Sacred Heart Cemetery
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“I don’t know why you didn’t go with us,” Tom said, as he drove the buggy down the dusty road. “I told your father that I’d bring him back.” He pulled up on a gravel drive and stopped in front of a modest two-story house.
The porch was empty, but the doorbell rang loudly enough to echo throughout Sacred Heart Cemetery. Tom jumped out and ran up the steps, opened the front door, then disappeared inside. A few minutes passed before Tom reappeared on the porch and walked back toward his buggy. He looked exhausted and there were dark bags under his eyes. “You all right?”
She nodded. “A little tired, but I’ll live. You want me to wait here or follow you inside?”
“Just come upstairs and help yourself to something to drink,” he said as he climbed into his buggy.
She followed Tom up the stairs and through an open doorway into what she assumed must be the living room. There were pictures on display in a glass case and books lined along shelves. She glanced around briefly; there wasn’t much else to look at.
Then, without warning, Tom turned off the main floor lights and shut the door behind them. For a moment they stood in darkness until she heard a loud click on the switch. In the dim light of the kitchen area, she saw that her clothes had been folded neatly and laid out on the table next to a pitcher of lemonade.
Her hat sat atop the pile of clothing. She quickly put on the dress and went to check herself out in one of the many mirrors lining the walls. As much as she hated to admit it, she was pleased with the way it fit her. She took a sip of lemonade and found it very sweet, but not too bad.
She drank half the cup and poured the rest into the sink. Then she walked over to where Tom waited for her. When they left Sacred Heart Cemetery, she would return by horseback if she could find someone willing to give her a ride, otherwise, she’d walk all the way home.
Tom’s gaze lingered on her face when he handed her the keys to the carriage house. “Where do you think you’re going now? Don’t tell me you’re walking home?” His tone was sharp and accusatory. It was obvious he thought she’d lied about wanting to go outside.
“It’s only a mile away,” she said, trying to soften the words. She knew how uncomfortable Tom felt because of his blindness, so she wanted to ease the tension in the room. That might be easier to do if she didn’t have any secrets from him—especially the biggest secret she possessed: that she’d killed someone.
But what could she say to make Tom understand that she’d done him a favor? That she’d saved him from being murdered? And maybe this is the reason she didn’t want to share anything with Tom. Because she was afraid he wouldn’t believe her when she told him she hadn’t meant to kill anyone.
As they stepped onto the street, she looked across the road toward the cemetery. “You can take a shortcut through here,” she said as she pointed to a side entrance in the fence. She could hear his footsteps as he crossed to the fence and pushed open the gate. She followed him down a path that led to an opening in the woods just past Sacred Heart Cemetery.
They walked silently along the forest trail until they reached the edge of a pond surrounded by trees and wild grasses. They sat down on an old wooden bench near a small bridge that spanned the stream below them.
“Do you mind if I ask you something?”
“What is it?”
“Why did you come back with your father? If I had known you were going to stay here for several days, I never would’ve come back.” He paused and shook his head slightly. “Did you really come back to see me? Or do you have another motive?”
“Both, Tom. Both.” She sighed as she tried to explain why she’d returned. “I came back because I needed to know more about this family feud you mentioned. But it’s not just a feud between these families—it goes deeper than that.” She explained what she suspected about the relationship between Tom’s mother and Frank, who she assumed was Frank’s brother.
Tom listened intently while he chewed on his thumbnail. “I wish there was something I could do to protect him, but there’s nothing I can do. This is a private matter among these people. I don’t even want my parents involved,” he added quietly as his gaze shifted from side to side.
“My parents won’t help and they’ll get in trouble for knowing what happened. My folks are good Catholics and they wouldn’t want to be associated with a mob like this.”
His voice had gone soft and she leaned forward to listen to every word. “Are you sure your father knows nothing about your brother’s disappearance?”
“No, I’m sure of that,” he replied firmly as he shook his head. “There was no sign of a struggle, and it was too late for him to leave town before nightfall.”
She took a deep breath as her hand instinctively covered her chest. “I wonder then, what made your brother disappear?”
He shrugged. “Maybe Frank did it to protect our mother.”
“But why would Frank want to do that? Why wouldn’t he just run away?”
“That’s just it. Nobody wants to talk about it.”
A few seconds passed. “If I ever find out anything about this, I promise I will let you know.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
The silence grew again. She could feel Tom’s eyes boring into her when she finally broke the quiet. “I need to find a place to live until my aunt returns,” she said quickly. “This is the closest to town, so if I could stay here until I can get settled somewhere else—”
“Ma’am, I can’t—”
She stood up quickly and held out her hand. “I won’t tell anyone I’m here, Tom, and I won’t ask you to call me Miss Emerson anymore either. We’ll pretend that never happened.”
“All right,” he agreed reluctantly, holding his hands over his ears and shaking his head in protest.
***
Susan found a vacant room on the second floor of the boarding house next to the general store. It was furnished with a bed, dresser, chair, and desk. The building was clean and the owner was friendly enough.
When she opened the door and saw that the bedroom window faced the rear of the building, she thought she might prefer being closer to the street. She asked for the cheapest room on the first floor instead, which also had a small kitchen area off it where she could cook for herself.
After unpacking her things, she sat down at the desk and pulled out her journal. “It’s going to be a long two weeks,” she muttered as she turned to the page marked by a red ribbon. “I’m still waiting for Aunt Margaret’s reply.” With a sigh, she closed the journal and put it away. After making sure everything was locked up tight, she went downstairs to pay the landlord and left the keys with him.
The afternoon sun beat down on Susan as she rode slowly down Main Street on her horse, which was now saddled and ready to ride. She glanced at the clock on a church steeple across the street and smiled when she saw it was almost four o’clock.
“Where to next, Miss Emerson?”
Her gaze swept the street as she answered. “Anywhere but here, Joe.”
She stopped her horse outside the livery stable and dismounted, tying the reins to one of the hitching posts. “Don’t worry, Maureen. I’ll make up my mind soon.”
“You should go to New York City or Boston,” suggested Joe as he wiped his hands on a dirty towel. “Lots of nice ladies in big cities who would appreciate a girl like you, Maureen.”
She rolled her eyes at his suggestion. “I don’t plan on going anywhere. I need to find something out about this feud—the people involved, the families, their names, and who started all of this.”
“What’s stopping you from finding that out here?” He gave her a hard stare.
Susan looked at him curiously. “Do you know something you’re not telling me, Joe?”
“Nothing that would hurt you, ma’am.” His eyes widened slightly as he held back laughter. “Well, except maybe this.”
He reached inside his shirt and pulled out a silver dollar. “I got a little curious after hearing the name ‘Emerson,’ so I ran an Internet search using the term.”
She took the coin from him and stared at it a moment. Then she handed it back to him and nodded. “Thank you, Joe.”
“I’m glad I could help,” he replied. “I hope you find what you’re looking for.”
“I hope so too.” Susan mounted her horse again and turned to leave. “See you later, Joe.”
“You look pretty tired, Miss Emerson.” He followed behind her while leading the other horses through the livery doors and into the cool building. “Why don’t you come inside the shop with me? I’ve got a cold beer and some sandwiches we can eat.”
“I couldn’t—” she began, but he raised a hand to stop her.
“Just for a minute. I promise, Miss Emerson.”
She thought about his offer for several seconds before she relented. “All right. Just a few minutes.”
“Thank you.” Joe shut the door and pulled off the metal plate that served as an entrance to the shop, then turned to face her. He leaned against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest when he saw how sweaty she was. “How can I help you, Miss Emerson?”
“Could you show me to the nearest telegraph office?”
His eyebrows rose as he glanced down at her. “There are two within five miles. One is just down the road at the bank. The other—”
“Is the closest.” Her voice echoed throughout the shop.
A smile appeared on Joe’s lips, and he shrugged as if it didn’t matter whether she knew it or not.
“Very well,” she said, and he led the way outside.
As they passed the bank, she saw a number of people standing around the front steps and sidewalk, talking excitedly among themselves. Curious, she asked, “What’s happening here?”
Joe pointed to a man in a brown suit who stood on the sidewalk with a notebook and pencil pressed to his chin. “Somebody shot the president of the bank.” He glanced at her. “We’re safe though. That fella with the pencil is from the Associated Press bureau.”
Susan watched as the AP correspondent wrote a short article and filed it on top of one of his papers. When the newsman moved aside, Susan looked toward the bank and saw three men walking around the side of it. All of them wore suits, ties, and hats.
“They must be bank officials,” she murmured to herself. A reporter stepped forward to talk to the men and ask questions, and Susan and Joe followed along quietly until the group entered the bank and closed the heavy wooden doors.
The reporter called out several times, but no one came out of the bank. They waited patiently while the men inside spoke with each other for a few minutes. Finally, they all left together and walked away down Main Street.
“Didn’t see any weapons on them,” remarked Joe as he turned back toward her.
She shook her head. “No, but why didn’t someone call the police?”
“It seems to happen more often than you’d think.” He chuckled and added, “Probably because there are so many guns floating around here that nobody wants to waste their time or money calling the cops.”
Her gaze shifted to him. “Are you serious? You mean these people shoot other people?”
“Sure do.”
Susan’s eyes widened slightly and she turned away from him. She had always known that Americans owned firearms, but she hadn’t realized how widespread it was. “I guess I’ll get my telegram sent now.”
When she returned to the office, Joe told her to wait for a moment so he could lock up. He then returned with two steaming plates of meat and bread. She took it from him and thanked him. After placing it on a desk, she opened a drawer and pulled out the small box containing her telegrams, including her instructions to find a certain gunsmith.
While searching for a pen, she spotted the revolver hidden inside Joe’s drawer. It made her stomach flutter with excitement, and she almost forgot about the telegram while staring at it.
“Where did you get that?” she asked, pointing to the weapon.
“It was given to me by an old man.” He set his own plate down next to hers, then sat on a stool and picked up his fork. “This is a Colt .45, but I’ve never fired it.”
“Does it have any sentimental value?”
He nodded slowly. “Yes, it does.”
“Well, why don’t you fire it sometime?” Susan tried to sound casual about it, although she wanted nothing more than for him to take aim and pull the trigger.
“That would probably cause some sort of scandal,” Joe muttered as he stabbed a piece of chicken.
“What do you mean?” She glanced around the room, wondering what sort of gossip was likely to circulate if a man shot another while doing business at a telegraph office.
“People here aren’t used to seeing guns like this.”
“Then maybe you should tell them.”
A frown crossed his forehead. “Not if we plan to stay here long enough.”
Before Susan could reply, Joe took a bite of his food and continued, “And besides, if I’m going to buy a gun, it won’t be here in town.”
After eating several bites of steak, he washed his hands in a bucket near the back of the shop. Susan followed behind him, watching as he bent down to pick up his dirty dishes, put them in the wash tub, and turn on the pump. As he started to leave, she reached into her pocket and retrieved one of the silver dollars she had received from John. “Would you mind if I gave you this as a tip?”
He raised his eyebrows as he turned around again. “You want to reward me for washing your dishes?”
“No.” She smiled and held up the coin between her fingers. “It’s just that I noticed something strange yesterday when you were taking off my coat.”
Joe stared at it for a minute before looking back at her. “I suppose I shouldn’t ask what you’re talking about.”
“Well, this is supposed to be worth fifty cents, but the amount it says on it is five dollars instead of five cents. I don’t understand. Did someone tamper with it?”
Joe laughed and reached for it. “You’ve got yourself a fake, lady. This looks like a good-sized hole where it was punched out and replaced with some kind of copper.” He tapped the edge with the back of his finger. “If you look real close, you can see some of the metal is missing from the inside.” He handed it back to her. “But I guess it doesn’t matter much since the guy who passed it to you probably had it melted down.”
Susan sighed, not wanting to accept the explanation. “I’m sorry I wasted your time, but thanks for letting me know. That will save me some money.”
He frowned at her as he watched her place the silver dollar into her pocket. Then, with his usual quickness, he snatched it from her hand. “Here—I’ll give you a fair deal now. Fifty cents for this thing.” He slid the coin back in her palm, still holding the bill tight with his thumb. “Now how about you tell me what you found funny about this picture yesterday?”
With a smile, she answered, “Actually, I thought you looked rather handsome.”
His lips twitched, but she saw a flicker of something else cross his face. He must have been surprised by her compliment because his voice grew louder as he said, “That makes three times you’ve insulted me today.”
“Why are you so hostile toward me?”
“Because I don’t like your type.” With that, he left the shop, locking the door behind him.
***
The following day, Joe went to the sheriff’s office and spoke with Sheriff Crenshaw, asking about a suspicious character named Harry Morgan. The sheriff shook his head. “Harry Morgan? No, he’s harmless. Not even a drunk like those other boys. Why don’t you try calling him over at the saloon?”
“Maybe I will,” Joe muttered as he walked away. He didn’t really care to speak to the fellow unless he planned to hire him. But since he had no choice, he’d better go ahead and call.
In his office, he dialed the telegraph office number. “Hello?”
“Hi, this is Morgan speaking. What’s up?”
“We need a telegram sent immediately to the post office at San Antonio.”
“Got a special code word or anything?”
“No. Just tell them to send it along.”
“Will there be more than one message?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, I’ll get right on it.”
When he hung up, he realized he hadn’t told the man how many messages he needed to be sent. After returning to the telegraph office, he asked the operator to tell Mr. Morgan exactly how many telegrams he wanted. It seemed to take an eternity for him to return. When he finally did, he handed Joe three envelopes and explained, “This should cover it.”
He opened each envelope to count the messages and then counted again. There were only two, not three as he had requested. The third letter remained sealed.
As he walked out of the office, Joe’s gaze swept across the town square. His attention caught sight of Tom Sawyer sitting on the bench outside his saloon drinking whiskey straight from the bottle.
Tom had grown taller over the years; he stood at six feet now. He wore black hair cut short all over except for his topknot, which fell down the back of his head. A large mole sat on his left cheek and his eyes appeared redder than ever before.
His face had always been rough and scarred, but they had never bothered Joe much since his first year in school when he started wearing long sleeves and gloves during the summer months. At least the scars hid his arms, legs, and back.
He stopped beside Tom, who glanced up and grinned at him. “Hey, Morgan!” He lifted the bottle and took another swig. “Did you come to watch the fun?”
“Yeah, why else would I be here?”
Tom laughed loudly as he continued to drink. “Well, maybe you came to see if you can pick up any pretty girls. If you do, I hope you leave your hat on your head. Some of them seem to think you might have been in some kind of accident.”
“What do you mean?”
“They all stare at your ears.”
“My ears?” He couldn’t understand what the man meant until he remembered Susan’s description of her suspicions. The way she looked at him, he figured she probably wondered just how badly he’d been burned.
But he couldn’t believe he was the only one she noticed. He knew there must be other women around. In fact, he thought there were a few attractive ones working in the stores and at the bank, but none of them gave him any special attention. They treated him like everyone else. And yet Susan must know something about him. She had to suspect he wasn’t entirely human.
“What are you doing in my territory?” Tom slurred, raising the bottle to his mouth again. “You ought to mind your own business.”
Joe stepped closer to him. “If you’re going to talk like that, I’m afraid you’ll have to walk away from here.”
Tom stared at him as though he were crazy. “Who’s talking like that? You want to fight?”
A small smile curved Joe’s lips. “Are you sure?”
“Sure what?”
“I bet you can’t hit me once before I hit you twice.”
Tom’s eyebrows arched upward as he studied him. He chuckled softly. “I could probably knock your block off, but it wouldn’t be much of a challenge.”
“How many fingers am I holding up?”
He hesitated, glancing down at his beer-stained hands. Then he said, “Two.”
“Good, because that’s how many times you’re going to lose today.” Joe turned and strode toward the hotel without waiting for an answer.
Tom sat on the bench with his chin resting on his chest and watched Joe go. He shook his head sadly as he took another swallow from the bottle. “Poor guy.”
Joe reached his room and flung open the door. He dropped his duffel bag by the bed and kicked off his boots and stockings. Then he peeled off his shirt and pants, leaving him completely naked. As he walked to the bathroom, he tried to push away the thoughts of Susan and Tom, but it was no use. He found himself walking out the front doors of the hotel, barefoot.
He made his way through the empty street, feeling as though he were being pulled forward rather than walking. He headed south toward the river, thinking he might find a nice secluded spot where he could bathe.
The sun shone brightly overhead; its heat felt good on his skin after a chilly winter night. The town seemed deserted, but Joe knew there were still people out and about. He passed several men and women carrying sacks of grain to their homes or businesses.
Most looked at him with curiosity and then quickly turned away, but not all of them. Once, someone called him out in a loud voice; others followed suit as Joe continued to walk southward.
At last, he arrived at the water’s edge, where a wide strip of sand stretched from shore to shore. It hadn’t been much over thirty degrees when he’d left the saloon this morning, and now the temperature had risen to a comfortable eighty. No one else was around, and Joe let out a deep sigh of relief.
As he began undressing, a hand grabbed his arm.
He froze as he looked into a pair of green eyes that resembled those of an owl. For a moment he didn’t recognize the woman behind them. But her voice rang clear in his memory—Susan’s soft contralto.
“Morgan, you look like hell. What happened to you?”
“Nothing,” he lied as he stepped away from her grasp. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
His denial seemed to satisfy her, but not before she glanced around. Her gaze fell upon the two dead fish lying in the grass nearby. “Did you kill them?”
“No, I threw them off a bridge last night.”
Her brows knitted together. She pointed at the bodies. “Why did they have fish guts all over them?”
“I ate them.” He held up his hands, palms facing outward. “It wasn’t my fault. Some old guy wanted to get rid of some food, so I offered to cook them for him.”
She laughed nervously, but he didn’t understand why she seemed so nervous. “That sounds awful.”
“I don’t recommend it.”
“Well, I’ve heard of stranger things.”
Then her laugh died, and she lowered her voice. “Are you all right? Did anyone hurt you?”
“Not really.” He shrugged. “And no offense intended, but I don’t think we should be talking about it here.” He started to step away.
“Wait.” She stopped him. “You said you saw someone who looked like me. What do you mean?”
He looked around. A few children ran past with a stick and ball in each hand. They shouted and laughed as they dodged between the parked wagons on the north side of the river road. “Can we continue this later?”
“All right.” She nodded and gave him a tentative smile. “But if you don’t want to talk about it—”
He shook his head. “No, I do, but not here. Maybe in a week or two.”
He watched her leave. It didn’t take long before her footsteps disappeared into the distance, and he headed for the beach. As he neared the water, he spotted a couple lying next to one another, their arms around each other as they kissed gently. He stared at them until they broke apart and got dressed. He didn’t want to see any more couples; he didn’t want to feel like a voyeur again.
As he walked along the shore, the warm water lapped against his bare feet. At last, he removed his clothes and sank down on the sand. After a brief hesitation, he dipped his fingers into the cold, murky water and splashed some on his face. The sensation caused him to shudder, but he soon warmed up, feeling almost relaxed.
When his hands were too dirty to play with, he tossed them into the waves and washed them off instead. He scrubbed away at his hair until it shined. It had grown a little longer since his visit to New York; he’d cut it shorter to make it easier for his wife to braid it. But Susan always liked the way it looked when it was longer.
After washing away the grime and sand, he sat back, gazing at the blue sky above. His thoughts drifted back to Susan’s brown curls; he thought how soft and shiny they would look if he brushed them just once more.
He remembered his days in school when he loved learning math the most; he wished his son could enjoy mathematics the same way. How many years might he spend teaching Adam the multiplication tables? And what kind of father would he be then? A good one—he hoped.
A wave washed up onto the shore. Joe leaned forward and scooped it out with both hands. As he lifted it closer, it took on the color of a snake’s tongue. With a quick flick, he flung it aside.
The next wave came and he repeated the motion, trying to catch it as soon as it reached his toes. He caught a glimpse of the reflection in the water. He smiled and stood up, ready to throw the water into the air.
Just then, something dark flashed through his vision. Something moved beneath the surface of the water, moving quickly toward him. He gasped loudly as he backed away.
Another shadow appeared—a large black shape.
He turned and ran as fast as his legs would carry him. He glanced back to find his attacker swimming after him. “Help!” he yelled.
“Stop! Don’t move!”
Joe’s eyes darted left and right as he stumbled over the uneven rocks. “Where are you?”
“Don’t worry.”
“How can you be sure? This is a trap.”
“We can trust me.”
“Who said that?”
“Your wife.”
Joe stopped walking and spun around. There was no sign of her. The water splashed against the rocks and foam sprayed across the ground. In seconds, the sound faded into silence as if nothing had ever happened. “What did you say?”
“I know you’re afraid of being attacked again,” the man said quietly.
“Why do you think I’m afraid of that? And what do you want?”
“To help you.”
“And how will you do that?”
“By giving me your gun.”
“My gun? You expect me to give you my gun?” Joe shook his head. “There has been enough killing.”
“Please, let us work together.” The man sounded desperate. “If we fight, it won’t help anybody but ourselves.”
“That sounds like an old song.”
The man chuckled. “It might not be a bad idea for you to stop and think about what I told you.”
Joe continued to back away, his chest heaving with fear and anxiety. He knew this man was crazy. He couldn’t imagine why he would want to give him his gun, but there was a good chance he had only himself to blame if they were discovered. He’d been careless and stupid in allowing Susan to get caught by that villain.
When he was certain he was out of sight, he sprinted for his clothes and got dressed. “Susan!” he shouted. “Where are you?”
A few moments later she emerged from behind a boulder, carrying her rifle. “Did you see anyone else?”
“No, just him.” He pointed at the water. “I thought he was trying to kill me.”
She aimed the weapon at him and cocked it. “Who is he?”
“Nobody,” he said quietly. “Never mind.”
“Why do you always lie?” She lowered the weapon. “You don’t need to tell me anything anymore. Just stay close and keep watch. You’ll be safer doing that anyway.”
He nodded slowly and kept watching. They waited in silence for a while before moving on. As the day wore on, his apprehension eased.
He tried to focus on his surroundings instead of dwelling on the events earlier. He’d never felt so helpless. When he first went into hiding, he’d spent every waking moment thinking how wonderful it would be to return home. Now he realized that he’d have to remain here forever—that he wouldn’t even be safe in the town where he used to live.
As they approached a rocky ledge, Joe saw a small boat pulled up on the beach below. At first glance, it didn’t look any different than others they’d seen, except for the lack of sails and oars.
He stepped closer and saw that one side was covered in leather straps. He walked around to examine it more closely and found that someone had made a crude bow and arrows out of wood, using pieces of cloth wrapped around them to make the strings.
They tied it off near the top and then climbed down a trail and entered a small cave. After taking shelter, Joe lit a fire.
The flames gave him hope and a renewed sense of purpose. He could still protect his family if he stayed alert and prepared to act at all times, but that wasn’t much help when there was no way to defend himself. He was defenseless and helpless—no matter what Susan may have said.
The End