The buggy moved softly in the drizzle along the narrow, rutted lanes, between hummocks planted with marble and granite monuments bearing the names of the finest families in Wilmington—invisible in the dark and rain. Grant lit a kerosene lantern and trimmed it low. They ducked under low-hanging dogwood branches, bare and heavily wet. Live oaks were splayed against the black sky, their twisted limbs casting grotesque shadows in the fickle play of light. Spanish moss draped the branches in gray shrouds.

“Dark as sin in this place,” Norwood observed.

Grant signaled Norwood to stop the buggy. All at once, silent black shapes materialized out of the drizzle, human shapes gliding slowly toward them, as if the graves had opened and the dead were once again walking.

“Dear God.”

“It’s all right, schoolteacher,” Grant said. He reached out and shook hands with one of the shadows, then another.

Now, Gray Ellen could hear murmuring, the fussing of infants, coughing, low voices singing. She recognized two of her students, the little sisters with the tightly braided hair, hanging onto a young woman in a green blanket coat.

“They’ve been coming out here all day,” Norwood explained.

“Why here?”

Grant said, “These are the only white folks can’t do ’em no harm.”

“Are they all right?”

“All right as they’re going to get,” Grant said.

Norwood clucked the horse onward, and they rode slowly along the winding lanes. On either side of them under the trees, families huddled, tucked into the shadows, reclining against the berms, sheltering themselves as best they could from the drizzle and the fitful night wind. Saffron King James knelt over a wounded man, bandaging his leg and speaking softly.

“Why did you bring me here?” Gray Ellen asked after a while.

“Goddamnit, woman!” Grant said. “Does it always have to be about you?”

Norwood said, “I had to get out of town. I’m on some kind of a list.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Norwood.”

“Running scared—no way for a man to do.” Norwood’s tone was soft, but it carried force.

“I didn’t realize—”

“People had better start realizing. A shame has visited this city.”

“Amen,” said Grant, and all around them in the darkness, voices answered softly, “Amen.”

They drove deep into the maze of burial plots until they came to the woods at the northern edge. “Looks like my stop,” Norwood said. The horse stood with her head down. Norwood hopped out. He had no extra clothes, no blankets, just an overcoat.

“You’ll catch your death out here,” Gray Ellen whispered.

“Take care of yourself, hear?”

“Don’t fret about me. It’s you that—”

“Well, get gone from here. Don’t tell a soul where you’ve been.” As if it were the most natural thing in the world, Norwood climbed a berm and disappeared into the tangled woods.