Pretty Susie and Sweet William (A Short Story in Three Parts)

Pretty Susie and Sweet William
(A homage to the Scottish, English and Appalachian folktales/ballads "The Twa Brothers", "The Rolling of the Stones", "The Unquiet Grave", and "Sweet William's Ghost" set somewhere in present-day Appalachia.)

Part One: The Twa Brothers Rolling the Stones

If I get caught, I'll be in a world of trouble, Susie thought as she was grabbing two of the posts of the wrought iron gate that separated the realm of the dead from the world of the living. After heaving her body up to climb over the posts' pointy railheads, she looked nervously about. Before her lay Greenwood Cemetery in the peaceful quiet that only the night can afford. Gravestones, angels, and the spire of the great mausoleum were shining stone gray in the light of the moon. Not a living soul was to be seen. Good, the watchman isn't around . . . Relieved, Susie jumped off the gate, careful not to step on a grave and thus damage someone's final resting place.
The moon was just right: full and big and as shimmering as a silver quarter, she illuminated the cemetery as if in honor of the first anniversary of William's death.
William . . .
Susie's throat tightened at the thought of him. Tears rose to her eyes. They had been so happy together, had already been planning their wedding when suddenly the accident happened. How many times had she complained to William's mother, begging her to make them stop playing their childish game, him and his brother, John! "They won't listen to me," Susie had cried.
"Oh, boys will be boys," William's mother had replied. And that was that.
Yeah, one of the boys is dead now! My sweet William! Stupid, stupid, stupid! Susie tried hard to keep herself from kicking at a nearby gravestone. She wiped the tears off her face angrily. Why did they always have to wrestle, anyway?
On that faithful evening, they had celebrated Susie's twenty-first birthday. All of her family and friends had been invited--and the family of her betrothed. Mother had prepared a banquet for the occasion and Father had insisted on hiring a band for live music: this was not just their daughter's birthday, after all, but her coming of age. William's parents had brought shortbread and two barrels of Scotch; enough to make sure that everyone would have a good time.
That evening they feasted and sang and danced in the tradition of Susie's Scottish ancestors. The men wore their kilts and staged competitions such as the caber toss where they would lift up and throw a huge pole made from a larch tree high enough so that it would flip around in the air, and the stone put where they would fling heavy stones and watch them rolling along the blue grass until they are "putted". Then there was the bonniest knees contest. All the men formed a line and raised their kilts above the knees to the cheering and whistling of the women. Susie remembered being amused at the sight of all those hairy legs, though she wasn't sure whether the bonniest knees contest was truly a Scottish tradition or just plain American fun.
One pair of legs stood out from the rest, for they were as smooth as a baby's bottom. Guffawing, Father pointed at John's knees, "I'll be damned," he yelled. "You shaved your legs!"
At that, men and women alike were hooting and whistling and clapping their hands louder than before. That ended the contest. They had a winner.
The guests closed around William's brother to congratulate him. "So, tell us, John", William teased, "where did you stop your shave?"
John grinned. "Below my neck!" he gave back and they all laughed.
The band started to play and the ball began. William asked Susie for a dance; they had just whirled round once or twice when John cut in. "My dear brother, I must object to your boisterous behavior," he said with feigned resentment. He took Susie by the hand and smiled. "The winner with the bonniest knees gets the first dance."
But William did not give in so easily. "You may have the bonniest knees," he said, seizing Susie's other hand, "but I have the bonniest girl!"
"Yeah, well, they didn't have a bonniest girlfriend contest." John tried to shove William aside; William pushed John away from Susie.
Annoyed, Susie yanked her hands from John's as well as William's. "Oh, no! Not again!" she growled. She knew they were just play fighting, yet somehow it made her feel uneasy every time they did it. "Knock it off!"
"Didn't you hear her?" John mocked. "Better listen to your future wife or she'll spank you!"
"Ha!" William charged him, slung his arm around John's neck and pulled his head down toward the hip. John struggled against his brother's grip and together they spun twice around with John trying desperately to get out of William's headlock. They were chuckling and gasping as they fell to the ground; there they wallowed about, throwing punches at each other.
Susie rolled her eyes and strode to a table. Leave them to their game, she thought. Boys will be boys. She poured herself a glass of Scotch, knowing full well that she was sulking. Yet, she couldn't help it. There comes a time when a boy needs to grow up, she was certain. When will a boy become a man? If not shortly before his wedding day, when then? The Scotch burned in her throat and warmed her chest--and Susie felt herself relax. She gazed into the glass. There is a strange comfort to be found in that amber-colored liqueur. And finally, she was allowed to drink it. Oh, well. As long as the boys won't pull out their knives . . .
Suddenly she noticed that it had grown awfully quiet around her. The band had stopped playing and the cheerful chatter of the guests had fallen silent. When Susie turned to find out what was going on, she saw that nobody was dancing any longer. Everyone was standing stone-still, all eyes fixed on the same spot near the dance floor. An ominous feeling overwhelmed her. Swallowing hard, she pushed herself past some of the onlookers until she could get a good view of what everybody was gaping at. There, to her feet, lay William, his face contorted, his body writhing in pain. He was holding his side with both hands; a bright red liquid was seeping through his fingers. His mother was kneeling beside him, tears streaming down her cheeks.
"William!" Susie shrieked. Her knees caved in and she found herself on all fours next to her beloved. "William! What on earth . . ?" Cold with terror, she looked from William to his mother, then back to William. "Call an ambulance!" She screamed. "Somebody call an ambulance!"
"We already did," she heard a male voice say; she vaguely recognized it as her father's. "The medics are on their way, sweetheart."
William groaned. "I won't make it. I . . . won't . . . make it."
"Yes, you will!" Susie assured him. She wrapped her arms around his head and brushed his cheek with her lips. "You will. Just hang on. Hang on."
"Where is Dadaidh?" William breathed. "Where . . . is he?"
"He left to get more shortbread," William's mother sobbed. "He'll be back very soon, darling."
"Tell him . . . tell him to bury me in . . . in Greenwood."
Bury? Susie shuddered at the thought of her William being gone forever, rotting away in a coffin deep beneath the earth. "You're not going to die, Will. You're not going to die."
William raised his eyes to look at her. "I love you, Sue," he said. "Don't . . . ever . . . forget that." Then his glance moved away from her, toward his brother.
John had been standing a foot away from them, as wan as a ghost. Whether he was staring at his brother or at the blood dripping from his knife, Susie could not tell; a few locks of his auburn hair were partially covering his face.
William reached for him, his hand smeared with blood. "Not . . . your . . . fault."
His arm dropped like a stone to the ground.
"William?" Susie whispered. "William? Wake up!" She shook him by the shoulders. "You can't sleep here! Wake up, wake up, c'mon!" Her voice was shrill now; her concern lapsed into anger. She had enough of his silly games. "Quit teasing me! Playing dead is not funny! It's not funny!"
She could feel her mother's gentle touch upon her back. "He's not playing, love."
But the truth of her mother's claim only drove Susie into a rage. "You're lying!" she yelled. "Why would you say such a thing? How can you be so cruel to me?" She jumped to her feet so hastily that it made her head swim. As she was regaining her balance, her attention shifted to John. All color faded from her sight until she saw nothing but dark shapes before her eyes, as if black wings were beating against her skull.
Somebody yelled, "Hold her or she'll kill him!"
The wings were beating and beating and beating against the back of her eyeballs and she was screaming over and over again, "You son of a ***! You murdered him! You murdered my William!" Black feathers were flying all about her--and she realized they were her fists.
John did not budge. He neither dodged her blows nor did he resist them. He simply stood there, swaying like a punching bag.
Susie's knuckles were sore and wet with blood, yet the feathers kept dancing. The air became thick; she had difficulties drawing breath. Her chest grew tight and she gasped--but the air must have vanished. Susie believed herself in a vacuum . . . a fish out of the water, flapping helplessly on the ground.
"Quick, quick, give me her inhaler!" her father roared. "It's her asthma. She's having an attack!"
Countless faces were looming over her. Mother was searching Susie's pockets for the inhaler while Father loosened Susie's blouse and bent her upper body forward. "Calm down, girl," he said, "breathe in and out, in and out . . ."
"Oh, thank goodness, the medics are coming!" Mother called.
The medics rushed to Susie. Not wasting any time, they forced an oxygen mask over her mouth and nose. "You'll feel better in a moment," one of them said.
Susie didn't care. She struggled against them with all her might. No, no, help William! she wanted to shout. Help William! The guests were gawking at her, some holding their hands clasped to their mouth, struck dumb with horror. William's mother was still on her knees, holding her son's lifeless body to her chest and rocking back and forth with her eyes shut and her lips moving. A woman in a white jacket filled a syringe with cortisone and injected it into Susie's vein. Help William, for crying out loud! Susie screamed in her head as the cortisone entered her bloodstream and the oxygen flowed into her lungs . . .