LITMIR.BIZ

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Minutes later, they were in motion.

      Annie Fane’s journey was almost over.

       4

       L uke wasn’t a believer in the supernatural, yet when he came out of a sharp curve and saw a small, two-story cabin at the end of the road, the hair on the backs of his arms suddenly rose. It wasn’t like anything he’d ever seen in these hills. Fashioned more in the style of a miniature Swiss chalet, it reminded him of a cuckoo clock his aunty had owned. It looked as if the owner had just left for the day, instead of the twenty-odd years he knew she’d been gone. To add to the aura of timelessness, four men seemingly materialized from the deep shadows of the porch and came down the steps to meet them as he parked.

      They were tall and spare, with solemn expressions. He didn’t know whether it was in deference to the occasion, or if it was their normal manner. Their faces were shaded by matching weather-stained hats with wide, shapeless brims and their clothes were simple—faded denims and cotton. Catherine pulled up beside him and killed the engine. He glanced over, curious as to what her reaction would be. She looked relieved. It would seem she’d been expecting them.

      Still, when she emerged from her Jeep, he got out and moved to her side, approaching the men with caution. Mountain people didn’t like strangers, so even if they knew Catherine, they were going to be wary of him. As they neared the porch, something began to dawn on Luke. He’d been sheriff of Taney County for more than eight years and knew everyone in the area—and these men were strangers to him, too. He thought of the thefts that had been going on up here for years. It would be too easy to believe that in a random act of kindness to Catherine Fane, he’d found the people he’d been trying to catch. But his musing ended when the eldest of the men suddenly took off his hat and reached for Catherine’s hand.

      “You’d be Annie’s girl,” he said, without question or hesitation.

      “Call me Catherine,” she said. “And you’re Abram Hollis?”

      “At your service, Miss Fane. These are my boys, Jefferson, Dancy and Cleveland.” Then he turned to the boys. “Boys, this here is your cousin Annie’s granddaughter.”

      The “boys” were all thirty-something in age and well over six feet.

      Catherine smiled to herself at the term. Their gentle manners and soft words went a long way in washing away the hurt from the earlier incidents in Camarune.

      “Grannie used to read me your letters, so I feel like I already know you. I just wish we could be meeting under different circumstances.”

      “No one ever said life was fair,” Abram said. “Annie lived a long life. It’s time she came home to be with Billy.”

      Belatedly, Catherine remembered the sheriff.

      “I’m sorry. I forgot my manners. Abram, this is Sheriff Luke DePriest. He volunteered to help me get my…” Transient pain moved across her features as she corrected herself. “Helped me get the casket here. And, I might add, he was the only person who was willing to help.”

      Her fingers brushed the fabric of Luke’s shirt as she directed his attention to the older man. “Sheriff, this is Abram Hollis. He and my grandmother were cousins, and they’ve worked together for as long as I can remember.”

      Luke’s eye widened. Working? At what? As a fence for stolen goods? But undue curiosity was a breech of mountain etiquette. Instead of questions, he touched the edge of his hat in recognition of the introduction. The men nodded back, but they, too, remained silent.

      Catherine sighed. Grannie had warned her that mountain people would be reserved, but she hadn’t expected mute. Then she saw the shovels leaning against the porch—a painful reminder of why she’d come. She looked at Abram.

      “The grave…?”

      “Right next to Billy, where Annie wanted it to be.”

      Refusing to cry, Catherine set her jaw and looked away, letting herself take in the simple beauty of the place and imagining a young Annie Fane traversing these mountains, wrapped in the solitude she’d so badly needed after losing her young husband in the Second World War.

       Oh, Grannie, you gave up so very much for me. Then she glanced toward the truck. It was time to lay Annie to rest.

      “May we begin?” she asked.

      Abram motioned to his sons. Immediately, they moved toward the casket. Luke felt like the odd man out as they lowered the tailgate of the truck. Impulsively, he touched Catherine’s shoulder.

      “Miss Fane?”

      She looked up, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

      “I’d be honored to help,” he said, pointing toward the casket the men were about to lift out.

      She hesitated, but only briefly. “I think Grannie would like that.”

      Luke stepped into place between Abram and Dancy as they pulled the casket from the truck. He’d served as a pallbearer more than once in his life, but never in such humble surroundings.

      A few moments later, they began to walk, moving toward some unseen destination behind the cabin, with Catherine leading the way. When they passed a tall oak, a small brown bird dropped from a limb above their heads, landing on a nearby bush, as if vying for a seat to watch the passing procession.

      Although it had been muggy down in Camarune, the air was cooler up here. The ground was rocky and almost grassless in the front, but as they passed the side of the cabin, the ground cover changed from sparse to ankle-high grass mixed with wildflowers and plants he didn’t recognize. The fact that it had a cultivated look surprised him. If Annie Fane had been gone all these many years, who’d been taking care of her home? Within seconds of his thought, Catherine made a remark that gave him an answer.

      “You’ve done a fine job taking care of Grannie’s home.”

      “She was kin,” Abram said. “She would have done the same for me.”

      Luke frowned but kept silent. Another bit of information to add to the pot, but one thing kept bothering him. If this place was so special to Annie Fane, why had she left it?

      And then they stopped, bending in unison as the casket was lowered to the ground. The pile of fresh earth and the pit beside it were harsh reminders of why they’d come. He looked up in time to see Catherine reach for a nearby tree to steady herself. The urge to hold her was strong, but without asking, he knew she would not welcome it.

      He took a deep breath, feeling a sense of reverence for what was about to occur. The men gathered a series of ropes with which to lower the casket into the grave, and then time seemed to stand still. Later he would remember it in a series of brief images.

      The scent of freshly dug earth as a shovelful of dirt hit the top of Annie’s casket.

      The soft sound of Catherine’s sobs.

      The trill of a robin’s call from somewhere high.

      The perfect unison with which the Hollis men worked as they fulfilled their kinswoman’s last request.

      The sonorous tone of Abram Hollis’s voice piercing the silence as he recited the Twenty-third Psalm.

      The wilting blooms from the bouquet of wildflowers that Catherine laid upon the grave.

      And then it was over. The fresh pile of dirt lay like a wound upon the landscape. With time, it would settle, and the ivy that lay over Billy Fane’s grave would blanket his Annie’s, as well.

      Catherine stood staring down at the grave. It was done. She looked up, her eyes brimming with tears.

      “There aren’t enough words to thank you men for what you’ve done for me today.”

      The Hollis men took off their hats in unison, slight flushes coloring their faces as Abram nodded.

      “Like I said before, she would have done the

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