Graveminder

“Because the alternative is violating the contract.” Charlie reached into the box and grabbed a scroll. “Because the alternative is that the dead will kill the lot of you.” He unrolled the scroll, pulled a pen out of the box, and tapped the pen on the scroll. “You sign here.”

Charlie held out the pen, and the musicians stopped all at once as if they’d been cut off. They, much like everything else since Byron had arrived in the land of the dead, seemed to be under the control of the man currently watching him expectantly. Byron wasn’t eager to be under anyone’s control. “What’s my part? You talked about the Graveminder, but what is it that I’m supposed to be promising to do?”

Charlie smiled magnanimously. “The very thing you want, Byron, the thing you’ve wanted since Ella died: you protect our Rebekkah. You love her. You keep her from wanting death.”

Byron fixed his gaze on Charlie. “Can you come to our side?”

“If the Undertaker and the Graveminder do their job, none of the dead will come to your town. Your children will stay in the town, be safe from ... well, quite a few things. Your town will stay strong, safe, flourish, all that rot.” Charlie tapped the scroll. “It’s all there in the fine print, spelled out in black and white.”

“It’s simply the order of things, Byron.” William’s voice was weary. “Go ahead.”

“Why? You expect me just to ...” Byron backed from the table. “No. You’re not thinking clearly, but I am. Let’s go.”

He turned and made it as far as the door before he heard his father’s voice: “You drank with the dead, son. You sign, or you stay.”

Byron put his hand on the door, but he didn’t open it. His father had knowingly brought him here and put him in this predicament.

“I’m sorry,” William added softly. “There are traditions. This is one of them.”

“Your old man is right.” Charlie’s voice echoed in the quiet room. “Make your choice.”

Slowly, Byron turned around to face them. “And if I don’t sign?”

“You die. It won’t hurt: you simply stay here. He finds a new Undertaker over in the land of the living. His Graveminder died; he’s done with his duty now.” Charlie didn’t rise from his seat. Nothing in his expression offered any clue to what the dead man thought. “I can’t force your hand. If you stay, you won’t lack for entertainment, and if you sign, you’ll go back and forth between worlds. It’s no matter to me in the end.”

While Charlie spoke, the cellist and pianist had begun to play, and the girl started singing again softly . She stared only at Byron.

He took a step back toward the table. He looked at his father. “How could you—” He stopped, not even certain what he wanted to ask. “Help me understand, Dad. Tell me ... something. ”

“After Ella Mae died, Maylene and I agreed that it was for the best to delay telling you until you were ready ... or it was necessary.” William looked as implacable as he had looked during all the years Byron asked questions without answers. “She was a child. We couldn’t risk losing you or Rebekkah, too. Now here we are.”

“Ella died because of this ?” Byron’s mouth went dry. His heartbeat pounded too loud under his skin. “She knew. That’s what she wouldn’t tell us. I thought ... I thought all sorts of things. That someone hurt her or that she saw something or ... but it was this.”

“It was,” William admitted.

Gracelessly, Byron walked over to the table and dropped into the chair he’d vacated.

William tossed back the rest of his whisky. “Being the Graveminder is a family burden.”

“Bek’s not Maylene’s blood-family.” Byron felt stupid saying it, but it was true. If blood-family was the criterion, that would leave the role to Cissy or one of her twins. He grimaced at the thought.

“Ahhh, yes, Cissy,” Charlie said. “She’d make of mess of it, but it would be entertaining nonetheless. Her Elizabeth’s not a bad sort, though. Do you fancy her?”

“Why?” Byron tasted his Scotch; it had the delicate aroma and slight saltiness that bespoke a Northern Highlands origin, one of his favorites. That’s probably not accidental either. Is anything coincidence?

“If your Bek dies, it’ll be one of the others. That’s how it works. Chain of command and all. Maylene was a clever old bird. She designated Rebekkah, but if she’d let things fall as they might ... things aren’t always predictable with so many women in the family. One of the girls would be your partner then ... you are signing, aren’t you, Byron? Going back, keeping the girl safe and all that? Doing your part?”

“You’re a bastard.” Byron reached out his hand, though.

“Atta boy.” Charlie extended a pen and then smoothed out the scroll. “Right here on the line, son.”

For a moment, Byron paused. His fingers played at the edge of the scroll.

“Sign it,” William instructed. “The terms don’t change the truth: you sign or you stay. You can read it later in search of the loophole. We all do. None of it changes what you need to do right now.”

Byron ran his finger over the column of names.

1953–2011 William B.

1908–1953 Joseph

1880–1908 Alexander

1872–1880 Conner

1859–1872 Hugh

1826–1859 Timothy

1803–1826 Mason

1779–1803 Jakob

1750–1779 Nathaniel

1712–1750 William

Some of the signatures were in tight script; others were jagged. He wondered how many of the men on the list had been as clueless as he felt, how many wondered at their sanity. How could they bear to sentence their own sons to this? How had his father? Byron let his gaze lift to William for a moment. William didn’t flinch or look away.

“I don’t have all day,” Charlie nudged. “Actually I do , but I’m getting bored. Sign, or send your father back to find a new Undertaker. Rebekkah needs a partner, and until she’s brought here to my domain, she is only a shadow of what she needs to be. They will see her, but she won’t know what they are or what she is. She’s vulnerable to them. Either be her partner or move out of the way.”

Byron wasn’t going to abandon her, or his father, or accept dying. He scrawled his name beneath his father’s.

Charlie flipped the page over, and on it, Byron read THE BARROW WOMAN followed by another list. This time, the names were all written in the same hand. These weren’t signatures, but a list of women who were selected to fill a role. For them, there was no real choice.

2011 Rebekkah

1999 Ella

1953–2011 Maylene

1908–1953 Elizabeth Anne (called “Bitty”)

1880–1908 Ruth

1872–1880 Alicia

1859–1872 Maria

1826–1859 Clara

1803–1826 Grace

1779–1803 Eleanor

1750–1779 Drusilla

1712–1750 Abigail

Byron’s gaze lingered on Ella’s scratched-out name. She was to be the one. He clutched the edge of the paper. “Why? Why don’t they get a choice?”

“I wasn’t going to make everything easy.” Charlie rolled up the scroll, returned it to the box, and locked it.

The waitress came over and took the box away.