Long Black Veil (3 page)

“Suppose so.” Gil didn’t really talk about his family, so neither did Devon.

There was a heavy pause in the conversation. Then Gammy said, “I talked to your mama today.”

Devon stilled. Gammy didn’t often mention her mother; it was best for all concerned if the woman wasn’t brought up. Devon looked at the calendar, suspicion beginning to gnaw at her. “Mom’s birthday is today.” She took up her pencil carefully, afraid she might break it in half if she didn’t keep a tight rein on herself.

Gammy nodded. “It is.”

Devon didn’t ask anything else and her grandmother didn’t offer. It was a painful subject that they danced around, neither of them mentioning the past or how Devon had come to live here. Thinking about her mother always tied Devon in knots and it always made Gammy terribly sad for a few days after, so they just let it lie. It made things easier that way.

Devon tried not to think about life with her mother after her father’s death. She didn’t want to think of the men her mother brought home, of the smell of liquor on her mother’s breath. She didn’t want to remember the glazed empty look in her mother’s eyes from the meth, or to conjure up the memory of hunger tearing at her insides when her mother forgot to buy food. And she knew Gammy didn’t like being reminded of what her only child had become.

The silence that filled the room was uncomfortable, but Devon did her best to ignore it. She focused on her math problems, trying to work through them as a way to keep her mind busy. Gammy kneaded dough and cut out biscuits. Eventually the tension eased and the quiet became companionable.

They did not mention her mother for the rest of the night.

Chapter Two

Devon slept poorly that night and awoke with a pounding headache. She managed to drag herself to school and make it through her classes, but she was glad when lunchtime rolled around so she could go see the school counselor about the scholarship information the woman had passed along. She traded out books at her locker for the latter half of the day, then went to the front office to sit in the hard-backed chairs in front of the counselor’s closed door.

After a few minutes, which Devon spent reading the next chapters in her English assignment, the door opened. Ms. Kilgore stepped out, smiling at the underclassman whose face was splotchy and red. Devon didn’t recognize the boy, but she gave him an encouraging smile. Sometimes high school could really suck; she understood how that kid felt.

Ms. Kilgore motioned her to come inside. Devon gathered up her things and took a seat in front of the guidance counselor’s ancient looking desk. Ms. Kilgore came around and sat down behind it, a smile on her face. “What can I do for you today, Devon?”

Devon took out the folded sheet of paper with the scholarship information on it. “I wanted to talk to you about this.”

Ms. Kilgore nodded. “Sure thing. What do you want to know?”

“What kind of proof are they looking for? I mean, I know it says proof of five generations born in the county, but do I have to prove that they stayed? That they owned land?”

Ms. Kilgore smiled. “I don’t think additional information could hurt your chances. I would start with birth records and move on from there. If you can find land deeds or anything that shows your family has been active in the county, I can only think that would help your submission.” She folded her hands atop her desk. “How are you doing with the applications?”

Devon rifled through her notebook and pulled out a small pad. Flipping it open, she found her list of colleges. She and Ms. Kilgore had sat down together and made a list of all of her choices, including sure things and longshots. “I’ve got apps ready to go for three schools. I’ll finish up the last two this weekend.”

“Running into any problems?”

Except for money, no
. Devon worked a part time job at the drugstore and lately all of her meager paychecks seemed to go directly to college application fees. “Nope, I’m good.”

Ms. Kilgore nodded. “I thought of you immediately for that scholarship,” she said, pointing to the paper Devon still held. “You’re going to be valedictorian, you have great extracurriculars and community service, and I know your family goes back generations. If you’re having trouble finding proof, check the town records.”

Devon looked down. Ms. Kilgore knew how hard she had worked to get where she was, and Devon figured the counselor knew how much she wanted out of this town. She was glad that Ms. Kilgore was on her side in this. It made her feel a little less alone since she didn’t want to talk to Gammy about her college choices.

“You’re doing a great job, Devon. You should be proud of everything you’ve accomplished.”

Devon thanked Ms. Kilgore and got up. She still had some time left in her lunch period, so she headed outside. Gil had lunch the period after her, leaving her few choices of people to sit with. So long as it wasn’t raining or freezing cold, she preferred the quiet outside, and she tried to avoid the cafeteria as much as she possibly could. She found an empty spot in the small courtyard outside the back doors of the school and got out her sandwich.

She’d maybe taken two bites when the doors flew open with a force that surprised her. Then the senior cheerleaders walked through them, as though making an entrance into a gala event rather than onto the blacktop that led to the student parking lot. Leading them was Skylar Preston, a petite blonde who had been spray tanned to within an inch of her life. Nothing in nature matched that burnt sienna color she’d seemingly chosen out of a crayon box.

As they swept by her on the way to their cars for a quick smoke, Devon saw Skylar look her way. The cheer captain said something Devon didn’t catch, but it caused the rest of the girls to erupt in laughter. Devon thought about calling after them to ask Skylar how Brock was, knowing that the power couple had broken up over the summer, but decided against it. The girl wasn’t worth the aggravation, and she had learned long ago that it was best to stay out of Skylar’s way.

The cheerleader and the basketball star. Skylar and Brock had been a couple since freshman year. Everyone had just assumed they’d be together forever, going to the same college and then getting married before settling down back in town. It had come as a shock when they’d broken up, with the current rumor being that she had called it quits with him.

Devon thought it was clearly another sign—besides the rampant obsession with tanning—that Skylar was deranged. Brock Cutler was…Brock Cutler. He was the total package: good student, an athlete, gorgeous, from a solid family, and rich. If Skylar had wanted to trade up, Devon hated to tell her that there wasn’t any more up beyond Brock. Devon knew that Brock had no idea she was alive, but even if she didn’t have the buying power, there was nothing that said she couldn’t window shop.

She watched the retreating backs of the gaggle of girls absently, trying not to think about much of anything. Skylar flipped her long blonde ponytail, making Devon grimace. The ponytail flip. She remembered how Skylar had treated her in middle school; she’d made a point of trying to embarrass Devon whenever she could. Most of the time, she hadn’t cared, but Devon had always wondered why Skylar had singled her out from all of the other mountain girls that went to their school.

Devon folded up the aluminum foil her sandwich had been wrapped in and tucked it into her messenger bag’s front pocket. No point in dredging all of that stuff up again now. She just had to make it through the rest of this year and then she could put Skylar, her mother, and everything else well behind her.

Chapter Three

The Hall of Records was really just a room buried in the back of the Town Hall offices adjacent to the courthouse. The building was fronted with Doric pillars, which the architects probably thought made it look stately and imposing. Devon thought it looked like someone with a fetish for ancient Greece just plonked a temple down in the middle of brick and clapboard store fronts and went about their merry way.

She climbed the wide steps leading up to the front doors, her messenger bag holding her financial aid and scholarship applications bouncing at her hip. She was most concerned with gathering the information she’d need for the scholarship Ms. Kilgore had given her. It was offered specifically to Appalachian families, but there was a catch: applicants had to prove they’d been living in the area for at least five generations. It meant a lot of sifting through files to find what she’d need in order to apply.

So Devon was headed to the records room. She needed to pull old birth certificates, death certificates, land deeds, and anything else that might prove her family had been in the area for all of this time. Her Gammy had already given her a helpful list of names of her forebears, so she at least had a place to start looking. But Devon didn’t kid herself; it was going to take some time. She still had a few months before the applications were due, but that didn’t mean she could just sit around and wait until the last minute. Not with her future away from this town on the line.

Devon waited at the front desk, watching as Mrs. Welbourne—a pillar of the community and inexhaustible local volunteer—gave instructions to someone on the other end of the phone. She tried not to fidget. Mrs. Welbourne returned the receiver to its cradle and smiled at Devon. “What can I help you with, dear?”

Devon pulled a manila folder from her bag and opened it to reveal a stack of papers. “I need to do some research for some scholarship applications. I’m going to need to copy some records, like birth certificates and stuff like that.”

“How far back do you need to go?” Mrs. Welbourne put her reading glasses on her nose and looked at the pages in the folder.

“Five generations.”

“Lordy.” Mrs. Welbourne smiled. “You’re going to need the archives for some of it.” She took another glance at the papers Devon had arrayed before her. “Seems like an awful lot of work for a scholarship.” She shrugged. “We’ve got an intern with us—I’ll give him a call and have him meet you at the Records room. He can get what you need from the archives.”

“Thank you very much.” Devon scooped her pages back up and into the folder in one smooth motion. “This probably won’t be the only time I’ll need to come here—I’ve got a lot of research for all of these.”

“Well, I’m glad someone is finally taking an interest in their history, even if it is just for a scholarship.” Mrs. Welbourne leaned over the desk. “All we usually get in here are title searches and land grants. Just follow the signs down the hall. They’ll lead you right to it.”

Devon nodded and took off down the main hallway, turning left down a side hall where the sign indicated. She passed a couple of doors, finally coming to a stop in front of an open one. The Records room was a large square, bisected by a long counter. Behind it were filing cabinets; they lined the walls of the entire room. A computer sat on the counter. Two wooden chairs sat sentinel on either side of the door.

She laid her bag down on the counter, then leaned over it, trying to see if there was anyone working. The computer monitor’s screen saver was on. “Hello?”

“Hang on!” a male voice called from the back of the stacks, followed by a collection of thumps.

“Everything okay back there?” She craned her neck to get a look.

A tall young man walked between filing cabinets to join her at the front. He wore jeans and a polo shirt. Devon recognized him; he was Brock Cutler, the captain of the varsity basketball team, popular, good looking, former boyfriend of Skylar Preston, and son to one of the richest families in town. The town golden boy. Devon had had a couple of classes with him when they were underclassmen, but when she started taking mostly AP classes, their schedules diverged. But she knew him on sight—heck, everybody did.

“Hey, sorry it took so long.” He looked at her bag on the counter. “What do you need?”

Devon slid her bag back over her shoulder, suddenly unsure. Why on earth was Brock even back there? “Mrs. Welbourne said she was calling an intern.”

“Uh huh. That’s me.”

“Seriously?” Devon thought an intern would have been someone, well, more like her. Someone who needed the credit on their transcripts or the paycheck, if there was one.

He crossed his arms over his chest, frowning a little. “I can’t be an intern?”

“Oh, no. That’s not what I meant. I mean, I just wouldn’t have thought…” she trailed off, watching as his mouth set into the beginnings of a scowl. “You know what? Let me try that again.” She shook her body like a dog shaking off water. “Hi, I need some help with the archives, please.”

He laughed suddenly, a bright and shocking sound. “Sure thing. Whatcha got?”

Devon pulled out her file folder and thumbed through the contents. “I need proof of residence for the last five generations of my family. Birth certificates, death certificates, land records—that kind of stuff.”

He whistled. “That’s gonna take a while. Like more than one day, awhile.”

Devon nodded. “I figured. I thought I would start with the most recent—my parents—and move backwards.”

Brock walked to the end of the counter and flipped it up so Devon could pass through. “Come on back.” He gestured her through. “You know the years you’re looking for?”