Laughter in the Wind (3 page)

Grandma was her father’s mother but nearly everyone around, relative or not, called her by that name. She was a head shorter than Rebecca but her personality was larger than life and she was the toughest woman Rebecca had ever met. Her nine children were all grown, with children and grandchildren of their own, but Rebecca knew they would all bow to her will if she exerted it. She usually opted to let them live their own lives and only used her power if she were really upset about something, like the time Uncle Fred forbade Aunt Jean from giving their daughter a baby shower because she wasn’t married. By the time Grandma had finished with him, Uncle Fred had stepped meekly in line and even grilled burgers and hot dogs for all the ladies who attended the shower.

On the outside, Grandma appeared to be the typical gray-haired country grandma, wearing glasses, black SAS shoes and usually with a hint of something she had cooked that day adorning the front of her favorite duster. Behind that clever disguise was a combination teacher, psychologist, doctor and mind reader. Rebecca didn’t think Grandma was afraid of anything, especially letting her feelings show, including showing you where you stood with her. Rebecca suspected that was why everyone loved her so much. She wished she had that same fearlessness but she tended to be more like her Dad, self-contained and less expressive when it came to emotions.

Grandma saw her walking up the sidewalk and came to the door to meet her. She grabbed Rebecca on either side of her face as she came into the house. Rebecca felt the skin of her cheeks tighten as she was pulled down to Grandma’s height for a bear hug. It was hard to breathe when she squeezed you but the intensity of the hug told you to never doubt how much she loved you.

“Are you keeping out of trouble?” Grandma asked when she finally released her from her bone-squeezing grip.

“No, are you?” This was always asked and answered the same way. Grandma said she had so many kids that she was always in trouble with one of them. Rebecca was at the age where some of her older cousins really had been in trouble a time or two, whether from minor offenses such as staying out too late, skipping class or missing work, or more serious brushes with the local police over drag racing through town. She had the reputation in her family of being squeaky clean and she thought it actually concerned Grandma that she hadn’t gotten into any trouble, so she always pretended that she had. Grandma knew the truth and knew her grandchildren better than they knew themselves.

“What have you been up to today?” Grandma asked, sitting down in her favorite recliner.

“I went fishing over in Uncle Jim’s pond for a while but didn’t catch anything. On the way, I walked past the old Peacock Cemetery. I noticed someone had disturbed some dirt around a grave there. It belonged to a Mary Farthing. Do you remember her?”

Grandma’s sparkling blue eyes would get a cloudy, distant look when she thought back many years and today she looked like she was really searching to find a memory.

“She lived with her parents in that old two-story farmhouse that sits by where the lane turns down to the cemetery. I think she moved to the city when she was in her early twenties although I was pretty young at the time, so I might be wrong.”

Rebecca knew her grandmother was talking about St. Louis. Everyone in the area just referred to it as “the city.”

“She was still a young woman when she died. I recall there was a lot of secrecy about her death. Her folks went to the city on the train and brought her body back for a private funeral, family only. No one really ever knew what happened. There were a lot of illnesses at that time, so we supposed she had caught something and it upset her family to talk about it. She was their only child, except for maybe an infant who had died very young. You know, we were raised that you didn’t ask questions. If people wanted you to know something they would tell you. The Farthings didn’t talk about it so nobody asked, nobody knew exactly what had happened. It wasn’t but a few years later that her folks sold the place and moved closer to the city too.”

Rebecca was thinking aloud. “Well, if she didn’t have any family around then who could have been messing around with her grave?”

“Are you sure it wasn’t a molehill or maybe one of those armadillos dug a hole then filled it in again?”

“I don’t think so, Grandma. Armadillos and moles don’t pat down the dirt with shovels. I saw footprints around where they’d been digging and tire tracks in the tall grass on the lane to the cemetery where they’d driven in and back out again.”

“Well, Bec, you’re always looking for something to think about. Looks like you’ve got something to occupy you for a while. Let me know if I can help any more.”

“Okay, Grandma. Thanks. I love you,” Rebecca said as she hugged Grandma good-bye.

* * *

Sunday morning, Rebecca sat staring into her coffee wondering what she would bury in an old grave on Halloween night. So far all she had conjured up were ideas for pranks. She heard her father clear his throat and turned away from the black depths of her cup, surprised to see both her mother and father looking at her expectantly. Rebecca had always been a bit of a dreamer and this wasn’t the first time they had caught her when her mind was wandering far from its present location. She should have been used to the look of mild irritation in their eyes when it happened, but she wasn’t.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized sincerely. “What did you say?”

“I asked how your classes are going.” Her father didn’t involve himself in her studies much, although he had quizzed her in history a few times in high school to help her prepare for tests.

Throughout most of Rebecca’s life her father had seemed content to remain quiet while a houseful of females moved around him like miniature whirlwinds. Now that both of her sisters were married and no longer living at home, he had slowly become more vocal. It still surprised her when she found herself in a real conversation with him. Even when they worked together on the farm, he was often silent. Sure, he taught her how to use equipment and tools. He taught her about the livestock and the hay. But all of this was completed with a paucity of words.

The exception to this was when he was telling a story. He had a real gift for telling a tale. She and her sisters had always chosen him over their mother to read them a bedtime story. In his deep voice he would be the troll under the bridge, or he would adopt a falsetto tone as the three pigs sang out to taunt the wolf. His blue eyes would sparkle and he would laugh with delight as he entertained an always captivated audience.

“Classes are going fine, Dad. I did well on my mid terms.”

“I went by Grandma’s last night on my way home. She said you’d been by.”

“Yeah. I had a few questions I wanted to ask her about Peacock Cemetery. When I walked past it yesterday on my way over to Uncle Jim’s, I noticed someone had been messing around with a grave there.”

Her parents exchanged worried looks. “What do you mean?” her father asked.

“It looked like something small had been buried over a grave, right up next to the marker.”

“Could you read the name on the grave?”

“Mary Farthing. She died in 1933.”

“I don’t remember any Farthings,” her dad said. He looked at Beth but she shook her head also.

“Grandma said they used to live in the old house just past the cemetery.”

Her father nodded. “It’s been abandoned for at least thirty years. I don’t remember the names of any of the people who lived there when I was a kid, but nobody ever lived there for long.” His eyes sparkled as he continued, “Must have been the ghost that ran them off.” He lifted his shaggy eyebrows in mock horror.

Rebecca smiled at his expression. “On Halloween night I saw headlights out my bedroom window and I think they were coming from the cemetery. You could see where someone had driven down to it. It just doesn’t make sense to me what someone would be burying at such an old grave.”

“Hard to tell. It’s a wonder it didn’t cave in on them. Those old graves can collapse like a sink hole, Rebecca, and next thing you know, you’re in the coffin with the corpse. Pretty gruesome, huh?”

Rebecca shuddered at the thought. “Sure would be a lot easier to figure out what’s buried there if we could just dig it up,” she hinted, hoping her father would think of a way for her to do just that without falling in.

“It’s not safe, Bec. Promise me you won’t be digging around that old grave,” he ordered.

“Don’t worry, Dad. I won’t,” she said dejectedly, thinking her chances of ever solving her little mystery were slim-to-none.

Chapter Three

Sitting in her college algebra class Monday morning, Rebecca was in the same time zone but decades away from the polynomials on the blackboard. She had excelled in math in high school and much of her current class was a review of her advanced classes of the previous two years so there was little to keep her attention.

On the bulletin board in the hallway before class she had seen a notice about the local Genealogical Society. They were having their monthly meeting that evening at six. She thought that might be a good place to ask a few questions or look for some clues about the Farthings. Work ended at five-thirty so she would have time to grab a bite to eat and get to the old courthouse in time for the meeting.

The old courthouse was an historic building, which in Rebecca’s opinion meant tall ceilings, cold, drafty rooms, poor lighting and hard, uncomfortable seats. When she entered the room where the Genealogical Society met, it was exactly what she had expected. There were several tables arranged in a square around the center of the room surrounded by folding metal chairs. She had expected to find a group dominated by older women and was surprised to see only three people she thought were sixty or older, two women and a man. Six of those seated around the square of tables were probably between thirty and sixty, and two men and four women comprised this group. Rebecca was relieved to see there were even two young women present who appeared to be close to her own age. One sat next to two other women and the resemblance between them led Rebecca to believe they were probably three generations from the same family, most likely grandmother, mother and daughter.

She turned her focus to the other young woman who was sitting at one corner of the square, away from the others who were busily chatting. Partially hidden in the dim light by shadows from the stacks of books that surrounded her, she was intently scanning the pages of a thick volume lying open on the long table in front of her.

Rebecca pulled out the chair closest to her. “Hello. I’m Rebecca, or Bec, if you like,” she said politely.

The dark brown head slowly tilted up as if unsure to whom the greeting was directed. She looked distracted as she slowly scanned the room, finally stopping and appearing surprised as she saw Rebecca standing beside her. Rebecca was equally surprised, unprepared that such a beautiful face would be revealed to her when the young woman looked up. Short, curly hair framed a stunning smile. Reading glasses perched at the tip of her perfect nose, and dazzling green eyes peeked over the top of them.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you walk up. What was that you were saying?” she responded to Rebecca’s greeting in a soft-but-sure voice. She blinked a few times and her smile deepened as she did a once-over of the tall, lanky young woman who was gazing curiously down at her.

“Hello. My name is Bec…Rebecca. You look pretty interested in something there.” She indicated the book on the table.

“Yeah, I guess. It’s probably just a wild goose chase. I’m sorry for being so rude. My name is Olivia,” she said as she offered her hand, which Rebecca promptly reached out to shake.

Rebecca was surprised to find her hand tingling when Olivia’s hand made contact with it.
Must be static in the air. Hope I didn’t shock her.

She sat down in the chair beside her and scooted up to the table. “Are you from around here?” she asked, unsure why but not wanting their conversation to end.

“Oh, well,” Olivia hesitated a little as if deciding how much she wanted to divulge of herself and her reasons for coming to the meeting. “I am from so many places that I guess I’m from everywhere. I grew up in a military family so we moved a lot, and every time my dad deployed, Mom took us to one of The Greats to stay.”

At Rebecca’s puzzled look, she explained. “You know, great uncles and aunts, we just called them The Greats to make it easier.”

Rebecca started to respond but was interrupted by movement from the other side of the room.

One of the middle-aged men stood, introduced himself as the President of the Genealogical Society and started the meeting by introducing its members. He then asked the others present to stand and introduce themselves as well as give a brief summary of their genealogical ties to the area. Olivia and Rebecca were the only two present who were not members and Rebecca looked pleadingly at Olivia to go first.

Olivia stood, obviously confident after years of moving to new places and meeting strangers. “I am Olivia Harmon.” She spoke clearly while looking around the room at the members. “My father’s family ties are all in Oregon but my mother’s great-grandparents were from St. Louis. I have been working on some missing branches of my mother’s family tree and I remembered that several years ago a great-aunt had mentioned some family connection in this county so I decided to come here and investigate. I saw your meeting date listed on your Web site, so here I am.”

She sat down and gave Rebecca a smile of confidence. Rebecca hated speaking in front of groups, especially groups of strangers. She gulped and stood. “I’m Rebecca Wilcox. My family settled in the next county east before the Civil War and the next generation came into this county.” She could see several of the members nodding, knowing there were generations of Wilcoxes in the county. By the time she gave the name of her parents and grandparents, they all appeared to recognize her links to the area. She didn’t bother tracing out the family tree any further but ended by saying she was investigating land ownership in the county around the early 1900’s for a paper for one of her college classes. She looked relieved as she took her seat again, thankful that no one had questioned her quick fabrication which had sounded like a lame excuse to her, but was unquestionably more plausible than someone investigating a mound of dirt in an old cemetery.