“Anyone who needs a reward to be good isn’t good. They just like rewards. Good people do the right thing because it’s the right thing to do.”
Those words had stuck in Jo’s head for forty years—and they were still there, long after her mother had met her own reward. Jo remained skeptical of those who wore their religion on their sleeves. But she had no doubts where Nessa was concerned. If there was one person alive whose goodness could counter the world’s evil, it was the woman who’d just come to bury a girl she’d never known.
Harriett was another story, Jo thought. She had purchased the plots. She had planted the flowers. For all Jo knew, Harriett might even have dug the hole. But she hadn’t done it out of pure benevolence. Harriett’s motivations weren’t so easy to comprehend, but Jo was certain she had her eyes on a goal as well. As the pastor spoke, Jo let her gaze linger on the tall, regal woman with the mane of silver-blond hair. She wore a long, sleeveless dress of unbleached linen and though her feet were hidden, Jo knew they were bare.
Once the pastor had finished, Nessa and her daughters left ahead of the others so they could get home before their guests arrived at the funeral reception. Harriett didn’t appear to be in a hurry to leave, and Lucy seemed keen to stay by Harriett’s side.
“You worked wonders on the gravesite,” Jo told Harriett. “It’s lovely.”
“Yes.” Harriett no longer had time for false modesty. “But I’m not finished.”
“Do you want a ride to Nessa’s house?” Jo asked Harriett. “We’re heading over there now.”
“If you don’t mind, I could use a hand before you leave.” Harriett picked up the two shovels that lay atop the mound of dirt by the grave and held one out to the Levison family.
“You’re kidding,” Art Levison said with a nervous grin. His wife and daughter knew it wasn’t a joke.
“I’ll help!” Lucy offered eagerly.
“Great!” Harriett passed the second shovel to the little girl without a second thought. Lucy, dressed in her best shoes, hopped right into action.
Art looked over at his wife. “Is this okay with you?” he muttered.
Jo shrugged. “I know it’s weird, but I guess it still counts as a mitzvah.”
“I hope so,” he said as they watched their eleven-year-old daughter shovel dirt into an open grave. “Isn’t there someone at the cemetery who gets paid to do this?” Art asked Harriett.
“Yes, of course,” Harriett replied. “But if you want something done right, you have to do it yourself. And find an eleven-year-old kid to help you. Am I right, Lucy?”
“Yeah!” Lucy said.
When the hole was almost filled and both Lucy and Harriett were covered with dirt, Harriett pulled a small burlap pouch out of her bag. “I’ll do the rest of the shoveling. Take one of these and plant it when I’m done.”
“What are they?” Jo asked.
“Brugmansia insignis. Angel’s trumpet.” Harriett opened the bag and pulled out a strange seed, which she placed in the palm of Lucy’s hand. “Amazing, isn’t it? One of these tiny seeds will grow into a twelve-foot-tall monster. Each of its flowers will be the size of a party hat, and every part of the plant will be chock full of poison.”
“Wow.” Lucy marveled as she studied the seed up close.
“You’re planting a giant poisonous bush on this girl’s grave.” Jo didn’t know what to say.
“Yes, because when the plant is in flower, it’s impossible to ignore.” Harriett pointed past the cemetery’s fence at the highway that stretched from the city to the end of the island. “I want everyone passing by to look. I want whoever did this to know that the girl buried here hasn’t been forgotten. I want him to see what we can do. And I want that motherfucker to worry.”