Page 130 of Stay Buried

“Enough!” yelled Josephine. “Everyone needs to calm down!” But she sounded anything but calm.

Ashley twisted the cameo ring on her finger.

Josephine spun her head around, noticed the ring, and narrowed her eyes. “You ungrateful bitch! You’ve stolen an offering! I demand that you put it back. It belongs tohim!”

“Like hell.” Ashley stepped toward Josephine, who fell back a bit. “It belonged to my mother and now it belongs to me.”

Ashley felt her then: her mother. Only she wasn’t a ghostly form at the edge of Ash’s vision. They were all there with her: Mom and Gram, even Gram’s mother, Margaret, and the nameless woman who was Margaret’s mother.

It was just like her mother had said: the past and the present areconnected inside us all; we carry more than stories, we carry family traits, DNA, sometimes even secrets, deep in our cells. She touched the ring again, and it gave her strength.

A woman came tearing in the front doors of the church.

“He’s in the cemetery!” She was panting, out of breath. “He’s got Mini Fitzpatrick!”

There was a high-pitched scream from the graveyard.

SIXTYFRANKIE

March 18, 1919

It was well before dawn when I crept out of bed, laced up my uncle’s sturdiest leather boots, and pulled on my wool coat and hat.

I knew I should wake Pearl to say good-bye, that she would be furious that I had sneaked off like this, but I couldn’t bear the thought of it. I didn’t trust myself to still leave if Pearl clung to me, cried, begged me not to go.

I knew it was a weak and cowardly thing, to skulk off like this.

The truth was, I didn’t want to leave at all. It felt all wrong.

But leaving was the only way to get help.

And I was the only one to do it.

I wrote a quick note and left it on the kitchen table:

I will be back in less than a week.

Stay inside.

Open the door for no one.

I love you.

Now and always.

F

I gave Aife a pat on the head. “Take care of her, girl,” I said, then shouldered the knapsack, slipped out the front door, locking it behind me, and set out on foot, making my way by moonlight. It had snowed again in the night: four fluffy inches of fresh powder sparkled on theground.

I walked down Main Street, past Pearl’s house, past the St. James farm. I could make out the remains of the ruined barn, smell the charred timbers. I found the path into the woods, the shortcut over the pass that would lead me to Amsterdale.

I followed the same path my aunt and Pearl had taken when they’d escaped. But Pearl had come back. And I had shot her. Over and over, I played the scene in my head: felt the gun going off, saw Pearl lying there, bleeding.

What if she had died?

What if I had killed her?

I heard Pearl’s voice talking back to me:But you didn’t. And personally, I think I’m going to have a rather fetching scar.