Chapter 15 - THE EXHUMATION ORDER
Days passed in a blur. Eleanor filed the motion. The judge reviewed Martha’s letters. He granted the order.
The news leaked again. The papers screamed: MYSTERY SURROUNDS DEATH OF WOMAN — BODY TO BE EXAMINED.
Reporters camped outside the cemetery. Outside the courthouse. Outside our gates.
Caleb saw the headlines. He saw the pictures. He came to me with a crumpled newspaper drawing in his hand.
“Daddy… is Mommy in trouble?”
I knelt before him. “No, sweetheart. Mommy is not in trouble. We are just… asking questions. To make sure everyone knows the truth about her.”
“Is it about the mean lady again?”
I touched his cheek. “Yes. It is.”
“Will it stop soon?”
I pulled him close. “I hope so. I pray so.”
Evelyn did not leave her rooms. She refused to speak to me. She refused to speak to Eleanor. She ate nothing. She slept little.
On the morning the body was to be examined, I found her standing in the hallway, dressed in black.
“I am coming,” she said.
“Evelyn—”
“I am coming. I have to know.”
We rode in silence. To the cemetery. To the grave. To the place where Martha had rested for five years.
I stood at a distance while Evelyn stood close by. She did not cry. She did not speak. She simply watched.
When the examination was done, the doctor took samples. He promised results within two weeks.
Two weeks. Fourteen days of waiting. Wondering. Dreading what we might find.
On the way back, Evelyn spoke for the first time.
“If they find something… poison… anything…”
“Then we do what must be done.”
She looked at me. Her face was pale, her eyes hollow. “If Vanessa did this… I helped her. I gave her access. I gave her trust. I let her into Martha’s room. I told Martha she was imagining things.”
“Then you will also have to answer for it.”
“I know.” She looked out the window. “Whatever happens… I deserve it.”
I did not argue. I did not comfort her. Because part of me agreed.
We returned to the house. The reporters were still there. I drove past them, through the gates, and locked them out.
Inside, I walked straight to Caleb. He was in the kitchen, coloring at the table. He looked up when I entered.
“Did you find out?”
“Not yet, Caleb. Soon.”
He put down his crayon and walked to me. He wrapped his arms around my legs and pressed his face against me.
“I miss Mommy,” he said quietly. “And I wish everyone would stop fighting.”
I lifted him up. “I know. I wish that too.”
“When it’s all over… will we be happy again?”
I looked at him—innocent, hopeful, untouched by the darkness swirling around his birth. I thought of Martha. Of Evelyn. Of Vanessa.
May you like
“Yes,” I said. “We will be happy again. No matter what.”
But as I said it, I wondered. Could we truly be happy? Or had the poison already seeped too deep?
