Case Closed Read online

  “Why did you not tell me?” I asked my father.

  “She did not want us to take you from your school,” he said. “She has come to believe you will be safer there than here.”

  I hurried to her bedside. She looked so thin and weak.

  “John, you are home!” she whispered to me as I sat beside her. “Rebecca, Daniel, and Robert are with the Lord. I’ll be with them soon. They are good children. They’ll not bother me. I have not dreamt of them. They won’t come and take me.”

  “What does she mean?” I asked my father, when she fell asleep again.

  “Winston!” he said angrily. “He’s all about the village, telling everyone that the consumption is caused by vampires.”

  “Vampires!”

  “Yes. He tells his tales to any who will hear him. Gets the most ignorant of them to believe that the spirits of the dead consume the living, and thus the living are weakened!”

  “But surely no one believes such things!”

  “In the absence of any cure, do you blame them for grasping at any explanation offered to them? Grief and fear will lead men to strange ways, Johnny, and Winston can persuade like the devil himself!”

  “Yes, he was ever one to seek attention,” I agreed.

  “He has gained a great deal of it during this crisis,” my father said. “And the rituals he has driven some of the more superstitious ones to perform! It sickens me!” He shivered in disgust.

  Mother died two nights after Christmas, as Father held her, singing hymns to her. The next day, he dressed her in her favorite dress and sent word to the undertaker. The stonecarver had already completed her headstone, and her burial place had long been chosen.

  Noah wrote to me of Nathan’s illness in late January of 1892, and I hurried home again. That first night back, as I studied my father’s face, etched in grief, I saw that my mother’s death had wounded him even more deeply than I had imagined. I had never doubted their love or devotion to one another, but I had not before realized how much of his strength must have come from her. If this great man could be made so weak, what would become of us? I suddenly felt as small and frightened as a boy of Nathan’s age.

  “Papa!” I said, placing a hand on his shoulder.

  He looked at me and smiled a little. “It is some time since you called me ‘Papa.’ ”

  “You—you need your sleep,” I said. “Won’t you go up to bed?”

  The smile faded. “So empty, that room . . .” he murmured.

  “Please, it’s so late and you seem so tired—”

  “I cannot—I will not be able to sleep there.”

  Understanding dawned. “Then I’ll make a place up for you here, near the fire. But you must sleep. Please. Nathan and Noah need you. I need you.”

  And so he consented, but when I left him to go back to Nathan, he was staring into the fire.

  • • •

  The next morning, my father gently shook me awake. I sat up stiffly in the chair next to the bed where Nathan still slept. I could hear our dogs barking. Father gestured for me to step into the hallway.

  “Winston is on his way up the drive! I’ve asked Noah to delay him all he can. But I must tell you this—make sure Nathan hears nothing of his foolish talk.”

  I started to tell him that Nathan’s head was already full of Winston’s foolish talk, but he had hurried off.

  I stood near the window of Nathan’s room, straining to hear the conversation that was taking place below. Winston was a large man, whose new derby, well-made coat and fine boots signaled his prosperity, but could not improve his rough features. As my father approached, Winston’s pock-marked cheeks were flushed. He eyed the dogs warily, until Noah called them to heel.

  “Will you not ask me in, neighbor?” Winston asked, fingering his heavy gold watch chain.

  “My youngest is ill,” my father said firmly. “I would not have you disturb him.”

  My father’s lack of hospitality did not delay Winston from his mission. He took a deep breath, and said in a loud voice, “I fear for my community, for my neighbors and their families! I know you’re scared for what remains of yours, too. I can see it in your eyes, Arden. Rebecca took the boys, then they took Sarah. Now, Sarah’s taking Nathan. John and Noah will follow, and you’ll be last. Julia may be far away enough to be safe, but there is no certainty of that.”

  “My family’s safety is my own concern, Winston.”

  “Your obligation is greater than you perceive, Arden!” Winston shot back. “The vampires look beyond your family! Lavinia Gardner has the consumption.”

  “Isaac’s wife is ill?” my father asked, dismayed.

  “Yes. And she’s dreamt of your wife! There’s only one way to stop this—the ritual must be performed! It has worked for Robinson, and others as well. This is a warning, Arden! If you’re afraid to do what is necessary, I’ll do it myself!”

  “You’ll go nowhere near the graves of my beloved!” Father shouted. “I know of your ritual, Winston. I’ve spoken with Robinson. He’s not the same man—he’s alive, but he looks for all the world as if he believes himself damned.”

  “Nonsense!” Winston blustered. “What’s more important, Arden? Maintaining your own selfish prejudices, or the survival of Carrick Hollow? Our eldest sons and daughters are fleeing—they’ve taken factory jobs in Providence and Fall River.”

  “There are many reasons they leave. You have no wife or children, Winston. Allow me to take care of my own.”

  “A fine job you’re doing of it! Half of them dead!”

  Noah stepped forward, his fists clenched. I could not make out what he said to Winston.

  “Noah,” my father said, “it’s all right. Try though he may, Mr. Winston can not harm me with his words.”

  “Think of your neighbors, Arden!” Winston said. “Think of Isaac if you won’t think of your own sons!” He turned on his heel and strode quickly down the lane, dried leaves swirling in his wake.

  “Johnny?” I heard a small voice say.

  I turned from the window to see Nathan watching me. “So you’re awake, Mr. Sleepyhead!”

  “I heard Mr. Winston yelling at Papa.”

  “Yes, and had I known you were awake, I would have opened the window and used this fine slingshot to knock old Thunderpuss’s fancy derby right off his silly head.”

  Nathan smiled and said, “I should have liked to have seen you do it,” and went back to sleep.

  The thaw broke the day Lavinia Gardner died. Isaac Gardner came to visit us two weeks later. Noah stayed with Nathan as I sat with Father, watching Isaac wring his hands.

  “You know what I think of Winston,” he began. “And I would not come to trouble you, Amos, except—except that, before she died, Lavinia called Sarah’s name several times.”

  “Our wives were good friends,” my father said.

  Isaac shook his head. “That’s not what I mean, Amos. I mean, called her name as if she were within speaking distance. I’d tell her, ‘Sarah’s dead,’ and she’d say, ‘No, Sarah Arden is rattling me again. She comes at night and shakes me and the cough starts up.’ ”

  My father sat in stunned silence.

  “Your wife was very ill—” I began gently.

  “Yes, John,” Isaac said, “and I told myself that she was right out of her head, although of course Neighbor Winston had a good deal to say otherwise, and he’s caught my daughter’s ear. Even before Jane took ill, she was asking me if maybe we should pay attention to what Winston had to say.”

  “The news of Jane’s illness only reached us yesterday,” my father said. “I was sorry to hear of it, Isaac. I had always hoped that she and Noah—well, I can only offer my prayers for her recovery.”

  “She’s all I have left in the world, Amos,” Isaac said. “As hard on you as it has been, losing so many—well, I don’t kn
ow what I’ll do if Jane suffers like her mother did.” He paused, then said, “But I’m here, Amos, because I want you to know what things have come to—and God forgive me, but I need your help. Jane no longer doubts that Winston’s right.”

  “What?”

  “Yes. Just last night, she told me, ‘Mother will take me just like Sarah Arden took her.’ And she pleaded with me, Amos—‘Mr. Winston knows the way to stop this. You can’t let me die!’ ”

  My father was silent.

  “I told her,” Isaac said, his voice breaking, “I told her, ‘Jane, think of it! Think what you ask me to do! Your mother—let her rest in peace!’ And she said, ‘But Father, she’s not resting in peace now. She can only rest forever with your help.’ ”

  “Good God, Isaac!”

  “I don’t believe in it, not for a minute, Amos. But she does. And what’s worse, now more than half the village does, too! Winston’s got them all stirred up. What they say of you, I’ll not repeat.”

  “I’d as soon you didn’t!” Father said, casting a glance at me.

  “I’ve gone to Pastor Williams. He doesn’t promote the ritual, but he doesn’t oppose it, either. He’s only human, and Winston holds some sway with him, too.”

  “With his coffers, you mean. I hear Winston’s most recent donation makes up what is needed for the new roof on the church.”

  “Amos!”

  “Yes, yes, I’m ashamed of making such a remark. Forgive me, Isaac.” He sighed and said, “What do you need from me?”

  “Help me to do it.”

  “The ritual?” my father asked, horrified.

  “Amos, you’re my best friend in all the world, else I wouldn’t ask it. But I need someone there—someone who hasn’t lost his mind in all this vampire madness. Otherwise, God knows what is to become of me! I need your strength!”

  His strength is failing! I wanted to protest, but my father was already agreeing to help his old friend.

  • • •

  Father would not let us go with him on the day the ritual was performed. When he came home, his pallor frightened me. I gave him soup and warm bread, but he did not eat. He would not speak of what happened, but late that night, I heard him weeping.

  Jane Gardner died two days later.

  If we had thought this would put an end to Winston’s cause, we were mistaken. A town meeting was held the next week. I sat next to Father, near the front of the room, when Winston presented his case. Father had told Noah that Winston could not hurt him with his words, but how wrong he had been!

  “The future of our community is at risk!” Winston declared, fingering his gold watch chain. “Many of our dearest friends and family members have died from consumption. We’ve taken action against the vampires, with one notable exception.” He stared hard at my father. “Those in the Arden family!”

  There was a low murmur, a mixture of protest and agreement.

  Winston held his hands out flat, making a calming motion. “Now,” he said silkily, “I have great sympathy for my neighbor, Amos Arden. The death of his wife and three children is a terrible loss for him. But in consumption, the living are food for the dead, and we must think of the living! The graves must be opened, and the bodies examined! If none of their hearts is found to hold blood, we may all be at peace, knowing that none are vampires. But if there is a vampire coming to us from the Arden graves, the ritual must be performed! This is our only recourse.” The room fell silent. No one rose to speak, but many heads nodded in agreement.

  Father stood slowly, grasping the chair beside me. “The thought of disturbing the peace of my wife and children sickens me. I do not believe in this superstition, but I see no other way.” He glanced toward Winston, then said, “If I refuse, I have no doubt that some other will take the task upon himself. He takes a great deal upon himself, but the thought of his hands on my wife’s remains—” He broke off, and I saw that he was trembling, not in fear, but in anger. He looked around the room, but many of our neighbors would not meet his gaze. “I will agree to the ritual,” he said at last, “but no one else will touch my wife.”

  The exhumation was set for two days hence, and under other circumstances, would have occupied all my thoughts. Instead, all my energies were taken up with the care of Nathan, whose condition suddenly worsened. He bore it bravely, worrying more about his father than himself. “Papa is troubled,” he said, and pleaded again and again with me to tell him what had so disturbed our parent.

  On the night before the exhumation, I told my father that Nathan’s condition terrified me. “He needs a doctor! He has night sweats now, and the coughing is ceaseless. He has so little strength and—”

  “I know, John. I know.”

  I was silent.

  “With all that has befallen us,” my father said, “I’m sorry, John, I cannot afford to bring Ashford here again, even if he would come.”

  “What do you mean, ‘if he would come’? Of course he would!”

  My father shook his head. “I have not wanted to tell you this, son, but—the last time Dr. Ashford saw him, three weeks ago, he told me Nathan’s case is hopeless. Your brother is dying.”

  I had known it, of course, without being told, but still it was a blow. Childishly, I struck back. “So you resort to Winston’s witchcraft!”

  He looked into my eyes and said, “Do you think I would hesitate for a moment to save any of your lives by any means I could? By God, I’d offer my own life if it would save his!”

  “Papa—I’m sorry! I just can’t understand why you’ve agreed to this ritual. It didn’t work for Jane Gardner. I’ve heard of other unsuccessful cases—”

  “I don’t do this because I believe it will cure consumption. But it is a cure for mistrust. A bitter remedy, but a necessary one.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You will go back to school soon, and perhaps you will never return to Carrick Hollow. No, don’t protest—whether you do or not, Noah and I will continue to live here. We who live in the countryside depend upon our friends and neighbors. My neighbors are depending on me now, to do something which they have come to believe will keep them safe and well. No matter how repulsive I find it, John, I must do this to keep their trust.”

  That night, my sleep was fitful. Nathan’s cough was horrible, and nothing I did could bring him any relief. My brief dreams were filled with images of decaying flesh and bones, of coffins unearthed, of Winston’s thick hands reaching into my mother’s grave.

  The morning broke bright and warm, unusual for an early spring day in New England. We had agreed that Noah would stay with Nathan; a suggestion that he met with both relief and some guilt. But my father knew that Noah’s anger toward Winston had already nearly led to blows, and asked him to stay home.

  A group of ten men, including poor Isaac Gardner, gathered in the village. Winston tried to lead the way to the cemetery, but Isaac shouldered him aside, and let my father go ahead of them. I saw my father hesitate. I took his hand, and together we walked to the familiar section of the churchyard, the one I knew so well from that winter of funerals. As we stood at the foot of the four newest Arden graves, Winston’s voice interrupted my silent prayers.

  “Dig up all four coffins,” he directed.

  “All four!” my father protested.

  “We must be certain!” Winston said. “We’ll place them under that tree. Once they are all exhumed, we’ll open them one at a time. Start with the children.”

  Father, Isaac, and I stood away from the group. At a nod from Winston, their picks and shovels struck the earth. They began to dig, never looking up at us. My father swayed a little on his feet, and Isaac moved nearer, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. Together we stood listening to the rhythm of the digging, the downward scrape and lift, the thudding fall of the soil as they attacked my sister’s grave. Soon, the top of Rebecca’s coffin was st
ruck. How small that coffin looked! The earth was moved from around its sides, and ropes were placed under the ends. The coffin was lifted from the grave and placed under a nearby tree. In two more hours, two other coffins were taken from the earth—the larger coffins of my brothers, Robert, who had been but eighteen, and Daniel, a year younger—the age I was now. As each coffin was brought up, my prayers became more urgent and the fact of the exhumations more real.

  The group moved to Mother’s grave. Again, shovels broke into the soil. The digging slowed now—the first frenzy long past, the men grew tired. At last, they pulled her coffin from the earth and set it with the others, beneath the tree. I moved toward it, and placed my hand on the lid of her box. I felt the cool, damp wood, and the small indentations made by each nail. I broke out in a cold sweat, and my hand shook. I turned when I heard the creak of the nails being pried from the other coffins.

  Father’s hand gently touched my arm. I moved away.

  When they had finished loosening all the nails on the top of each of the coffins, Winston directed the men to remove the lid of Rebecca’s. With horror, I gazed at the unrecognizable form that—had it not been for her dress and the color of her hair—I would not have known as my sister. This child’s face, impish and smiling not so very long ago, was now nothing more than a skull, covered with sunken, leathery skin; her small, white hands now nothing more than thin bones covered with dark, dried sinew. My throat constricted—I could not swallow, could not breathe. Rebecca! Little Rebecca! My memories of her could not be reconciled with what I saw. I had taught her how to write her name, I thought wildly—I had heard her laughter. This could not be my sister . . .

  Winston was studying her. I wanted to claw his filthy eyes out.

  “No,” he said, and the lid was quickly replaced.

  He said the same thing when he gazed upon the remains of my brothers, who also appeared mummified, their dry skin stretched tight over their bony frames.

  I tried hard to control my emotions, but this was increasingly difficult. By the time we reached my mother’s coffin, only my desire to deny Winston any glimpse of weakness kept me on my feet.