The elderly man shook his head. “Soldiers came here,” he said. “They defaced Josiah’s grave. Scraped off his name with their knives. We must stand guard, lest they come again.”
“If you tell me what should be on the gravestone, I can see that it’s fixed,” Malachi promised. “The soldiers won’t come again. They were bitter because so many of their own died in the war and they behaved badly. But that war is long over—it ended a century and a half ago. I swear, I will see that the gravestone is repaired. If you tell me his name and what you wish written on it, I give you my solemn vow that it will be set to rights.”
“You can do that?” the woman asked.
“With her help,” Malachi said, gesturing at Abby.
She walked over to join them. “Savannah is my home. I know the people who can get this done,” she told them.
The man turned to her. “You would really help us?”
“Of course.”
“You two are always here,” Malachi said.
“Always.” The man took his wife’s hand.
“You must notice what goes on around here,” Malachi remarked.
“We watch. We watch over this grave,” the wife said.
Malachi nodded. “A mother’s love, a father’s dedication. But perhaps you could help us, too. People are disappearing. I know the city is crowded, that tourists come daily. But...late at night, or even during the day, do you see things?”
The man studied Malachi for a long time and then slowly lifted his arm, pointing. “There is something—there, on the corner—something that is odd.”
“Not truly odd. It was dug years and years ago,” the woman said. “It is part of the old drainage system.”
“And it was abandoned years ago!” the man added.
The woman sniffed. “Abandoned. Sealed after the horror of the yellow fever! But there were things that went on then that... I believe they thought if they could get the bodies out of the city through the sewer system, they would not infect others. They dug deep tunnels by the old hospital. But there was more that went on than was ever recorded.”
“Have you seen anything there?” Malachi asked.
“Shadows at night. By day, who knows?”
“People move around,” the old woman said. “There is an alley behind the first mausoleum. Sometimes a tall figure goes there...and does not come back. But there are many of us here. Many, many walk the city. Our kind. We are like shadows. And shadow-walkers may be restless by night. So what we’ve seen...I am not sure. But we will watch for you,” she said anxiously. “If you wish, we will watch for you.”
“That’s very kind.”
“My son...he fought bravely in the War of 1812. Please. His marker should read ‘Lieutenant Josiah Beckwith, born April 9, 1790. Died for his country, September 12, 1814, at the Battle of North Point during the War of 1812. Beloved son, husband and father. A patriot.’”
“We’ll see to it,” Abby said, jotting the details on a small notepad. She prayed she could keep her promise.
The man’s arm was around his wife’s shoulder. He started to offer his hand, but let it fall. “I am Edgar Beckwith. This is my wife, Elizabeth.”
“Malachi Gordon,” Malachi said. “And Abigail Anderson.”
“Anderson?” the woman said, looking at her. “Are you related to the family that owns the tavern?”
She nodded.
“Your family are good people, Ms. Anderson.”
She thanked them, and Malachi took her arm. They left the old couple gazing sadly at their son’s tombstone. Abby saw two young women standing by a red brick aboveground grave—watching her and Malachi. She felt her cheeks growing red.
As she glanced at Malachi, embarrassed, he smiled. “Don’t worry!” he said.
“They think we’re crazy, that we talk to imaginary friends,” Abby muttered.
Malachi laughed. “These days? Everyone looks crazy because half the time they have headsets on or they’re on the phone and they seem to be talking to themselves. So...”
“Do you think the Beckwiths really saw something in the alley?”
“I think they did and that they’ll lead us where we’d eventually have gotten—except we’ll get there more quickly now.”
“Get where?”
“Back beneath the ground,” he said.
10
Malachi called David, asking him to send a few officers to the alley. Then he called Jackson, suggesting he get someone to do historical and architectural research on the area.
In the meantime, he told Jackson, he and Abby would drive back to the hospital to talk to Helen.
“Any word on Bianca Salzburg?” she asked.
He repeated her question to Jackson; no, Bianca hadn’t appeared.
He and Abby got into the car and headed back to the hospital.
“What made you want to stop at the cemetery and talk to that couple?” she asked him.
He sent her a warm smile. “You.”
“Me?”