CHAPTER 30
The rocks along Richmond’s favorite swimming hole were packed during the summer. Half naked boys lay on large rocks, practiced skiing rocks, or tired to outdo one another on the rope swing. Eddy was enjoying the past few days from morning to night, knowing well, his days were numbered. He would have to begin clerking at Ellis & Allan soon.  
He arrived home from the swimming hole, his bundle of wet clothes under his arm. Entering from the alley he spied Juliet hanging laundry on the line. He stepped out of her line of to watch for a moment. 
The promise to run away to Boston together sounded perfect the night he suggested it. In New England, where black and white congregated in harmony, they could make a go of it. Of this Eddy was sure. Plus, they had the same motivation for leaving Richmond. From the melancholy of the Allan home, to the confines of Southern gentility, Edgar knew his joie de vivre was doomed if he stayed. It had happened to every adult he knew, and if he didn’t leave soon, it would be too late for him also. A fresh start was the only answer. 
And knowing him better than anyone, Juliet was the perfect accomplice. She called his bluff. She knew what kind of day he was having before he spoke. And her positive outlook, despite everything, was the best medicine of all. Finally, and perhaps most importantly, Juliet helped him flesh out his disconnected story ideas. Of course he wanted to go to Boston with her. He just needed more time. Time to begin work work at Ellis & Allen and be alone with a file cabinet. Time to see what Clarke would say about his writing. Time to see Frances pull through her despondency. Time to make enough money for the trip. Time to see if Jane’s affection towards him was maternal, or romantic. He just needed time. 
Edgar knew it was selfish to stall Juliet for his own gains. At least his intensions were honorable. 
 “I can see you, Eddy,” she sang without looking in his direction.  
 “Oh, uh’ ‘afternoon, Jules,” he responded nervously, before proceeding into the open air. They made small talk until Juliet dared to ask a favor. 
 “I was thinkin’ ‘bout what you said, Eddy. I’m finally ready to dispense of my Granmother’s relics in de proper way. Would you be so kind as to escort me to her grave wit dem items I been keepin’?” The tone in her voice was unusual, and Edgar knew exactly what she meant. She was speaking cryptically, inviting him to a place beyond the pale- The Burial Ground for Negroes.
A wry half-smile crossed Edgar’s face. “When did you have in mind?” 
“Tonight? Just before midnight,” she confirmed.
“But how will we get out of the house at that late hour?” 
 “Oh yes, dat. Well, I’ll be serving my famous Rum Soaked Cake after dinner.” Returning the half-smile, she said with all her Southern charm, “An it is highly suggested dat you pass on de evenin’s dessert.” 
Edgar loved Juliet’s artful plan. This is why they were kindred spirits. In his mind, she had redeemed her place as his other half, the perfect partner in crime.   
The plan to send the family off to bed in a drunken slumber worked so well that Frances and Nancy excused themselves well before Juliet and Edgar were ready to leave. She waited for him in the coolness of the night out back, a large basket by her side. But this was no midnight picnic. Edgar quietly appeared on the back staircase, adjusting his black jacket for the walk to the graveyard.  
No words were spoken, only nods to acknowledge their readiness. With quiet ease, they slipped through the rear yard, down Tobacco Alley and onto the main street. 
It was Edgar who finally broke the silence, asking if she had everything. 
 “Yes,” she said. “I kept ‘em ‘gether all dese years, so I know it’s all here,” she responded struggling under the weight of the thing. Edgar’s chivalry jumped right in, grabbing the thing from her. 
 “Wow,” he commented on the surprisingly heavy weight. “She didn’t use a lot of chicken feathers in her work, did she?” 
A chuckle was shared, but nothing more, not a sound for blocks. They passed a stately brick townhome with a beautiful front garden surrounded by a wrought iron fence. Edgar reached between the rods and grabbed a cluster of white moonflowers luminous in the clear night. “They say you should never visit a grave without leaving some token. It’s disrespectful, not to mention bad luck.”
“We got a basket full of tokens.”
“You have a basket full of tokens,” he corrected. “And I don’t need the bad luck.”  
“Oh I see how it is. The mighty Eddy Poe, not ‘fraid of nothing ‘til it gon’ an’ getcha!” she darted at him to watch him flinch.  
“Ha,” he laughed. “No. I’m learning to respect your grandmother’s craft.” 
“Nah- you scared,” she muttered with a smile. The two smiling friends walked on. “So… I been meanin’ to ask. 
All was quiet in this part of town on a Sunday night. Edgar found it peaceful, and beautiful, and vowed to spend more time under the stars in the coming months. They turned at 16th Street, and began to climb the hill for a few blocks until it became eerily quiet. Juliet stopped in her tracks.  “We’re here.” 
The Burial Ground for Negroes [2] was so plain, Edgar had walked by it many times, mistaking it for an overgrown lot. He had no way of knowing that the servants and slaves of Richmond, nearly half of the city’s population, were buried here. It wasn’t on any map, and it seemed many wanted to keep it that way. 
“This is it?” He asked.
“Yes.”
Edgar instantly sensed an air of conjuration. Or maybe it was just his imagination. To calm himself, he ruminated on Eudocia’s words all those years ago—
 ‘A graveyard is a happy place filled with loved ones. Tis not a place to fear.’ Edgar was just beginning to feel at ease when Juliet added, “Tis built at de base of de old Gallows Hill.”
Edgar stood looking up at the hill. Two lonely old oak trees rose high into the night on the crest of the hill. Their hanging branches, blanketed in a moonlight mist, were the ideal height and width to hold a noose. 
Juliet pulled back the thick bush and walked through. Edgar followed closely behind. It took some getting use to the heavy tree cover, which Edgar imagined must be quite peaceful by day. At night, however, it was hard to see much of anything. At last, his eyes adjusted, and he could make out the details of the space.    
Two steps inside the yard, he tripped over a large river rock, seemingly so out of place this far from the James. He looked around. The stones were everywhere, laid out in neat little rows down the yard as makeshift grave markers. Elsewhere, crude wooden crosses poked up throughout the property. There were many more people buried here than he had believed. A curious sight came into focus. Next to some of the graves were metal pipes sticking ad hoc out of the ground. 
 “Pssst,” Juliet sounded. Edgar followed the sound to a remote corner of the lot. Crouching at her grandmother’s grave, Juliet motioned for the basket to which Edgar promptly obliged.  
 “Jules,” he asked as she dug. “What are all these pipes sticking out of the ground?” 
 “Tis a means to commune with de dead,” she replied nonchalantly, as though the combination of words didn’t sound strange whatsoever. 
Bewildered, Edgar asked, “Excuse me?”
She stopped her work. “Dey say one can talk with de dead through a flume in de ground.” 
“Does it work?” 
 “Why don’ you put your ear to de pipe and find out for yourself.” 
Edgar could tell she was smiling, teasing him once again. 
He stood clutching the little bundle of white flowers. He had always enjoyed visiting his mother’s grave at St. John’s Church with it’s park-like setting, and beautiful views. This wasn’t St. Johns. 
Edgar immediately snapped to his knees at the sound of a branch crackling somewhere behind him. It was nothing. Meanwhile, Juliet continued to dig. 
 “Let me help you with that,” he offered.
 “Much obliged, but I gotta do dis part myself.” 
The soil was soft and pliable, and before long Juliet had dug a hole about the size of the basket. Deeper and deeper she went. With each scoop of dirt she dredged, Edgar shuttered, fearing she would plow into something, or someone, at any moment. Just as he was about to say something, she stopped. “Dere. Dat’s enough.” 
Juliet began to take the contents out of the basket. He was repulsed to see that instead of burying the jars in their entirety, she painstakingly opened each one, pouring their mysterious contents inside, while whispering something under her breath. 
The first jar sounded like a million grains of sand being poured from a dial; the next a massive glob of liquid that made a gelatinous blurb as it fell in whole. A putrid stench crossed his nostrils as the third jar was poured out. He winced, but managed to remain silent.
Finally, he heard the unmistakable sound of bones rattling in a bag as Juliet lifted the last remaining item from the basket. The black cat bones. He thought quickly.
 “Are you sure you want to get rid of those, Juliet? Aunt Eudocia promised they bring good luck, and believe me when I say they’re not exactly easy to come by.” Secretly, Edgar didn’t want to see the black cat bones discarded. He had come to believe they were far too valuable to destroy. There were a couple of things he could use them for. If only they were his. Sensing Juliet’s deliberation, he continued his protest. 
 “How about this?” He said. “You can bring them back another time. I’ll come with you.” 
 “No, it’s now, or never,” she decided, and tossed the bag into the hole quickly. “Gotta make m’own luck,” she announced, heaving dirt back into the hole. Edgar knew it was selfish to be disappointed in her decision, but he respected it. 
Edgar caught what sounded like a prayer. Then Juliet rose to her feet, brushed off her skirt, and pulled her shawl tight. 
 “Thank you, Eddy,” she said looking around the graveyard. “We best be gettin’ outta here. If you ever gon’ run into a Bokor, dis ‘be de place.” 
Edgar approached Lettie’s humble plot. Kneeling down, he placed the ghost-white cluster of blossoms on the fresh mound. The bones were right beneath his fingertips. He wanted nothing more than to snatch them up and put them in his pocket before Juliet ever noticed. But he fought the urge out of respect for his friend now halfway across the burial ground. 
Gaslights were not as plentiful as they were in the so-called better parts of town, giving the neighborhood a desolate feel. A half block away, they could hear the nightlife of Shockoe Bottom. Laughter, and music; a glass shattered on cobblestones. 
 “Do you feel better?” He asked as they walked home. 
 “Fact I do.” she smiled as they walked the rest of the way home.