forgot my manners. Abram, this is Sheriff Luke DePriest. He volunteered to help me get my…” Transient pain moved across her features as she corrected herself. “Helped me get the casket here. And, I might add, he was the only person who was willing to help.”

Her fingers brushed the fabric of Luke’s shirt as she directed his attention to the older man. “Sheriff, this is Abram Hollis. He and my grandmother were cousins, and they’ve worked together for as long as I can remember.”

Luke’s eye widened. Working? At what? As a fence for stolen goods? But undue curiosity was a breech of mountain etiquette. Instead of questions, he touched the edge of his hat in recognition of the introduction. The men nodded back, but they, too, remained silent.

Catherine sighed. Grannie had warned her that mountain people would be reserved, but she hadn’t expected mute. Then she saw the shovels leaning against the porch—a painful reminder of why she’d come. She looked at Abram.

“The grave…?”

“Right next to Billy, where Annie wanted it to be.”

Refusing to cry, Catherine set her jaw and looked away, letting herself take in the simple beauty of the place and imagining a young Annie Fane traversing these mountains, wrapped in the solitude she’d so badly needed after losing her young husband in the Second World War.

Oh, Grannie, you gave up so very much for me. Then she glanced toward the truck. It was time to lay Annie to rest.

“May we begin?” she asked.

Abram motioned to his sons. Immediately, they moved toward the casket. Luke felt like the odd man out as they lowered the tailgate of the truck. Impulsively, he touched Catherine’s shoulder.

“Miss Fane?”

She looked up, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

“I’d be honored to help,” he said, pointing toward the casket the men were about to lift out.

She hesitated, but only briefly. “I think Grannie would like that.”

Luke stepped into place between Abram and Dancy as they pulled the casket from the truck. He’d served as a pallbearer more than once in his life, but never in such humble surroundings.

A few moments later, they began to walk, moving toward some unseen destination behind the cabin, with Catherine leading the way. When they passed a tall oak, a small brown bird dropped from a limb above their heads, landing on a nearby bush, as if vying for a seat to watch the passing procession.

Although it had been muggy down in Camarune, the air was cooler up here. The ground was rocky and almost grassless in the front, but as they passed the side of the cabin, the ground cover changed from sparse to ankle-high grass mixed with wildflowers and plants he didn’t recognize. The fact that it had a cultivated look surprised him. If Annie Fane had been gone all these many years, who’d been taking care of her home? Within seconds of his thought, Catherine made a remark that gave him an answer.

“You’ve done a fine job taking care of Grannie’s home.”

“She was kin,” Abram said. “She would have done the same for me.”

Luke frowned but kept silent. Another bit of information to add to the pot, but one thing kept bothering him. If this place was so special to Annie Fane, why had she left it?

And then they stopped, bending in unison as the casket was lowered to the ground. The pile of fresh earth and the pit beside it were harsh reminders of why they’d come. He looked up in time to see Catherine reach for a nearby tree to steady herself. The urge to hold her was strong, but without asking, he knew she would not welcome it.

He took a deep breath, feeling a sense of reverence for what was about to occur. The men gathered a series of ropes with which to lower the casket into the grave, and then time seemed to stand still. Later he would remember it in a series of brief images.

The scent of freshly dug earth as a shovelful of dirt hit the top of Annie’s casket.

The soft sound of Catherine’s sobs.

The trill of a robin’s call from somewhere high.

The perfect unison with which the Hollis men worked as they fulfilled their kinswoman’s last request.

The sonorous tone of Abram Hollis’s voice piercing the silence as he recited the Twenty-third Psalm.

The wilting blooms from the bouquet of wildflowers that Catherine laid upon the grave.

And then it was over. The fresh pile of dirt lay like a wound upon the landscape. With time, it would settle, and the ivy that lay over Billy Fane’s grave would blanket his Annie’s, as well.

Catherine stood staring down at the grave. It was done. She looked up, her eyes brimming with tears.

“There aren’t enough words to thank you men for what you’ve done for me today.”

The Hollis men took off their hats in unison, slight flushes coloring their faces as Abram nodded.

“Like I said before, she would have done the same for me.” Then he reset his hat, shifting it slightly from side to side until it fell into some invisible slot. “If you’re of a mind to stay on for a while, you’re welcome to stay with us over in Crocker. It’s in the next county, but I’d be happy to draw you a map.”

“Thank you, but no,” Catherine said. “I’ll only be here for a few days until I can go through Grannie’s things.”

Luke had remained silent through most of the proceedings, but the thought of her staying up here alone bothered him.

“I don’t think that’s wise,” he said abruptly.

Catherine turned. Her voice took on a sharp, angry edge. “Why? Because the people of Camarune might not like it?”

He flushed. “No, ma’am. That’s not what I meant at all. There has been a rash of thefts in the area, and this place is too isolated to be safe for a woman alone.”

“No one is going to bother the witch’s cabin or anyone in it, remember?”

The sarcastic tone of her voice was impossible to miss, but before Luke could respond, Abram Hollis intervened.

“She’ll be safe,” he said shortly. “Me and mine will see to it.”

“I don’t need baby-sitters,” Catherine said, including the Hollis men in her answer. “And just so you understand, city living is far more dangerous than this place is, and I’ve been taking care of myself there just fine. I appreciate your concerns, but I’m staying, and that’s that.”

Abram accepted her decision far better than Luke. Once again, he touched Catherine’s arm as he had when they met.

“As you know, we’ve been staying in the house a couple of times a year during hunting season, so it’s not too run-down. But me and the boys touched the place up a bit while we were waiting for you, and my Polly sent you some supper. And I had the power turned on in the cabin, so the necessary is working.”

Catherine’s smile was bittersweet. The necessary, meaning the bathroom, was a word Grannie had used all her life. Now she knew where it came from.

“Again, Abram Hollis, I thank you.”

He nodded. “We’ll be going now. Boys, go get your sacks. We’ve got a ways to go before dark.”

The three men headed toward the front of the house, returning moments later with large, bulging gunnysacks thrown over their shoulders.

Again Luke thought of the thefts, and even though it might be bad manners to ask, he had a duty he couldn’t ignore.

“What’s in the sacks?” Beside him, he heard Catherine take a deep breath.

Abram Hollis turned, fixing him with a cool, blank stare.

“That would be our harvest.”

Luke’s thoughts slipped right into illegal drugs as his hand moved toward the pistol he wore on his hip.

“What kind of harvest would that be?”

Abram stiffened as his sons stopped in mid-step. It was Catherine’s intervention that eased the moment.

“Abram, I’m sure the sheriff isn’t interested in poaching on your territory.”

Luke frowned. “Poaching?”

Catherine sighed. This had all been too easy. She should have expected something like this.

“Grannie was a herbalist,” she said softly. “Not a witch. Abram has been harvesting Grannie’s crops and sharing in the profits for as long as I can remember.”

“What kind of crops?” Luke asked, still thinking along the lines of illegal drugs.

Abram took one of the sacks and dropped it at the sheriff’s feet. The top fell open, revealing a jumble of brown, tangled roots. Luke knelt, lifting one out into the light.

At first glance it looked something like a sweet potato, but then he picked up another, then another, and the humanlike shapes of miniature arms and legs began to dawn.