The Kingdom

Thirteen

Candlelight masked the water stains and peeling wallpaper in the dining room, but that faint scent of mildew followed us through the arched doorway. The table, however, showed no sign of the deterioration that plagued the rest of the house. Antique china and crystal gleamed on a bed of ivory lace, while silver candelabras flanked a centerpiece of purple wildflowers in shades so complimentary to Luna’s dress, one might assume she’d had a hand in the selection. Surely, no woman in her position would be so brazen, but Luna was an enigma. I wondered if, like candlelight, her luminous façade veiled some deeper flaw.

The table display was lavish for such a small gathering, and I was reminded of Thane’s earlier comment about the extravagance of cemetery statues—money that might be better spent on the living. I was no expert, but I had to think that even one or two of those exquisite place settings may have netted enough at auction to fix a leaky roof. Why, then, had Asher House been allowed to fall into such a state of disrepair?

Handwritten cards designated the seating arrangement, and with a little shuffling, we all found our places. Pell Asher dominated the head of the table, and Maris nervously took a seat at the other end. I was sure she would have preferred to be nearer to her husband, but etiquette and tradition dictated her position. When we were all settled, I noticed that Luna had somehow ended up next to Hugh, making me wonder if she’d engineered a last-minute switch. I didn’t dare glance at Maris to confirm my suspicion. It was hard to look at her knowing what I knew, but my awkwardness paled in comparison to her situation.

I was seated to her right, Catrice Hawthorne to her left. At the other end of the table, Luna and Bryn bookended the elder Asher while Thane and Hugh claimed the middle chairs, directly across from one another. Despite poor Maris’s discomfort, it was the best possible arrangement for me, with Bryn Birch on Thane’s other side. I would have hated to spend an entire evening next to her.

Regardless, I wasn’t looking forward to the meal. The library beckoned, and I was itching to get started, particularly if the records turned out to be the treasure trove Thane had promised. As a restorer, I tried to remain as faithful to the original vision and layout of a cemetery as was humanly possible, which was why I spent hours scouring old newspapers and church books before I ever removed so much as a thistle. But it wasn’t often that I had the opportunity to examine photographs from the late 1800s. The prospect of studying those historic images excited me almost as much as the possibility of uncovering information about the hidden grave.

That grave. I was self-aware enough to know that I wouldn’t have peace of mind until I could put a name to it. Until I made sure it was given proper respect. The site was so remote and lonely. I couldn’t imagine why someone had been laid to rest in such a desolate spot. It made me sad to think of it.

As I contemplated how best to go about finding my answers, I realized the most fruitful resources might not be the cemetery records at all, but someone seated at this table. The grave wasn’t that old. Interment had probably occurred during the lifetime of everyone present, with the possible exception of Thane. And me, of course.

Earlier I’d been hesitant to reveal my discovery, but now I couldn’t see the harm in asking a few questions. After all, it wasn’t as if someone had used the grave to hastily dispose of a body. The site was sheltered, but nothing had been done to disguise the appearance. Quite the contrary, the mound had been decorated with pebbles and shells and marked with a headstone. And at one time, someone had taken great pains to remove the grass and weeds.

“You’re very quiet,” Thane observed as we began the first course—a delectable acorn squash soup flavored with a hint of curry. “Grandfather didn’t say anything to upset you, did he?”

“Why would you think that?”

“He can be difficult.”

“Really? I found him charming.”

Thane grinned. “I can’t tell if you’re being facetious or not, but I suspect that you are.”

I shrugged. “Maybe a little, but he was fine. We talked about graveyards.”

His green eyes glittered in the candlelight. “And that’s all?”

“Mostly.”

He gave me a curious look, but let the matter drop and turned to engage Bryn. I tried to make small talk with Maris, but after a couple of feeble attempts, I crawled back into my shell and allowed Catrice to carry the conversation. She seemed only too happy to oblige, chatting away about the migratory patterns of the local bird population as she nibbled on a generous helping of crispy pork shoulder.

The bird talk made me think of the poor crow that had flown into my windshield the day before. It still unnerved me to think of that motionless body, not to mention all those birds watching me from the treetops. I wondered if Catrice would take that gathering as some sort of omen or if her knowledge could provide a logical explanation for their odd behavior.

“I blame it on so many outsiders moving into the area,” she said. “The natural balance is off-kilter.”

I glanced up, wondering for a moment if I’d spoken my mind. But then I realized she’d segued from bird migration to people migration, in particular those flocking to Asheville, North Carolina, where she apparently owned part interest in an art gallery.

“Don’t get me wrong. The influx is great for business, but I find it creatively disruptive.” She sampled a roasted beet. “They call it the new Sedona, you know. Mystics claim the area has more geological vortexes than any other part of the country.”

“What’s a vortex?” Thane asked.

“A gateway, if you believe in that sort of thing.”

“A gateway to what?” I could hear amusement in his voice.

“To the other world,” Bryn put in. “The realm of the dead.”

Catrice’s eyes sparkled as she watched me from across the table. “Have you been lately?”

“To…Asheville, you mean? Not since I was a child. My father’s people are from around there. I remember driving through once when I was a child.”

“Did you experience the transformation?” she asked.

“Transformation?”

“That feeling of utter lightness as you drive through the passages. It’s like flying,” she said dreamily.

Pell Asher glared from the end of the table. “Utter lightness? Utter nonsense, if you ask me.”

Undaunted, Catrice leaned forward and smiled. “Now, Pell, you know as well as I do these mountains are full of secrets. Just look at them.” She waved a hand toward the tall windows behind me.

I couldn’t help glancing over my shoulder, but all was dark outside. I had to imagine the distant escarpment rising majestically out of forest and mist.

“Cat is right,” Bryn said. “The Appalachians are ancient. Older even than the Himalayas and just as spiritual.”

I found the whole conversation vexing. I had the strangest feeling they were somehow testing me, but I couldn’t imagine why.

Then I remembered what Ivy had said about the waterfall being a thin place. People used to go up there because they hoped to catch a glimpse of heaven. Now they stayed away because they were afraid.

Afraid of what? I wondered. Whatever evil had been carried on the wind today?

“Speaking of secrets.” I reached for my wineglass. “I stumbled across something interesting today.”

“Really?” Catrice politely inquired.

“I found a hidden grave.”

Had I flung off all my clothes and danced naked on the tabletop, I don’t think I could have elicited a more stunned response. A hush fell over the room, broken only by the sharp intake of someone’s breath. I happened to be looking down the table at Luna and saw a shadow fleet across her face, a flutter of something in her eyes that might have been fear. For a moment only, her mask slipped, and I found myself staring at the gray, weathered visage of a much older woman. The illusion was transitory and undoubtedly a trick of the flickering candlelight because in the next instant, she looked exactly the same. But I was reminded again of that first afternoon when she’d taken me to the Covey house, how she’d seemed to change—transform—before my very eyes.

Thane turned to me. “You found a hidden grave in the cemetery? Where?”

I tore my gaze from Luna. “No, not in the cemetery. On the other side of the hill, in the laurel bald.”

The emotional undercurrents in the room were strong enough now to raise the hair at my nape, making me wonder if I’d made a dangerous miscalculation. Maybe I should have gone with my initial instincts and kept silent about that grave.

“What were you doing on the other side of the hill?” Pell Asher demanded. “Did no one warn you about that place?”

I glanced up, alert now for the slightest nuance. “What do you mean?”

“He’s talking about the laurel bald,” Thane said. “Those places can be tricky to navigate. It’s easy to get turned around.”

“Oh…I’m aware of that. As I said, my father grew up in these mountains.”

“Then why would you knowingly enter one?” Hugh asked. Of all the people at the table, I found him the hardest to read, maybe because his face was so surreally handsome.

But…how to answer his question? After my conversation with Wayne Van Zandt, I didn’t want to mention Angus. The fewer people who knew about him, the better. And, oddly enough, I found myself feeling a little defiant in the face of all their disapproval.

“I wanted to do some exploring. I thought the waterfall was nearby. Luna mentioned the other day that I should see it while I’m here.” I flashed a smile, but she didn’t return it.

“There’s a much easier way to get to the falls,” Thane said. “I can show you if you still want to go. But about that grave…” His expression sobered. “Why didn’t you tell me about it this afternoon?”

“You caught me by surprise. I guess it slipped my mind.”

“Did you call Wayne Van Zandt?”

“I never thought of it as a police matter.” I glanced from face to face. All eyes were still on me, reminding me yet again of those birds staring down from the treetops. “Maybe I should clarify. The grave isn’t so much hidden as it is secluded. It even has a headstone.”

“Is there an inscription?” Thane asked.

“No, unfortunately. No name, no date of birth or death. But there is some symbolism—a rose and a rosebud. The inclusion of both sometimes signifies a dual burial of mother and child. And the presence of the severed stem may indicate a sudden or unexpected death.”

I paused but no one said a word. Their silence seemed like a held breath. “Even more interesting is the layout,” I continued. “The traditional placement, especially in the South, is for graves to face the rising sun. Feet to the east, we call it. There was a time when a north-south orientation was reserved for outcasts and undesirables—those ostracized for their moral shortcomings.”

“Like wearing a scarlet letter for all eternity,” Bryn said, and I thought I heard a mocking note in her voice.

“I guess you could put it that way.” I scoured the table. “No one knew about that grave?”

“Why would we?” Hugh’s shrug was a little too casual. “You said yourself it’s secluded. Probably been there for ages. You walk far enough into these hills, you’re apt to stumble across any number of old graves.”

“But this one isn’t historical,” I said. “I’d guess it’s no more than twenty or thirty years old.”

He looked skeptical. “And how can you possibly know that? You said there isn’t an inscription.”

“I’m going by the style and condition of the marker. And I’ll tell you something else about that grave…someone does know about it. The site has been cared for over the years.”

“Cared for…how?” This from Luna.

“The ground has been scraped. Which is another curiosity, because that’s a tradition you don’t often find around here.”

“Fascinating,” Bryn said.

Maris stood abruptly, and the grate of her chair legs on the hardwood floor jarred me because I’d forgotten all about her.

Catrice touched her arm. “Are you all right? You look so pale.”

Maris’s hand fluttered to her forehead. “You’ll have to excuse me… . I feel a migraine coming on… .” She barely got the words out before she turned and fled the room.

There was an awkward pause, but I felt some of the tension deflate with her departure. I didn’t think it had much to do with Maris, though. Any disruption would have been welcomed.

“Well? What are you waiting for?” Pell Asher snapped at his son. “Go see about your wife.”

Hugh looked as if he would have rather faced a firing squad, but he nodded and graciously excused himself from the table. My eyes were glued to Luna. I didn’t know her well enough to read her expression, but if I had to hazard a guess, I would have said she looked quite pleased with herself.

Thane used the interruption to make our excuses. “It’s getting late, and I did promise Amelia that tour of the library.”

“You’ll come again,” said Pell Asher.

It wasn’t a question or an invitation, but a foregone conclusion that once again put me on the defensive. We’ll see, I thought.

I inclined my head and murmured good-night. As we walked out of the room, I couldn’t help glancing back. Luna, Catrice and Bryn had all gathered around the old man much the way they’d done with Hugh earlier. I saw one of them stroke his arm while another replenished his wineglass. It was an odd, troubling scene, and I glanced away quickly, afraid of seeing too much.