Seven Sisters - Earlene Fowler [83]
“But there are markers for the babies now.”
“That eldest Brown girl, Cappy, had them made up when her mother stopped coming to the graves.”
“But she didn’t have the bodies moved back?”
“No, guess she figured to leave well enough alone. Or maybe she’s thinking about doing it after her mother passes on. Who knows with that Brown family? They’ve sure done a lot for our community, but I’m not sure the whole group is wound as tightly as they could be.”
“What did the babies die from?”
He stuck his dirt-stained hands in the pockets of his overalls. “Don’t recall hearing what happened. I’m sure it’s in some old records. Back then—this was about 1926 or’27—babies were dying of all sorts of things that they can cure nowadays—flu, diphtheria, scarlet fever, measles, just plain old infections.”
“Excuse me, I need to check in at the office,” Detective Hudson broke in. He turned and strode away across the graves toward his truck.
“What’s his problem?” Mr. Foglino asked, his dark, thick eyebrows a fuzzy hood over his amused eyes.
“He thinks I’m being silly.”
“Don’t you have enough problems with one police officer in your life?” he asked.
“Detective Hudson is not in my life. We’re just working on this case together. So, you wouldn’t happen to know where the babies are buried, would you?” I looked at him hopefully. At that point, I was willing to bet that grave rubbing we had would find a match when we found the babies’ real graves.
“Sure do, out in Adelaida Cemetery. If I’d known that was who you was looking for, I could’ve told you earlier. They’re up on the hill part of the cemetery, if I recall correctly. Only reason I know that is my mother’s best friend’s neighbor was the Brown’s nanny for a little while. Remember hearing about the babies being buried up there back when I was just a little tyke.”
“Was it common knowledge?”
“Don’t really know, but I doubt it. It was so long ago, and no one thought overly much about babies dying back then. It happened in almost every family. Probably most people assumed they were buried here, and no one probably ever checked. Like I said, only reason I knew was because my mother and her friend talked about the oddness of them burying the babies so far from the family.”
“It is odd. Adelaida Cemetery is pretty far away and over the pass. It would have been a difficult trip back in the twenties.”
“Probably isn’t even active anymore. Those old cemeteries are a pain to upkeep. That one’s got so many trees and hills and rocks. I haven’t been there in years, but I’ll bet it’s gone completely wild unless someone’s taken a notion to keep it up.”
“Guess we’ll go out and look for them.”
“If you can talk your antsy-pants friend into it. He didn’t appear to be real enthusiastic.”
“If he won’t go, I’ll go on my own.”
Mr. Foglino took his hands out of his pockets and scratched behind a bristly ear, his broad, tanned face troubled. “Be careful out there, missy. It’s pretty desolate. Take that dog with you.”
“I intend to. Thanks for the information.”
He gave a curt nod. “Anytime.”
I started to walk away, then turned around and asked one more question. “Your mother’s best friend’s neighbor. Do you remember her name?”
“Mrs. Knoll. Don’t recall hearing her first name. Doubt she’d even be alive, though. I’m guessin’ she’d be in her late nineties if she was.”
“Thanks.” As I walked toward the truck where Detective Hudson leaned against the side, his legs and arms crossed, I wrote Mrs. Knoll’s name down on the back of my checkbook register.
“What’re you writing down?” Detective Hudson asked.
“Just something I need to pick up at the store,” I lied. Something inside told me to keep Mrs. Knoll’s name to myself until I figured out how she fit into the picture.
“What did the old man tell you?”
“The babies’ real graves are in Adelaida Cemetery. I want to go see them. Bet you fifty bucks we find the lily of the valley carved on them.” I gave Scout a quick scratch under the chin, then climbed up in the cab of the truck. Proud of my detecting work,