Midsummer's Eve (34 page)

“The little boy!” Teri cried. “He is the son of Delbert Almond.”

“I should have guessed that when he placed the buttercup on his grave.” I berated myself for having failed to come to such a logical conclusion. “Plus the fact that when I saw the little boy my first thought was that one of his parents must have been white.”

The next few pages were about the general running of the plantation. I gently flipped through the pages looking for more about Delbert's son.

     June 3, 1854

Unfortunately, Yellow Fever is sweeping the land. The darkies are dropping like flies. I fear my Almighty God will strike me dead for even thinking such a thought, however, my most fervent prayer is for my husbands whore, Buttercup, to be the very next to drop.

Teri crushed out the cigarette, jumped up from the couch and did a little dance around the room, while clapping and laughing gaily. “Mystery solved. The child’s mother was named Buttercup! That explains the buttercups!
They probably called them buttercups on the plantation and
i
t was the only way the child knew to tell us who his mother was. It’s probably the reason you have insisted on calli
ng the flowers buttercups all
these years, when everyone kept telling you they were daffodils.
It was a sign. You were destined to help the child.
Keep reading,” she said, falling back down beside me.

June 8, 1854

The Good Lord works in mysterious ways. I prayed for the death of m
y husband's whore and instead he
took the life of my husband's precious bastard son, Seth. My poor husband is deranged with grief and his mourning has affected his ability to think rationally. He is insisting that his son be buried in the family cemetery instead of in the slave graveyard, as would be most fitting considering the fact that his whore of a mother is a negress. Wherever did he get
such an insane
notion? Must the entire town be made aware of his grievous error in judgment?

“Seth died from Yellow Fever,” I said.

“Yes. Read on and see where he was finally buried.

     June 10, 1854

My husband refused to hear the pleas of myself, or his children. His bastard child was buried in the family plot. Seth was, as he repeatedly informed us, his only son and had he lived would have on
e day assumed his rightful position
as master of Almond
House. Master, indeed! The child’
s mother caused quite a scandal outside
the gate, as she wasn’
t allowed to step foot inside the hallowed ground of th
e family cemetery. The reverend’
s voice could barely
be heard above the
woman’
s hideous wails. Even she insisted that the child be buried in the slave graveyard, as would have been most prope
r. But my crazed husband would no
t hear of it.

I glanced over at Teri
,
who still looked weak around the gills from the cigarette. “Well, Mary
Beth
seems like quite the bitch.”

“Yes, she does. Keep reading.”

     June 13, 1854

Buttercup was caught today, by my daughter Sarah Louise, crying over her son's grave. She had been warned repeatedly not to enter the family cemetery. I instructed the overseer that she was to receive 20 lashes for blatantly ignoring my order. Unfortunately, before the order could be carried out I was informed by my dear grief stricken husband that his whore is again swollen with his child
and could not be punished
.

“How could they keep her from
her own son’
s grave?” I cried, feeling the pain Buttercup must have endured knowing she would never
be allowed to kneel at her son’
s grave and pray. How horribly Buttercup must have suffered at the hands of her mistress. I remembered the sad green eyes of the little boy as he peeped from behind the towering stalks of corn. “How could anyone be so cold and heartless?”

“Read on and see if the next child was a son or daughter.”

     June 18, 1854

It would seem my husband’
s whore has falle
n at the hand of folly. She hasn
’
t been able to warm his bed these past three nights, as she has gone missing. Delbert is beside himself with worry and grief. Even having the fiel
d hands ignore the cotton field
s
,
which are in a sorry state an
d in dire need of his attention
,
to
waste time searching for her? Such a simpering, mindless fool my husband has proven to be!

“I wonder what happe
ned to her,” I asked, turning
to the last page in the journal.

     June 25, 1854

My demented husband took his life tonight. I must admit it was for the best. All his foolish ravings concerning his missing whore and the death of his child were proving to be a great embarrassment for his family. He left a note stating that he had neither the will, nor desire to continue living without Buttercup and Seth. A pity. What about his wife and four daughters? Did he care so little for us that we were
not
worth living for? The man
who must have gone sta
rk raving mad in his final days
had a last request
of me. To search until Buttercup’
s body was found and bury her remains in the family plot along with him and their son. But that w
ill never happen! For his whore’
s body will never be found!

“Oh, my God!” Teri cried. “Mary
Beth
killed Buttercup!”

“And hid the body where she would never be found.”

“The journal explains it all. S
eth wants us to find his mother’
s body and bury her in the family cemetery. He needs us to g
rant his father’
s dying wish.”

“I agree, Teri. But there are hundreds of acres of forest around the plantation. How will we ever find whe
re she was buried? You know Mary Beth
didn’t suddenly develop a conscious and place an elaborate tombstone to mark Buttercup’s final resting place. We could dig every day for the remainder of
our
lives and never find
her grave site.”

Teri t
hought about this a second, eyeing
the cigaret
te she had just snubbed out.
“I’ve got it! Seth will show us where she is, of course! Just like he showed us where the journal was hidden.”

“
Then I guess we should pack some food and
go to the cabin and wait
.” Not that I had suddenly been granted courage, I simply wanted to end this nightmare. I wanted to find Buttercup’s grave and reuni
te her with her son and get on with my life
.

“That’
s the spirit. Pardon the pun.”

We put sandwich ham
and cheese, mayo and Diet Pepsi’
s in the cooler. Then we stuffed potato chips, a jar of dill pickles and a box of Little Debbie Raisin Cakes in a bag and hopped back in the truck.     

“Aren’
t we just becoming regular sleuths?” Teri giggled as we bounced over the rough river road.

“When either Stephen King, M
. Knight Shamalan or Stephen Spielburg
make a movie about our adventure it should be called
The Buttercup Girls
.”

“Angelina Jolie should
play me,” Teri said, suggesting her favorite actress.”

“Only Julia Roberts could do me justice, but then again I do have Lisa Rinna’s haircut. Who should play
Mallory
and
Tammy
?”

“Definitely
Rosie for
Tammy
.”

“And
Mallory
?”

“
Mallory
would have to play h
erself. No one else could do the girl
justice
.”

Seventeen

W
e unloaded our bags and cooler and sat down in lawn chairs to gaze out across the
calm
river, both shaking like a leaf,
but trying
desperately
to hide it. It was so
quiet and peaceful here, almost
hard to believe that we were actually waiting for a ghost to appe
ar and show us where his mother’
s bones were buried. When did I grow a backbone?     

T
wo hours later
we were still waiting. And eating. “
I wonder what
he
’s waiting for?” I was
munching on a ham
sandwich, chips and a pickle and peering
cautiously into the increasingly dark night filled with flickering lightening bugs. The full moon
and thousands
of stars
reflected and shimmered on the water
casting an eerie glow over us
.
Crickets were singing and bullfrogs were croaking like there was no tomorrow.
“I just want to get this over with and move on with my ever exciting life.”

“
I don’
t imagine ghosts follow a time schedule as we do.”
She
forked out the last pickle.

I
was about to ask for half the pickle when
I heard
thrashing about in the nearby trees
and almost jumped out of my carcass
.
I do believe poor Teri swallowed that four inch pickle whole.
“I do wish you would stop using that word.”

“What word? Ghost?” She was busy peeling
the wrapper from a raisin cake
, but her hands were
suddenly
trembling so
badly I imagined she would have to pour the crumbs into her mouth
. “Face it,
Eve
. That’s what Seth is. Ghost. Poltergeist. Spirit. Hobgoblin. Whatever he is, he needs our help.
But it’s damn creepy in these woods tonight.
”

“Must you call him Seth?”

“Why ever not? For crying out loud that’s his name.”

“Still, there’s no need for us to try to get too…
chummy
with him
.”
We hadn’t heard
giggling or been the target of any well-aimed projectiles
since our arrival, so hopefully the child was otherwise occupied
.
“It’s getting late.
Maybe he’s asleep.”

“More likely out gallivanting with the other spooks,
Eve
. I don’t think they sleep.”

“God, I hope there aren’t any others.
I don’t want to be one of those people who
see
s
dead people
.
”

“
Not
to burst your bubble, sweetie
, but I would say you already are. In my opinion
,
little Seth is about as dead as dead can get and you have definitely seen him.”
The thras
hing sound was getting closer. T
oo
close for comfort, in fact.
Even Teri was beginning to look a little green around the gills.
“It’
s prob
ably just an animal.”

“That’
s what
I thought in the cornfields
.
”

“Oh. Right.” She nervously glanced
around
,
then pulled the last raisi
n cake out of the box
. “I
t’s
really dark in these woods at night
.”

Suddenly t
he noises around us seemed to be amplified. The jumping fish sounded like whales splashing in the river. The minks and beavers climbing up the riverbank sounded like Brahma Bull's pawing the earth. The chorus of insects blended to produce a high pitched steady drone and the thrashing sound had stopped
. O
nly a few feet from
our campsite
.

It was 2
:00 am. We were
still sitting and
trembling
, we would have been eating if there had been so much as a crumb left. “
I
just can’t sit here all night
waiting for that little h
ellion to make an appearance.” Teri stood
brush
ing
the crumbs from her shirt and shorts with suddenly jittery hands.

Could it be? Was the imperturbable Teri actually getting unnerved? I knew the ans
wer was yes when she said, “Let’
s go home. Evidently, Seth had other plans tonight. He’s probably romping through the cornfield with the other sprites.”