The Witch of Roan Mountain Read online

  “Don’t walk away from me, Campbell Hyatt,” she said as she charged toward his broad back. Anger, white-hot, flared in her chest, and she was determined to have the last word.

  “Hurts, doesn’t it?” he asked without ever turning around.

  ******

  No one could get to him like Maeve.

  He’d wanted to hurt her feelings, make her understand how deeply she’d hurt him. It wasn’t like him but he hadn’t been able to resist. Campbell wasn’t a mean man, didn’t have a hateful bone in his body, but Maeve made him crazy. It would’ve been easier to handle the anger if it hadn’t been counterbalanced with a mad attraction he couldn’t seem to put a lid on.

  She’d left Avery County and never looked back. He’d been a casualty along with Granny.

  It did no good to rehash the past, wonder how things might have been if she hadn’t been so determined to get the hell out of the mountains.

  Their relationship hasn’t been puppy love. It had been the real thing. So real he’d intended to propose marriage. The engagement ring had been in his pocket the night she’d told him the scholarship to Clemson had come through. He had known, standing in the yellow light of Granny’s front porch, Maeve would never be back for good.

  He’d sold the ring to a friend of his and tried to forget.

  Every day, for ten years, he’d tried to forget.

  And then she had to go and drag her ass back home.

  After checking to make sure Granny was comfortable, he headed back to his cruiser and started his daily patrol. He headed out of Newland and onto the backroads of the county. He climbed steadily, enjoying the roar of the engine. Campbell concentrated on the road so he didn’t have to think about Maeve.

  Maybe that stubborn woman would realize that what she’d seen at the top of Roan Mountain wasn’t a ghost.

  Ghosts weren’t real.

  Hell, he was a cop. He’d seen just about everything. Shootings, domestics, suicides, but he’d never seen a ghost. If they were real, after eight years of wearing a badge, he would’ve seen one.

  Maeve had only thought she’d seen something because she was under so much stress. It had been an illusion. Nothing more.

  He knew why Maeve had come home. She’d been tossed out of Atlanta on her fine little ass.

  She’d been representing a murderer. High profile case, all over CNN. The case against her client had been flimsy and everyone thought she’d get him off but in the middle of the trial, the son of a bitch had slipped up, admitted his guilt to Maeve, and she did the right thing.

  She went to the judge.

  Her employer wasn’t happy.

  She’d come back to Avery County because her high-falutin life in Atlanta was on the skids. Not because she wanted to be closer to Granny. Not because she got home-sick. Certainly not because she missed him.

  She just had nowhere else to hide.

  Since Maeve had been gone, he’d kept an eye on Granny Holcombe. When he’d dated Maeve, the old woman had stolen his heart and he saw no reason not to continue the relationship.

  When she’d left for college, he and Granny had comforted each other. They’d sat in chairs on the front porch, watched the sun slip behind the mountains, and silently thought about the one person who was missing.

  Their Maeve.

  Granny didn’t have anyone else. Maeve’s mother, a petty thief and drug addict who’d died of an overdose when Maeve was a kid, had been Granny’s only child. She was totally alone at the top of a mountain in a cabin heated only by wood.

  Campbell had just been doing his duty.

  But now, with Maeve back in town, he’d have to back out. She could take care of Granny. And when she left, which she would the first chance she got, he’d pick up the pieces. Just like last time.

  Damn Maeve. Why couldn’t she have kept her ass at home? Like a normal person?

  *****

  The library was small. A converted brick home, it was just off Main Street. Maeve dropped her purse on a table near the back and headed to the section that housed all the regional books. It was in the same place it had been when she’d used it to write papers in high school.

  She chose a few books and took them back to her table. She opened the new spiral notebook she’s purchased at the drug store and wrote the date at the top of the first page. Most of the books had at least a chapter on the ghosts of the higher elevations but there wasn’t much about Delphine.

  By noon, she still had very little information and the yogurt she’d eaten for breakfast wasn’t cutting it anymore. She placed the books on the return cart and left the library. She walked down the street and into Bertie’s, a small café that served breakfast and lunch.

  Maybe some of the regulars would know the story.

  The café hadn’t changed at all. It looked like it was stuck somewhere in the 1950s. The only nod to the turn of the twenty-first century was the debit card machine. Bertie was still working the grill and his wife, Hazel, was still waiting tables.

  “My, my, my,” Hazel said when she came to Maeve’s table. “Haven’t seen you in a month of Sundays. How’s Granny? Heard on the scanner she’d had a fall.”

  “She’s fine. It’s a simple break. She’ll be home in a few days.”

  “Glad to hear that. Are you going to stick around for a while after she gets home?”

  What the hell? Did these people think she was the most irresponsible person ever?

  Maeve nodded. “I’m between jobs so I’ll stay for as long as she needs me.”

  “I heard that you got fired.”

  Maeve remembered why she’d been so ready to leave the county in the first place Gossip traveled fast and very few people in these parts were tactful. “Not fired exactly.”

  “It’s okay, honey. We’ve all had rough patches. Can I bring you some lunch?”

  “Egg salad on white toast?”

  “I figured. I’ll bring you some tea, too.”

  Maeve hadn’t set foot in Bertie’s in more than a decade and Hazel still remembered her order. Unbelievable. Maeve opened her notebook and flipped through her scant notes. There was really nothing tied directly to Delphine. There were some ghost stories that were similar but none of them mentioned the dress. She needed to find some better sources.

  When Hazel brought her food, Maeve asked, “Do you remember the legend of Delphine? The witch?”

  Hazel shivered. “I sure do, honey. Scares me to this day. I can’t even say her name without feeling sick to my stomach.”

  “Would you tell me the story?”

  The waitress shook her head. “I can’t stand to even think about it but Virgil , one of our regulars who fancies himself as an amateur historian, would love to tell it. I’ll send him over here.”

  Ask and you shall receive.

  The man who shuffled over to her table looked to be on the backside of a hundred. “You Granny Holcombe’s grandbaby?” he asked, sliding into the booth.

  “Yes, sir,” Maeve answered.

  He nodded. “You favor her. And your mama, too.”

  Maeve knew the old man meant no harm but the last person on earth she wanted to be compared to was her mother. The woman had been a beauty but she never took one single responsibility seriously. Including her only child.

  “Do you know anything about Delphine?”

  He nodded and looked up at her. “I know that one well. Too well, maybe.”

  “Can you give me the details?”

  “I can do better than that. I can give you directions to where she’s buried.”

  Maeve, unsure as to how that would help, said, “Okay, but before I go to the cemetery, I’d like to know more about her.”

  “After you go visit her, I’ll tell you the story.”

  “Why can’t you tell me now?”

  Virgil shook his head. “The time isn’t right.” He slid the notebook across the table and took her pen. On a clean page, in spidery script, he wrote the directions. Beneath it, he scribbled his telephone n
umber. “Call me after you visit.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  It’s easier to move at night. Something about the moon, the stars, the quiet.

  The night they found us, the moon was as bright as day. I heard them coming, their feet crashing on the dry leaves. There was no time to hide. No time to run. Nowhere to run.

  When Bessie and her brother, Calvin, stepped into the clearing, I knew Jenks and me weren’t leaving alive. A cold gleam shone in her eyes. In one hand she held a butcher knife, its sharp edge reflecting the white-blue glow of the moon.

  Bessie was small and stout. Her face was round and her eyes were set deep. Her brother was a raw man dressed in overalls, his face marked with a scar trailing from one ear all the way to his jawbone. In one hand, he held a rifle.

  Jenks stepped between us and said, “Now, Bessie, there’s no reason to do this. Wasn’t nothing happening out here. We was just talking.”

  She glared at him. “This time, maybe. How about all them other times?”

  Jenks raised his hands in surrender. “Ain’t nothing happening tonight and never again.”

  I looked over his shoulder, watched her face, tried to decide if I should run into the trees. Take my chances with the bears. But even if I escaped tonight, where would I go tomorrow?

  I was so tired. Tired of running. Tired of loving someone I could never have. I wanted to just collapse onto the bed of leaves and fade away.

  “I give you my word, Bessie. Ain’t nothing ever going to happen between me and her again.”

  Bessie shook her head and turned to her brother, Calvin. “I told you he wouldn’t deny it.”

  Calvin nodded and placed the rifle up to his shoulder. “Want me to shoot him?”

  Fear, like a shard of ice, pierced me.

  “No,” Bessie said. “She’s going to do the shooting.”

  She pointed her index finger straight at me.

  *****

  “I’m sorry,” Campbell said. He’d felt like a total heel after he’d left the hospital and had time, while he was on patrol, to think about his behavior.

  He’d seen Maeve leaving Bertie’s and he’d fallen in step with her as she walked back to the hospital where her car was parked. He’d behaved like a child and he wanted to make amends. She crossed her arms and stared at him.

  “I know you love Granny and that you’ll do the best for her.”

  Maeve nodded. “Okay.”

  “Can we just start over?”

  She raised one eyebrow.

  “There’s no reason for us to be at odds when we both want the same thing.”

  “I agree.”

  “So we can start over?”

  “Only if you’ll buy me a mug of apple cider.”

  “Still your favorite, huh?”

  Maeve nodded. “It doesn’t taste the same in Atlanta.”

  They walked past the hospital to the small market at the end of the block. In addition to carrying local fruits, vegetables and honey, they made the best apple cider in the world. North Carolina apples were the finest to be had anywhere.

  After ordering two mugs, Campbell took them to a small table in the back and pulled out a chair for Maeve. “They’ll bring them to the table,” he said. “I wish every argument was this easy to solve.”

  “Me and you both,” she agreed.

  After they got their mugs, he asked, “What’s it like to back here after such a long time?”

  “It’s weird. Everything mostly looks the same but it feels different. I see it with new eyes. I hadn’t realized how much I missed the place.”

  “Think you’ll ever come back for good?”

  She shook her head. “Too hard to find a good-paying job.”

  He figured that would be her answer but he’d felt compelled to ask. Deep in his heart, he always hoped she’d see that she belonged here, at home.

  “Would you ever leave?” she asked.

  “No way. I love this place. I was born here and I’ll be buried here.”

  “You belong here.”

  So did Maeve, she just didn’t know it.

  “Ever wonder what might have happened if you’d stayed?”

  The look in her eyes told him she’d wondered that a lot. Just like him.

  “Maybe this is your chance to give it another try,” he offered.

  After they finished the cider, Campbell suggested a walk through town before they headed to the hospital to check on Granny. When they reached the park, they sat under one of the picnic shelters and sat down at one of the tables across from each other.

  “Thanks for all you’ve done for Granny while I’ve been away. I really appreciate it.”

  “I didn’t just do it for you, although that was part of it. I did because I love her. She’s a wonderful woman who always makes me feel like I’m her own grandson.”

  Maeve placed her hand on top of Campbell’s. “I’m sorry about this morning, too. I was being stubborn and bull-headed.”

  “There’s a first time for everything,” he quipped sarcastically.

  “I’m not stubborn.”

  “Don’t forget that I’ve known you since kindergarten.”

  “Okay,” she admitted. “Maybe a little.”

  When he looked into her eyes, he saw a flicker of the old flame that used to burn between them. He was just as attracted to her as he’d been years ago. It didn’t take much to imagine the way she’d looked in prom dress, the way her body had felt against his when they’d made love on top of Jane’s Bald, a mountain devoid of trees.

  He rose and walked around the table and sat beside her, never letting go of her hand. “Your bull-headedness never deterred me. I was always the kind of man who could handle that in a woman.”

  “You’re so full of shit,” she said. “It’s a wonder your eyes aren’t brown.”

  He leaned in, unable to help himself, and kissed her. Her lips were soft and plump and she still tasted the same as he remembered. He wished the kiss would never end.

  When he pulled away, her eyes were wide. “I, we shouldn’t. . . ”

  “It was a simple kiss, Maeve. Not a wedding proposal.”

  “I know, it’s just that—”

  “Don’t take it too seriously. I know you’re not staying.”

  *****

  The next morning, satisfied that Granny was doing well and had plenty of yarn to keep her fingers busy, Maeve headed out to find where Delphine was buried.

  She was still trying to sort out what that kiss was about. Even though she didn’t want to admit it, it felt good, right. She’d felt tingles and sparks in places she’d nearly forgotten. The last thing she needed was some kind of entanglement with Campbell. She was here to decompress and spend time with Granny.

  The directions to the cemetery weren’t very clear. By the time she found what she thought was the right road, she’d made at least three U-turns. The road was gravel and went straight up into the mountains. She cringed every time a stray piece of rock tinged the undercarriage of her Volvo.

  When she’d left the cabin, she’d had no idea the trip to the graveyard would take so long. She’d have to hurry. A big storm, expected to bring several inches of rain, was rolling in later this evening. Maeve didn’t want to be stuck up here in bad weather and the clouds to the west were already looking ominous.

  She wound the car through switchback after switchback until she finally reached the end. The road dead ended at a rusty iron gate. Perpetually in shade, it looked like something out of a scary movie. Maeve shoved the car into park and set the brake. She grabbed her notebook and a pencil.

  The gate opened with a creak. A shiver ran up her spine but she tried to ignore it. If she was going to get to the bottom of this mystery, she had to visit Delphine.

  She wished she’d asked someone to come along. Not that she really had anyone to ask. Although she didn’t scare easily, this was creepy. She walked slowly toward the gate and it opened slowly with a creak as if inviting her inside.

  Maeve
took several steps backward toward the safety of her car. Waited for the gate to stop moving. After several deep breaths, she took a few steps forward. The dense trees overhead cast perpetual shade across the whole cemetery adding to the feeling of dread building in her stomach.

  She had to do this. Somehow she knew Delphine would never let her rest until she solved the mystery.

  Maeve took a deep breath and several determined steps forward. She paused briefly at the gate but then pushed ahead. According to the notes Virgil made, the gravestone was located at the very far end of the cemetery. She charged ahead finally reaching the last row of headstones.

  They were so old and mossy, it was nearly impossible to read the engravings on any of them. She sure as hell didn’t want to stay here long enough to make rubbings of each stone. She leaned in closer, moving down the row until she reached one in the very middle. Maeve checked Virgil’s notes.

  She ripped a page from the notebook and took the pencil from behind her ear. Turning it on its side, she rubbed it against the headstone until numbers and letters appeared.

  Delphine Rose Whitson

  Born 1843-Hanged 1867

  Witch

  Maeve sank down on the ground. Sadness washed over her. Even in death, she was branded. The woman she’d seen on Roan Mountain didn’t sound like a witch, feel like a witch, not that Maeve knew what witches looked or sounded like but she’d always assumed they’d be haggard and scary, not beautiful and broken. Hanged? What crime could a twenty-four year old woman have committed that would have taken her to the gallows?

  She had to get to the bottom of this story. It was bothering her. Like an itch she couldn’t quite scratch, there was something here she needed to find.

  The wind was picking up and Maeve knew she should go but she while she was here, she wanted to make note of who was buried close to her. She used the pencil to make rubbings of the other graves in the same row.

  None of them had the same last name. Weird.

  Surely Delphine had family. Something was tickling the back of her brain, something that should be obvious but it wouldn’t come to the front.