Her mouth watered but her stomach protested. Coffee was about all she could stomach this morning. Pleased to see lattes on the menu, she ordered one along with a bagel then dropped some cash on the bar. Cradling the to-go cup in one hand, she snagged the bagel then headed out the door, hoping no one recognized her. She wasn’t ready for the locals’ scrutiny—not yet.
But the time would come when she would have to face them.
For now, she intended to lie low, do some poking around and exploring before she opened Pandora’s box. No doubt worms would slither out. Or snakes, rattlers that might strike when she lowered her guard.
With all the hype about the discovery of that body, she drove toward the graveyard. Morning shadows from the bare trees hovered over her as if she was plunging into an unknown abyss.
Last night, police would have combed the area. This morning, a police presence already existed and crime scene tape flapped in the wind.
Her stomach twisted as Ruth’s face flashed behind her eyes. Had they identified the body from yesterday?
She turned into the drive for Green Gardens Cemetery and spotted the memorial. She half expected Hetty and Ida Bramble to be wandering through the rows of graves.
This morning though she spotted a lone older woman carrying a quilt and a picnic basket toward a grave that overlooked the small pond and fountain.
Her breath stalled. It was Ms. Maeve, her very own kindergarten teacher. A sweet funny woman who’d first piqued Tilly’s interest in storytelling. At the fall festival, she’d told ghost stories, regaled folklore and relayed stories of the town’s history.
Tilly slid from her car and walked to the edge of the graveyard, then stood in the shadows and silently watched, not wanting to disturb her.
Ms. Maeve’s long gray hair blew gently in the wind around a face gaunt with age, sorrow and loneliness. She had no family left, no one to come with her, no one to sit and hold her hand or wipe the tears from her eyes as she wept.
Tilly edged closer, then stepped behind a tree, unable to drag herself away.
Ms. Maeve gently spread plastic on the ground by her husband’s grave, then covered the plastic with a homemade quiltfeaturing a wedding ring design. Next, she opened her picnic basket and pulled out a coffee and a muffin. Her bones creaked as she lowered herself onto the quilt, one gnarled hand cradling her coffee cup. She took a slow sip, then swirled it in her mug and looked inside as if it held some relief to her despair.
Eyes brimming with grief and love, she placed one hand on the grave marker. “Hey, honey, happy fiftieth. I love you. Just as we promised, you and me and me and you and that’s the way it’ll always be.”
Her voice quivered as she spoke, and she traced her fingers over her husband’s name, which was etched above a carving of two hands intertwined.
Tears filled Tilly’s eyes.
Her sister’s disappearance had ripped her family apart. Had torn her in two. Had caused her to distrust everyone. To shield her heart.
But Ms. Maeve had the deepest kind of love for her husband.
Tilly’s heart squeezed and a longing stirred deep inside her. Would she ever experience a love like that?
SEVENTEEN
Green Gardens Cemetery
Hetty Bramble despised winter and the decay it caused to an already half-dead area.
It was difficult enough to keep the parched land alive in the summer and spring and fall but cold temperatures and recent rains destroyed all her hard work. Still, she felt called to do her best to spruce up the graveyard for the families who came to mourn their lost loved ones.
She spotted Ms. Maeve’s little sedan then saw her in the distance at her husband’s grave. The sweet lady was one of them. She came every weekend to sit with her deceased husband and toast the years they’d shared together. Usually Sunday mornings with her coffee. And Friday nights with her Chardonnay.
Hetty had never come close to marriage herself. She’d measured every man she met against Earl Bramble who’d been mean and as prickly as a porcupine. Long ago, she’d decided she didn’t need a man in her life. Ever.
Especially after Ruth Higgins had stolen Clint Wallace from her. She thought Ida secretly wanted him, too. After all, all the girls did.
He never was yours or Ida’s, Hetty, she reminded herself. Ruth was pretty and vibrant and had nice clothes whereas Hetty was homely, wore hand-me-downs and had no chance of getting out of Brambletown. Ruth was set on a path to UGA with a scholarship, not that she’d needed it because her rich daddy, the mayor, would have forked over tuition, room and board, an expensive wardrobe and a fancy new car. But Hetty’s future had been tied to the graveyard with no way out.
Hetty patted the dash of her jalopy of a pick-up truck. It had taken her scrimping and saving to buy when she was seventeen, but a tiny smile tugged at her lips. She was damn proud of it because she’d bought it all on her own.
Once Ruth disappeared, she’d thought Clint might finally notice her, but he’d been so smitten with Ruth he had a stick up his butt. He’d also been questioned about her disappearance but his daddy made certain any suspicion toward him was swept under the rug.
Tugging her ski cap and work gloves on, she climbed from the driver’s side, walked around to the truck bed and hauled a bag of fertilizer from the floor. Although the ground was still damp from last night’s rain, she wanted to get this fertilizer spread before the ground became too hard to absorb the nutrients.
