Jilo (Witching Savannah #4)(40)

“Promise me. No worries.” May released Poppy’s hand and tapped her nose with her index finger, causing her granddaughter’s eyes to light up again with mirth.

“I promise, Nana.”

“That’s my good girl.”

May took a moment to pull her heaviest coat on over the new cardigan Poppy had given her for Christmas, then found her way out to the porch, careful not to let either of the doors slam and wake the babies. Henry’s beat-up Model A truck was running, although the engine spluttered enough to sound as if it might give up the ghost at any moment. After helping May into the passenger side, Henry circled the truck and struggled to open his own door, which would only gape partway. The kid squeezed in through the gap, then pulled just as hard, metal grating metal, to get the door closed.

May noticed only one headlight of Henry’s Model A seemed to be working, and it veered its gaze up toward the trees. Fine if you were out hunting possum, but not so good if you were trying to see which direction you were headed. May had never attended the Wildwood Church, but she knew it lay five miles or so south, down off Buckhalter Road. She wasn’t sure if it was still considered Savannah proper. She also wasn’t sure they’d make it in time to do any good. Henry pressed the clutch and shifted into drive, causing the truck to groan and heave before it began its slothful roll forward.

“What do you think this is about?” May asked him.

“I don’t know ma’am. Is it ever about anything?”

May stared out the side window, watching the familiar territory pass by at an unfamiliar pace. Even lumbering along, it took next to no time for them to reach the bend in the road. They turned south on Ogeechee and kept on for what felt forever, but what was in reality probably no more than a dozen minutes. Henry turned the rattling beast left on to Buckhalter. May didn’t know for sure where the church stood, but she could see the glow of the flames and smell the smoke even before they made it half a mile.

“You stop here,” she said as they neared the far end of the drive that cut between Wildwood Church’s graveyard and the glow in the night sky she could only assume was the burning remains of the church itself. She reached over and patted Henry’s forearm without ever taking her eyes off the devil’s sparks rising into the air. She pointed toward a tall clump of wax myrtles she hoped would help hide the truck . . . and the boy. Henry obeyed, easing the truck to the side of the road and shifting to park.

“This old girl can be tricky to start,” he said. “We should probably leave it running.”

May looked into the boy’s warm amber eyes. “That’s fine. You’re gonna stay here anyhow.”

“Oh no, ma’am. I can’t let you go on your own. Poppy . . .” He stopped talking after the slip of her granddaughter’s name, but the look on his face told her all she needed to know. It explained what this young fellow was doing driving around these parts on Christmas night, and why the little miss hadn’t take interest in her suitors up in Charlotte. Henry was on his way to court her. May hadn’t seen it coming, but if she didn’t get him killed out here tonight, this boy might just be a good match for her Poppy.

She turned on him. “You will do as I damned well say, you hear me, boy?” Henry cringed at her severity. Good. Better to have him scared of her than messing around in things too big for him. She reached for the door handle, only to realize there was none.

Henry’s face was still frozen, his eyes open wide. “I got to open it from the outside,” he said, forcing his own door open a fraction and squeezing out. He came around to her door and tugged it open for her, offering his arm to help her steady herself as she eased her way out of the truck.

She could see how anxious the boy was on her behalf, so she forced a confident smile to her lips. “Don’t worry for old May,” she said. “You stay right here, and be ready to take off when Jones and I get back.” The smile faded as she considered the situation. Truth was, she had no idea what was waiting for her on the far side of the churchyard. “If something should go wrong, though, don’t you try to come riding to the rescue. You scat, and you go get Poppy and the girls someplace safe.” Even as she said the words, she wondered where that might be. Still, she wagged her index finger in his face. “Promise me.”

He hesitated, then blurted out, “I ain’t a coward.”

May reached out and placed a gentle hand on his cheek. “I know you aren’t. A coward would never have come for help. A coward would have turned around and driven home. Promise me you’ll see to my girls.” She paused and looked deeply into his eyes. “All of them.”

He nodded. “I promise.”

She turned and started making her way through the graveyard, feeling the full weight of her years. The graveyard hadn’t been active in twenty years, but she had known many of the folk buried here. She was no longer a young woman. Hell, tell the truth and shame the devil—she was an old biddy now by anyone’s standards. The best part of her life lay behind her.

She was a widow. Her husband and her only son were buried in a cemetery not so very different from this one, just a few miles down the road. She wove through the stones that had been erected for those who could afford a record of their presence in this world, and the hand-marked whitewashed wooden crosses of those whose families were too busy struggling to stay alive to afford more for their dead. The scent of smoke grew stronger and stronger, reminding her that this world was no place for a decent soul. This world belonged to the barbarous. It was a world of war. A world of killing.