The Witch of Roan Mountain (8 page)

He nodded. When she handed it to him, their fingers touched. Maeve looked up and their eyes met. “It’s hot,” she said, flustered.

“Don’t I know that,” he said without breaking eye contact.

Maeve stared at his lips, remembered the searing kiss he’d given her on the porch, recalled the feel of his skin next to hers with only the rain between them. She shivered involuntarily and he grinned.

She looked down at the worn hardwood floors and tried to coax her body into ignoring the charge sparking between them.

After chatting with Granny and finishing his coffee, Campbell and Maeve got into his Explorer and headed toward Sugar Mountain.

“I brought some sand in case we need it.”

“Thanks. I didn’t even think of that.”

“You’ve been gone a long time.”

Maeve nodded. “I have.”

“Given any thought to where you’ll go after Granny gets well enough to be on her own again?”

“A little but I don’t have much direction at the moment. I’m not sure I want to be a lawyer anymore.”

Campbell bit his lip, something he’d always done when he wanted to ask something but didn’t have the courage.

“I just don’t think I’m cut out for it,” Maeve said. “I didn’t go into it for the right reasons.”

“Why did you become a lawyer?”

“To prove I was worth something, to prove I wasn’t my mother.”

He reached across the arm rest and took her hand in his. “You’re nothing like her. You never have been. I’ve been trying to tell you that for years.

“I know. I guess it was just something I had to figure out myself,” she said. “But thanks for saying it again. I needed to hear that.”

He pulled up next to the Volvo. “Got your keys?”

She held them up. “I’m surprised I didn’t lose them after—” She caught herself just in time. To her surprise, Campbell grinned.

“I’m surprised, too.” He laughed. “That was pretty hot.”

“Smoking,” she said.

He leaned across the cab of the car and kissed her. “Want to try out the backseat? For old time sake?”

The offer was almost too tempting to refuse but they hadn’t talked about what the sex meant.

“It was fantastic,” she began. “But I don’t want you to get the wrong idea.”

“What idea is that?” He tossed his sunglasses on the dash of the car and looked over at her.

“I probably won’t stay, Campbell and I know you’ll never leave. It’s an impossible situation and I’m afraid if we continue,” she paused. “I don’t want either of us to get hurt again.”

“That’s impossible,” he said. “I’ve loved you for so long, Maeve. I’ll never stop. I’ve tried and I can’t give you up. Whether you’re here or whether you’re in Timbuktu. I can’t help the way I feel about you. I’ll take what time I can get with you.”

The admission was so honest, so forthright, that it did something to her heart. She felt it swell, like it was too big for her chest.

“I don’t deserve that, Campbell.”

He smiled. “Maybe not but there’s nothing you can do about it.”

She leaned across the arm rest and kissed him. It was soft, with the tenderness of a first kiss. It was like discovering him all over again. He kissed her back, his lips as light as a feather against hers.

He wrapped his hands in her hair and pulled her closer. “I love you, Maeve,” he whispered. “I’ll never stop.”

His green eyes were clear and she read the emotion in them. She was pulled toward him in a way she never had been before. She climbed across the center console and sat on his lap, facing him. “I love you, too, Campbell.”

He pressed his lips to hers. The kiss was urgent, demanding. His tongue darted into her mouth, driving the passion building inside her to a boiling point. He stuck his hands under her shirt and unhooked the clasp between her breasts. Cupping one breast in each hand, he kissed her more deeply.

Maeve shrugged out of the shirt and tossed it into the backseat. “Let’s try out the front seat,” she whispered into his ear.

Using the button on the side of his seat, he moved the driver’s seat all the way back. “I’m game,” he said, burying his face between her breasts. The heat of his mouth, his tongue flickering along the underside of her breasts felt terrific. She wove her fingers through his hair and leaned back, pushing her hips forward so they rested on his erection. With every movement, she was getting wetter and more aroused.

“Jesus, Maeve, you are one delicious woman.”

He claimed her lips again. She moved against him again and he moaned. “I’ve got to get out of these pants.”

“No time. Just unzip.”

He raised his eyebrows. “You are one dirty little minx.”

“Unzip or lose me forever,” she said.

She moved one leg so that he could loosen his pants and unzip. As soon as he did, she slid onto his cock and leaned forward. “Mmmm, that’s better,” she said. He filled her up completely. As they began to move, her clit brushed against the rough fabric of his pants and she loved the sensation.

He took one nipple in his mouth and toyed with the other one using his thumb and forefinger. Maeve rocked her body, achieving the perfect rhythm. Campbell allowed her to set the pace, moving in perfect concert with her.

His hands on her and the hardness of his body pushed her over the edge. She rode him to her climax and nuzzled her face into the curve of his neck.

“I’m not finished with you,” he whispered into her hair. “It’s my turn.”

He thrust into her, lifting both of them off the seat. She felt the rock-hard muscles in his thigh pressing against hers and it made her hot all over again. Maeve grabbed onto his shoulders and allowed him to pump her up and down until he came.

When he finished, he collapsed onto the seat and exhaled. “Why the hell would you want to leave this?”

Love might have been enough if Widow Dillingham hadn’t died. Even if they couldn’t prove it was the pox that killed her, she was just as dead. Her death was a gift to that fire and brimstone Preacher Veneable, and he used it to place the guilt squarely on my shoulders. By that time, he was preaching on the dangers of consorting with the devil every Sunday. I never went to his services but I knew. I could see it in the cold eyes of everyone in town, the way they stared at me as if I were pure evil instead of a victim of circumstance.

That’s all I was. A woman trapped between choices her father made for her and her heart. A fate I wouldn’t wish on anyone.

It’s hard to keep any secrets in these mountains so I knew my name and words like “witch” and “devil” and “demon” were being whispered in every house, every church, and even the one-room school.

I was branded.

When the widow died, I knew I was in serious trouble. I’d missed my monthly flow by then, and I knew that Jenks baby was growing inside me. I didn’t tell him. Part of me hoped I was wrong, the other part of me was thrilled with the idea of always having a part of him with me. No matter what happened. No matter how they drove us apart.

I knew they would.

I wasn’t strong enough to leave and I wasn’t strong enough to stay.

My whole life, and even after, was about being trapped somewhere in-between.

*****

After a few days of trying to track down a birth certificate for Delphine or her baby, Maeve realized she’d been looking in the wrong courthouse.

“Any birth certificates for them will be in Mitchell County. Want to ride over there with me tomorrow?”

“I’ll pick you up at eight,” he said. “It’s my day off.”

The County Clerk was just unlocking the front door when Campbell and Maeve arrived. “You ready for this?” Maeve asked.

Campbell exhaled. “I’m ready.”

Avery County, the last county to be recognized in the state of North Carolina, was created from parts of the neighboring counties of Mitchell and Watauga in 1911. In order to find the birth records from Delphine’s time, they’d traveled to Spruce Pine, the county seat of Mitchell County. The Courthouse was a white, two-story, cast stone building that caught every ray of the morning sun. Copper mums in clay pots lined the steps.

They checked the directory for vital records department and headed down the hall to Suite 4.

After searching an index and submitting a request for several volumes, they headed to a table and waited for the books of birth certificates to arrive.

“There might not be any record of the birth. If we can’t find it, it doesn’t mean she didn’t have a child,” Campbell said.

“You’re right, it doesn’t but we have to look.”

The clerk placed four dusty, leather bound volumes on the center of the table. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

Each of them took two of the books and started flipping through the pages. Some of the handwriting was difficult to read and some of the copies were so faded they were useless. After nearly two hours, Maeve was ready to throw in the towel.

“I don’t think we’re going to find it.”

Campbell exhaled loudly. “Me, either. I’m almost finished with this one. If it’s not here, I’m ready to call it.”

She rose and stretched. She’d been so sure they’d find something, but so far they’d seen nothing that even came close to what they were looking for.

“Wait,” Campbell said. “This might be it.”

Maeve peered over his shoulder. “Baby girl, born to prisoner in the Mitchell County Jail. It doesn’t list the names of the parents but the date is right and so is the age of the mother.” More than the sum of the details, the document felt right. There was a vibration to it.

“I’ll make a copy,” Campbell said. “We can add it to the notebook.”

Copy in hand, the left the building and decided to grab a late breakfast at the café across the street. After they ordered two BLTs and two iced teas, Maeve took the copy and looked over it again, scanning for any details, any hints she might have missed.

“This was your great-great-great-great-great grandmother. Amazing.”

Campbell took a sip of his drink and played with the straw wrapper. “I thought I didn’t want to know but now that I do, I feel better. Relieved.”

“It doesn’t change who you are.”

“No, it doesn’t. No one bit.”

*****

“She didn’t shoot him. She couldn’t have!” Maeve jumped up from her chair and waved a piece of paper in the air. After the trip to track down the birth certificate, she’d gone back to her table in the back of the Avery County Museum and reopened the box, searching for any details she might have missed.

Mrs. Hightower ran into the room. “Maeve, what in the world?”

“Delphine. She didn’t shoot and kill Jenks. It’s impossible.”

“Why?” Mrs. Hightower slid into a chair. “What did you find?”

Maeve handed her a yellowed paper across the table. “This. It’s a transcript of Bessie’s testimony at trial.”

Mrs. Hightower put on her reading glasses and glanced at the document. “How does it prove Delphine’s innocence?”

“Right here,” Maeve sat next to her and pointed to one paragraph with her index finger. “Read this line:

“Paulson, Esq: When you saw Mrs, Whitson in the clearing chanting, did you notice any physical details that seemed out of the ordinary?

“Bessie Vance: That hand of hers, marked her as a witch from birth. Her mother should’ve smothered her in the crib. That’s what any God-fearing woman would’ve done with a marked child, especially one with the claws of the devil.”

“It was a different time then, that’s for sure,” Mrs. Hightower said.

“Now read this one,” Maeve said.

Mrs. Hightower read aloud,
“Paulson, Esq.: Did you see her shoot your husband?

“Bessie Vance: I seen her load the rifle, place it on her shoulder and fire. She aimed right at him.”

Mrs. Hightower looked at Maeve in confusion. “Didn’t we already know that?”

In that moment, Maeve remembered the best part of being a lawyer. The moment, where by the virtue of hard work and dogged determination, a long-buried detail came to light and busted the whole case wide-open.

“The Springfield Rifle used to shoot Jenks was a common firearm produced beginning in the 1850s. It was issued to a lot of Confederates during the war. While the gun in Delphine’s house might have been the one that killed Jenks, there’s no way to be sure,” Maeve said.

“I still don’t understand,” Mrs. Hightower looked over the transcript again. “It doesn’t really matter which gun she used. Bessie saw her shoot.”

“That’s impossible.”

“Why?”

“Read this,” Maeve pulled a copy of a newspaper article from a folder and passed it across the table. “The highlighted part.”

“She was a small woman, thin and gaunt. Her eyes were glassy and she stumbled toward the wagon hired to carry her to her macabre destiny. Sheriff Josey Johnston, a tall man with a beard and eyes as sharp as glass, had to help the condemned woman into the wagon as her right arm was shrunken and deformed with no real hand, and she was unable to use it to climb.” Mrs. Hightower read aloud. “I still don’t understand.”

“That gun weighed over nine pounds and was nearly five feet long. Delphine was petite and she had a very significant birth defect that would have made firing a 19
th
century rifle very difficult, if not impossible.”

Realization dawned on the older woman’s face. “She couldn’t have held up the gun.”

Maeve shook her head. “There’s no way.”

“If she didn’t do it, then who did?’

“I have no idea but I intend to find out.”

*****

Every day she gets closer to the truth. Little by little she’s chipping away the layers, cutting the ties that have bound me to these mountains for so many years.

I’d love to see Jenks again, my mother, too. I’d love to see the baby I delivered two days before they hanged me on the town square.

When she was born, I held her in my arms and saw that she was perfect. Pink and small, with her father’s jet black hair and my heart-shaped face. She was the only hope I had left and I had to make sure she had a life that was better than mine.

The jailer was an old man, way too soft to be a jailer, and I begged him to help me. I threw myself on his mercy and good-nature and by God’s Grace, he helped me. My baby girl would grow up with Evelyn Hyatt, an earthly angel if there ever was one. The jailer took her from my arms and assured me that he’d keep her safe. I couldn’t bear to name her. Instead I told him I’d leave that to Evelyn.

She wouldn’t have my name or Jenks’. She’d be free to live a life without the brand on her.

I couldn’t save my own life, but I saved hers.

*****

“I’ve got to talk to Delphine,” Maeve said.

She and Campbell were sitting on the front porch of the cabin while Granny took a nap in her chair. Soft rain fell on the mountains in a soothing rhythm. They held hands and rocked in time with each other.

“Now you’ve lost it, gone completely around the bend.”

“It’s the only way to find out who really killed Jenks.”

“Isn’t it enough that you know she didn’t?”

She shook her head. “I want the whole story. I’ve come too far to give up now.”

Campbell shivered. “I hope you don’t want me to be there when you talk to her.”

“Still scared?”

“Yep. Because I’m sane.”

When Campbell left, Maeve watched the clouds move out over the mountains and tried to figure out how she could talk to the ghost who’d been the center of her life for the past few weeks. As a lawyer and a very logical person, she wasn’t exactly familiar with the best way to summon a spirit and with all the time and energy she’d put into the case, Delphine seemed more like a friend than a spirit.

The only place she’d seen Delphine was on Roan Mountain. Maybe that was the best place to start.

The next morning dawned clear and sunny. Maeve packed a sandwich, an apple and a couple of water bottles. She tossed them in a tote bag with the growing notebook and kissed Granny on the cheek. “I’ll be home in a few hours. Got everything you need?”

“I’m just fine. You take your time, honey.”

Maeve hadn’t told Granny why she was going to Roan Mountain but she was quite sure the older woman knew. “Call Campbell if you need anything.”

“I will,” she said.

By the time Maeve parked and began walking to the overlook, her heart pounded in her chest. After all the documents she’d read and the story she’d built from scraps, the idea of seeing Delphine still scared her.

She sat in the same place she had before and watched the sun make its way over the crests in the distance. The place was busier than it had been the last time she’d been here. While the presence of other people comforted her and helped to ease her fears, it also frustrated her because she was certain Delphine wouldn’t appear around all these tourists.

The leaves were gorgeous. Gold and copper. Red and russet. Maeve tried to concentrate on the colors, the smells of fall, and the incredible beauty that spread before her. By noon, the tourists had thinned. Maeve concentrated on Delphine, tried to send her a message that she needed answers.

Just when she was sure Delphine wasn’t coming, Maeve felt a change in the air. Like a subtle breeze, the air moved and changed. She looked toward the balsam tree where she’d seen Delphine the last time. A shape was beginning to form, from particles of white-gray fog, a woman in purple appeared.

Since she was half-expecting Delphine, Maeve was able to look more closely at her features. She was a tiny woman, her waist impossibly small. As she became clearer and clearer, Maeve concentrated on the sleeves of the dress and was finally able to see the deformed hand. With the passing seconds, Delphine became defined, looking as solid as living human being.

“Can you hear me?” Maeve asked.

Delphine nodded. “I can.”

Delphine’s eyes, a bright blue that reminded Maeve of Delphiniums, were pained. “My mother named me after those flowers. Saw them from her window the day I was born.”

Maeve shook her head trying to clear it. Had she said that aloud?

“We’re connected, you and I,” Delphine said. “Have been for longer than you’ve been alive.”

“What do you mean?”

“I knew you were the only one who could help me.”

“Why?”

“You know what it’s like to be branded.”

Maeve nodded. “I need to know who killed Jenks. I can’t clear your name until I know where to look for the real killer.”

“It was Calvin, Bessie’s brother.”

Ah. Calvin had been mentioned in more than one of the documents. Always popping up to defend his delicate sister’s honor. “He killed him because you were having an affair with Jenks?”