Ghost on Black Mountain

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  Praise for Ghost on Black Mountain

  “Pull up a rocker and gaze into the hills at sundown. Old-time front porch storytelling unfolds in this dark, twisted tale where hardscrabble lives, murderous secrets, and ghosts intersect on a mysterious mountain.”

  —Beth Hoffman, New York Times bestselling author of Saving CeeCee Honeycutt

  “Ann Hite’s Ghost on Black Mountain is an eerie page-turner told in authentic mountain voices that stick with the reader long after the last page is turned.”

  —Amy Greene, author of Bloodroot

  “Haunting, dark and unnerving, Hite’s brilliant modern gothic casts an unbreakable spell.”

  —Caroline Leavitt, New York Times bestselling author of Pictures of You

  “The authentic voice of Nellie Pritchard, who comes to Black Mountain as a new bride, wraps around you and pulls you deep into this haunted story. Ann Hite delivers an eerie page-turner that I couldn’t put down.”

  —Joshilyn Jackson, New York Times bestselling author of Gods in Alabama and Backseat Saints

  Gallery Books

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  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2011 by Ann Hite

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information, address Gallery Books Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, Ny 10020.

  First Gallery Books trade paperback edition September 2011

  GALLERY BOOKS and colophon are trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

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  Designed by Davina Mock-Maniscalco

  Map by Jerry Clifford Hite

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Hite, Ann.

  Ghost on Black Mountain / Ann Hite.—1st Gallery Books trade pbk. ed.

  p. cm.

  1. Women—Southern States—Fiction. 2. Country life—Southern

  States—Fiction. 3. Murder—Fiction. I. Title.

  PS3608.I845G56 2011

  813′.6—dc22

  2011000242

  ISBN 978-1-4516-0642-3

  ISBN 978-1-4516-0643-0 (ebook)

  For Jack and Ella,

  who are the very essence of this book,

  my heart and soul.

  Granny, your voice still lives.

  Contents

  Part One: Nellie Pritchard

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Part Two: Josie Clay

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Part Three: Shelly Parker

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Part Four: Rose Gardner

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Part Five: Iona Harbor

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Part Six: Annie Harbor

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Chapter Sixty

  Chapter Sixty-One

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  Part One

  Nellie Pritchard

  One

  Mama warned me against marrying Hobbs Pritchard. She saw my future in her tea leaves: death. I was young, only seventeen, and thought I knew all there was to know about life. Nobody could tell me different. Mama and me lived on the edge of Asheville, not the rich part of town but not the worst either. We attended Hope in Christ Church. It was our place to go on Sundays to pray for those worse off than ourselves. The Depression brought hard times on everyone. The church did its part by serving one meal a day. People lined up at the door hours before time to eat. We could only take one hundred people for each meal. And I was there standing behind the counter ready to serve. Folks would fight over the places in line. It nearly turned my heart inside out. One afternoon Hobbs Pritchard came walking up to me all cocky and sure of himself.

  “What are you doing here in a place like this? You’re way too pretty.” He smiled and opened his hands like he was some angel sent from God to ask me that very question. I never stopped to wonder what brought him into a soup kitchen.

  He showed up right at a time when I thought I couldn’t scoop one more ladle of weak chicken broth. I really hated that mess. The smell got in my nose and stayed with me all night.

  “I’m helping those in a bad way.”

  He folded his arms across his chest, tucking each of his hands under a armpit. “Why?”

  Now, that was a question I’d never even thought on. I did what I did because Mama said it was a privilege to work the food line, because the church needed me, because there were people out there starving with no homes, living in cardboard boxes. “I really don’t know.” I looked into his crystal-clear blue eyes that reminded me of a winter sky. Those eyes made me see life his way in an instant.

  In the first days of sweet romance, if Hobbs had asked me to jump off a cliff, I would have with a smile on my face. Mama always said, “Nellie, don’t love a man too much. A woman should save some feelings back to care for herself.” And Mama should have known, seeing how she loved my daddy with every bone in her body. When he died—a horrible accident in the stone quarry where he worked—part of her soul faded away. One day
she was something else to look at in full bloom, and the next she was dropping one beautiful petal at a time until all her heart was gone like a bunch of spent tulips. Maybe it was this story that made me fall for Hobbs as hard as I did. The last thing I wanted was to be used up before I was old with no man to love me.

  One night Hobbs took me out of town to look at the stars. We stretched out in the bed of his old truck. Now, I knew I was playing with fire, but I didn’t care one bit. I thought I could handle anything thrown at me.

  “You done changed me, Nellie.”

  I kept real still, afraid all the beauty of the night would disappear. This man was making me believe I might just be something special.

  “I got me a decent place up on Black Mountain. I’m not some poor hobo standing in your soup line. I’m a man to be reckoned with.” He leaned over and kissed me, running his hand clean down the front of my dress. My whole body heated. He laughed at the little shiver I gave.

  “We’re going to get married, Nellie girl. How about tomorrow?” And the deal was sealed without a question asked.

  Mama refused to come. “It’s too soon, Nellie. You don’t even know this boy. He could be the worst man alive.”

  The ceremony wasn’t much to speak of, just the Baptist preacher, a Bible, and words that bound me until death did part us. When Hobbs kissed me, the preacher puffed up like some old bullfrog. Out of my side vision I saw a girl, pretty in a rugged way—like she’d been pulled from pillar to bedpost, roaming the streets too early in life. I’d seen lots like her in the soup line. She stood in the door of that small church, casting a shadow up the aisle, and looked me dead in the eyes. Then she left. Chills walked up my arms, but I pushed them away. I loved Hobbs Pritchard with all my heart and soul, and he loved me.

  Our honeymoon consisted of one night in the back room of Mr. Hamby’s mercantile. Hobbs paid real good money for the privilege. He tore at the pretty buttons on my white dress. I’d made it for Easter the spring before. I watched each one of those tiny fake pearls pop off and hit that cold hard floor, bouncing like little balls.

  “It’s time for me to get what I got coming to me.”

  He pushed me on the old musty cot. I wanted to slow him down, but his desires just couldn’t be contained. He hammered me with his body, drinking that love I offered in one sloppy gulp. When he finished his business, he stood and dressed.

  “I got to go out for a while. You stay put.” And he left, no kiss or hug. I was right hurt, but then I remembered he wasn’t big on affection unless it suited him. This much I already knew. Mama always said there wasn’t no moving Daddy out of a mood when he got into one. I had to get used to Hobbs’s ways. I looked up at the dirty ceiling, tracing a water stain that looked like the state of Georgia. Somehow I had to soften him.

  Hobbs moved me straight up to Black Mountain the very next day. He waited in the truck while I visited with Mama and packed a few things. He said I didn’t need my old stuff, but I told him I couldn’t go to my new home empty-handed.

  “You can’t just leave, Nellie. This ain’t the right thing to do.” Mama followed me from the kitchen to my tiny bedroom.

  “He’s my husband, Mama. I love him.”

  “He’s no good.” Mama stamped her foot as if she could force me back into my innocent ways.

  “You’ve not seen his soft side. It shows when he looks at me. You don’t even know him either.” I gathered my few dresses.

  “I’ve heard stories about him, Nellie. Tony down at the bakery told me just this morning that he’s killed at least one man.”

  I held my hands over my ears. “Don’t. He’s my husband. I’m going to his home on Black Mountain. You even said yourself you might like to live up there one day.”

  “That’s just pie-in-the-sky dreaming. You can’t go there, not with him.” She touched my arm, and I nearly broke in half at the thought of not feeling her touch whenever I wanted.

  “I got to go. I love you.” I buried my face in her neck and breathed in the smell of her cold cream that she smeared on her face each night.

  “Please listen to me, Nellie.” She wrapped her arms around me. “You’ll be too far away. I won’t be able to help you.” She stroked my blond hair like she did when I was a little girl. I almost gave in and stayed, but that was giving up before I even tried. Didn’t she understand? Hadn’t she ever noticed? Not one boy had given me the time of day. If I didn’t love Hobbs with my whole heart, I might lose my chance to be loved by a man.

  The horn on the truck interrupted us. “I got to go.” I pulled away and left the only home I’d ever known with a feed sack of clothes, a few trinkets, and a childhood of memories.

  Mama stood in the door, twisting the tail of her skirt in her weathered fingers, and cried like a baby. “Nothing in this world, Nellie, will ever be the same. You’ll never come back here. I’ve seen it all in the tea leaves: death.”

  Mama was just desperate to keep me home. There wasn’t nothing bad going to happen. I didn’t much believe in tea leaves anyway.

  Two

  The leaves had turned the mountain into orange, red, and yellow flames that shot into the sky. I sat next to my husband in his truck, knowing I was the luckiest girl in all the world. We passed little cabins that looked like they might slide down the side of the steep drop-offs. And always the river flashed into view, twisting and turning, sometimes next to the road, sometimes just loud churning music.

  As we passed, folks threw up a hand here and there like someone was forcing them to be nice, keeping busy with whatever chore they was working on. I expected more of a welcome with Hobbs living in such a small place. That’s when I seen a whole gaggle of boys—their height resembling doorsteps—playing in the front of one cabin that sat in a sunny clearing all fresh and clean. One of the boys looked to be a couple of years older than me and watched me close, even though he was trying to act like he wasn’t paying us no mind. His mama stood in the door, wearing a faded dress that hung on her slight figure. Her face, strong and creased, reminded me of a map that had been studied by many on their way to different places.

  “Who is that family, Hobbs?”

  Hobbs had been real quiet on the trip. Daddy used to draw inside himself just like that when me or Mama did something to get under his skin. What had I done to make Hobbs mad?

  “That’s the Connors, poor as dirt. High and mighty too. The Depression put them under. Take a good look. That’s what this mountain can do to a soul if they don’t stand against it. The Connors turned their God-loving hearts away from my help. Won’t accept any offers.” He threw his hand out the window in a half wave. The woman only stared. “She’s the worst. Ain’t nothing like a woman with some kind of attitude.” His laugh turned mean around the edges.

  I looked out the back window and hoped to study on the woman a little longer, but she was gone and so was the boy that had stared at me. The rest of his brothers scrambled in the yard like a bunch of ants eating on a sugar cookie.

  We stopped at the next house, larger than the others, and my stomach flipped to think I’d have that much room to wander around.

  Hobbs grinded the truck gears metal to metal. “This ain’t ours. Don’t worry. Ours is bigger. This here is where Aunt Ida and my stepbrother Jack live. I’m sure they are dying to meet you. And Aunt Ida would beat me with a stick if I passed by here without stopping.”

  I married a man without even meeting his family first. That just wasn’t proper. But not much about Hobbs and me had been proper. My whole insides froze up at the thought of meeting them.

  Hobbs jumped out of the truck; a flash of his bare chest showed through his unbuttoned collar. “Come on, girl. Don’t get all shy now.” He kind of smiled, and I knew he was playing with me. If I closed my eyes, I could see us with our own babies like a real family.

  I slid out of the truck. “What if they don’t like me, Hobbs?”

  “That’s just tough shit, ain’t it, Nellie.” He grabbed my hand and pulled me along. His exci
tement spread through my fingers. We were going to be the happiest couple on the mountain, maybe even in the South.

  A woman met us on the front porch. A deep frown creased her forehead. “Hobbs, where have you been? We got trouble with that Connor bunch. They won’t pay the rent on the land. We can’t keep holding them up. It ain’t theirs no more. That wife of his runs the whole show and tells Connor what to do. It’s just plain sinful and unnatural. Where’s his backbone?” She looked over and sized me up. I knew I’d failed some test. “Who you got here, Hobbs? She’s just a baby.”

  Was she making fun of me or did I look that young?

  “You’re too old for her.”

  Hobbs was twenty-five to my seventeen going on eighteen. That wasn’t so bad.

  Hobbs looked at me and shrugged with a little-boy grin. “This here is my wife, Aunt Ida.”

  “Are you telling me a whopper, boy?” Aunt Ida’s face seemed to melt into one huge disappointment.

  “I ain’t a boy. And this is my wife. I found her serving folks in a soup kitchen in Asheville. If that ain’t a real woman, I don’t know what is.” He wrapped his arm around my shoulders, pulling me next to his body that gave off heat on that chilly day. I was snug, protected.

  “You done married some little girl from Asheville without telling me?” The news was starting to sink in to this woman’s head. I thought she might pop from anger, but Hobbs didn’t seem to notice. “Jack, come on out here. Jack?” She yelled at the top of her lungs, staring straight at me like she could drive a hammer through my skull.

  A tall man ambled out of the barn to the side of the house. He wore a big straw hat that reminded me of that book I read, Huckleberry Finn, except this was a mighty fine looking man, almost as cute as Hobbs.

  Hobbs looked at Jack and a small shadow passed over his face. Funny how I didn’t even know Hobbs, but his dislikes and moods were starting to make their mark on my memory. Our love was that strong.

  Hobbs gave me a little squeeze. “This here is Nellie Pritchard, my new wife. We got married yesterday.” He looked at Jack.

  “Nice to meet you, Nellie. I reckon we need a young woman in this family.” His voice was softer than the wind slipping through the leaves.