The Girls Under the Willow Tree

By Barbara J. Bernier-Crocker

When a young couple hoping to open up a bed and breakfast in a small, quaint Maine town discover two skeletons buried on their property, they don't know what to think. The building was a dark, dilapidated 19th century former home for wayward girls that had a mysterous background. Were they from the school?

 

You will uncover the past and of 16 year old Cora who was sent to the home in the fall of 1887. There are scary things happening and girls are disappearing. Will she get out before it is too late? Follow the twists and turns of  the present with Forensic Anthropologist Mary Dana as she uncovers the shocking truth about the school's past history...and about scandalous murder.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Barbara J. Bernier-Crocker
• Release date: Aug 27, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223007333

Book preview

Chapter 1

Present day 

Mary Dana quickly walked up the steps to her small duplex apartment and realized that she forgot to leave the outside light on. The rows of buildings on her street made of brick and reclaimed wood all looked relatively the same in the dark. A brisk wind fluttered against her cheek as she flipped through her keys for the right one. She always promised herself that she would not work late enough to need the outside light but she decided tonight she would concede defeat. She quickly pushed the key into the lock and bumped open the heavy wood door with her shoulder. A waft of rose scent immediately started swirling around her nose alerting her to the fact that she had left her Scentsy on all day again. After setting down her laptop case and bag her eyes are averted down the hall to the motion of her overweight Maine coon cat running toward her like a massive lion protesting the dark and her empty food dish. Mary reached over and shut the door with force and gently threw her keys on the small stand by the door.

Mary bent down and patted the cat as it started circling around her legs, her distinctive purr breaking the silence. Mary then turned around and walked into the kitchen, her eyes intentionally averting to the boxes lined up along the wall of the living room that she has yet to unpack. It had been about a year and she still hadn’t so much as hovered near them. She really didn’t like the city. She was used to living on the reservation with her family and the loudness of it. But she had to admit that the constant bright lights always flickering and the ebb and flow of noises were starting to bring comfort to her.

After opening a can of fancy feast and getting the cat fresh water, Mary pulled out her cell phone from her back pocket after she felt the familiar vibration of a missed call. It was hard being only one of three forensic anthropologists in the state, and she always put her phone on vibrate when she left her office. But it really didn’t do any good. She was excessively busy and both loved it and hated it. She was profoundly lonely because of her never-normal hours, but she loved it.

Mary looked up at the one picture she had on the wall, a picture of her grandfather in his tribal dress and holding a drum. Mary was a member of the Passamaquoddy tribe, and they lived around three hours from Augusta in eastern Maine next to the beautiful St. Croix River that separated Maine from Canada. Called the People of the Dawn Confederacy for the sheer fact that it was the first place to see the rising sun, Mary was fiercely protective of her heritage. She had learned a lot from her elders such as hunting and fishing, but most importantly to always show a love and respect for nature. "Nobody owns the earth," they would say. She would spend many hours learning to weave baskets and watch her grandfather make furniture for the tribe and to sell at local fairs. But the reality of being a Native American was not always that comforting. There was a lot of racism and jealousy which Mary could never understand. To hear the long-ago stories of what had happened to fellow tribe members, it made her scared. Her grandfather would then console her and tell her to look at the sky. We are all one people.

After high school she knew that she wanted to go to college and was so excited when she was accepted at the University of Massachusetts in Boston. Her mother cried a lot that day in August when she drove away from the reservation, the whole family waving and following her car out. Mary had hugged her mother very tight, whispering in her ear that she would return to Maine. She actually enjoyed her college years, being serious-minded and avoiding controversy. Most people thought she was Hispanic, never really broaching the subject until one of her teachers saw her dream catcher necklace. I have one of those too, he said to her one day and she smiled.  She was glad that she lived up to that promise and settled back in Maine, but moving to Augusta, close to the state medical examiner’s office. She knew from an early age that she liked to find clues and solve mysteries, but was not really ready for operating rooms or seeing a lot of blood. Her mother once told her that she had to follow the path that was paved for her, no matter what and Mary always appreciated that about her.

While away at college, she admittedly had missed the quietness of Maine. She missed watching the loons, or what her people called Kweemoo’s, on the water singing their distinctive cries into the air for all to hear. The other seasons were just as pleasant, albeit winter sometimes left something to be desired. But she felt a closeness to the land and couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. This is where her people lived.

She remembers fondly of how her elders used to gather the children around a small crackling fire and tell beautiful stories of Glooscap, a sort of demigod hero in their mythology.  They had a centering belief that everything that is created had an inner spirit. The land and creatures were sacred.  Mary had always been fascinated with Glooscap and it allowed her to dream and reach for the stars as he had.

Not even glancing at the phone, Mary gently set it down on the shiny black marble kitchen island. She needed to relax which was so hard for her. She went into the bathroom and turned the water on for the shower to the hottest setting she thought she could withstand without burning her skin. She let out an elongated sigh as the steam filled the room. She tried to put out of her mind her last case. That poor old man that was found buried in the middle of the town park and he’d been there a long time. After some digging she found wood remnants and it appeared he was buried with care. Mary concluded that it wasn’t a crime and that the gentleman had been there for at least a hundred years or more and it was most likely an unmarked grave. Yet it still bothered her. The bones. We all just end up a pile of bones.

She peeled off the layers of clothes and walked into the shower. She let the hot water roll down her back, and she closed her eyes. The sharp instant pain of the hot water shocked her skin and it felt good. She turned her head as she faintly heard another vibration of her phone against the natural stone and it irritated her. She would answer at some point. She knew she would. Because she was curious. Curious as to what her next case may be, what bones needed to be investigated.

Mary washed her long black hair and eventually got out of the shower and put on some blue jogging pants and a comfortable t-shirt. She plodded her feet from the bathroom into the kitchen, rubbing her hair with a towel before putting it down on the counter to pour herself a small glass of merlot. It wasn’t an expensive brand or anything like that. She honestly didn’t see much difference in wine or maybe it just didn’t matter all that much to her. Her eyes pivoted to her phone again. It lit up and she angrily grabbed it.

Yeah, she barked into the phone.

Jesus, Mary. I’ve been calling and calling.

Nice to hear from you, too Paulie. What is it?

Mary turned around and walked toward her red velvet armchair. It was a showpiece for sure. People thought she had sharp style, but it was really that it was on clearance in her local furniture store. So she bought red accents and glassware, and voila. A tastefully decorated living room of a single woman.

Mary, I know you pulled a long one with that old man, but I’ve got an emergency here.

Mary turned her attention away from Mystery who was purring against her leg and she sat up straight, her curiosity peaked. Paulie never referred to anything as being an emergency before.

OK, Paulie. You have my attention. What is it?

There was a slight pause. You know that old, ugly school at the edge of Brandemont Acres?

Mary knew about the school. Heck, everyone did. It was a shameful reminder of things past and how twisted society was. Taking misfortunate girls and prodding and plumping them up to be housewives. Oh the joy of it. After it closed, the building fell into dissolution. Windows were broken on the high eaves and the brick had turned a muddy dark brown from all of the mold and mildew. She remembered driving past it and secretly wished they would just tear it down and forget about it all. But she also knew that there were girls buried there on the edge of the property. Ones that died from fever or other diseases rampant at the time. Perhaps the new owners didn’t want to disturb them. But the graves were visibly marked and known, so there should be no surprises.

I don’t understand... Mary said slowly. What do you need me for?

"Mary, Jesus, listen. Please. We found more bones. Not in a grave."

Mary turned around in her chair. Away from the other headstones?

Yeah. I’m thinking we may have a crime here. Can you get here soon?

Mary rolled her eyes into the back of her head. She wished she had known what she was getting into when she went to graduate school. Working with skeletons and solving mysteries where no one else could. How did they die? Why did they die? Was it a crime or not? And of course everyone wanted a fast resolution. A fast investigation. The hardest, of course, were the children. The tiny bones that never got a chance to grow, someone snuffing out their life before they had a chance to live. Mary liked being that voice for them.

Yeah, Paulie. Yeah, Mary whispered then hung up. She felt some weird feelings tingling in her stomach. Like a foreboding. Mary took a deep breath and sighed.

Sorry, Mystery. Sorry, she said to the cat as she jumped up on her lap. Mary rubbed her face into her neck and pulled on her long hair. It is good that the cat was so independent, that she really didn’t miss her as long as she fed her. Maybe all cats were like that.

Mary picked her tablet up and googled the old school. There was actually a page of information and a listing of all the girls that died there. Edna, Rose, Nellie. Ten, no, twelve.  No, fifteen. Fifteen? Buried all alone in that cold, sad place.

She powered down her tablet and left it on the coffee table. She didn’t have time to research. She had felt the palpable sense of urgency in Paulie’s voice. She had never heard him so upset, and they had been working together for over five years. Paulie was very annoying, but he was a forensic genius. A most helpful assistant and sometimes he could see the bigger picture and put things in perspective for her. She had a feeling that this would be the case that she would never forget.

She went back into the bathroom and wound her hair into a bun with some elastics and spread a little bit of foundation on her dark circles. Putting her wine into the sink she went to the entryway to put her coat back on. Her eyes pivoted to the round clock on the wall with ornate scrolls pointing out in every direction. She had been home for all of an hour.

Just before she shut the front door she reached in with her right hand and flicked on the outside light.

Chapter 2

Early Fall, 1887

Shelburne, New Hampshire

Sixteen year old Cora Robinson felt a gentle nudge on her shoulders and slowly opened her eyes. Her head still fuzzy, she squinted through the darkness as her eyes came into focus. She realized in horror that tonight was the night. The night that she had been dreading. The night that she was praying wouldn’t come.

Cora grasped her yellow knitted blanked and pulled it up under her chin and pushed her back against the wall. She stared out the window briefly before watching her mother open up her dresser drawers and pull out her petticoats and dresses, one by one, and folding them neatly on the floor in front of her. This was it. There was no turning back now.

Finally, her mother stood up and peered down at her, pushing back her blonde hair around her ears. She had spoken long and hard with her husband. She tried to reason that the rumors might not be true, but he was adamant. Cora had shamed them. Her mother felt such immense sadness because her Cora was a good child. Very soft spoken and always did her chores without any prompting. She did not believe her daughter had committed a sin, and her stomach was in knots when Cora pleaded with her, grabbing the belt of her dress and crying deeply. But her hands were tied. She had to do whatever her husband said. He always made her feel like she was less of a woman for not bearing him a son. If only he had a son he would not drink at the saloon so much. If only he had a son he would pay more attention to the girls. But it has been almost five years since her last pregnancy and she feared she couldn’t have any more. And what if she did and it was another girl? He would surely leave them desolate. With a heavy heart she peered down at Cora.

Here. Put these on. Then go straight to the front door. As quietly as you can, she said bending down to Cora’s ear. Cora sat up and nodded her assent and took the dress from her. She watched as her mother put the clothes that were on the floor into the old, ugly brown suitcase that had once been stored in the barn. It could hardly stand up on its own, its years of use evident from its worn and faded straps.

Her mother turned to face her before she exited the room and Cora caught the glint of her mother’s eyes. It was then that she suddenly felt so guilty. She had disappointed her family and had brought shame upon them. And she is now paying the ultimate price.

Cora pushed back her blankets and pressed her feet onto the icy wood floor. She would be getting dressed in her bedroom for the very last time. She wanted to sneak down the hall and say goodbye to her three little sisters, but she knew it was forbidden. She was the outcast. Someone that they wanted to forget. Her journey, she had been told, would begin in the dark cover of night. She knew it was so that it would not cause her sisters to fret over her or delay their departure. She was especially close to her littlest sister, Molly, who at 4 would wonder where she went. The thought of little Molly wandering into her bedroom at night to find her bed empty was something she tried not to think about. She sighed as tears welled up in her eyes as she began to take off her nightgown and pull on the faded blue dress her mother had given her and saw that her corset was actually packed in her bag. No need for a corset in the middle of the night.

Cora sat back down on her bed and looked around one final time. She had been so excited to get this room, a room all to herself. Her parents moved her last year when she came into womanhood, and it was so refreshing and nice to have a private place all to herself. Her mother had made a big deal about it and clapped her hands together when she showed her the room with a brand new crocheted yellow blanket.  But now she has to leave. She shuddered briefly when she felt a soft breeze cascade across her chest from a small crack in her windowpane. It was very cold out, and she was dreading the long journey.

She walked over to her desk and pulled the little drawer out. She took out some notes and laid them on the desk. Notes to her sisters and parents. Telling them how sorry she is and that she will make them proud. She then took her journal and graphite pencil and put them into the suitcase and then descended the stairs.

Her parents had decided months ago to send her off to some Industrial School for Girls in Maine. The town was called Brandemont Acres, wherever that was. Too far away as far as she was concerned. Her many anguished protests against it were in vain. There was no turning back. No undoing what has already been done. With each step down the stairs she peered over at her sister’s bedroom, searing in her all that she will miss and she begins to cry.

Up until the incident, Cora had led a pretty happy life. She loved Shelburne and had a few friends that lived a little bit down the road. Her mother taught her to read and do penmanship, but that was about it. She forbade her from going to school and she was tasked to taking care of the little ones a lot. She felt such a betrayal at what was being done to her. It wasn’t fair, but there was nothing she could do about it.

Reaching the bottom landing, she softly walked to the coat closet to retrieve her coat and muff and put them on quickly. Father was already waiting in the carriage, and she was sure she had taken too much time already. Cora opened the front door and reluctantly closed it behind her. She carefully walked down the path toward the covered carriage and quietly sat down in the back. Her mother had followed her outside and handed over to her a thick wool blanket and a soapstone that had been warmed on the wood stove to keep next to her. Her mother bent over and kissed Cora lightly on the cheek. Deep down, Cora was hoping that maybe, just maybe, her mother had changed her mind and would let her stay. But when she looked at her mother’s face, she could tell by her expression that she looked...well...relieved. Cora hung her head in defeat, tears flowing steady from her eyes. She watched as they fell and disappeared into the wool blanket, just like what was happening to her. She never felt so alone. Her father whipped the horses, and the buggy jolted forward.

As they pulled away from the house, Cora looked back at it. It was a simple log cabin with two stories. They had a small barn for their goats and a few cows in the pasture. She loved her house with all the freedom of the green grass that would peek up under her toes in the summer. She loved the fall when the leaves were falling as they are now. But this wasn’t her home anymore. She was no one. She turned her head up to her sister’s bedroom window. She could make out little Molly’s face peering at her out the window, her dark hair in two long braids. She must have awoken from the noise. Molly was holding in her arms her favorite porcelain doll she got for her birthday last month. Cora pulled her eyes away quickly. The pain of seeing her sister was more than her heart could take. She grabbed the wool blanket and put her hands underneath it. She curled her body up and tried to close her eyes.

The carriage ride through town was not easy with all the cobble streets, and the buggy made exaggerated turns and occasionally dips that made the carriage bounce a lot. But once they reached the more rural areas with all dirt roads Cora’s worn body was finally able to sleep.

All of a sudden Cora felt her head thump against the side of the buggy. She didn’t know how long she’d been asleep, so she sat up and rubbed her eyes. It was pre-dawn she guessed, and she was so cold even under the warmth of the heavy blanket. Curling up her body even more, it was then that she noticed that her father was pulling on the reins, slowing down the horses. Her head turned and over her right shoulder she caught sight of some cold looking stone buildings that were haphazardly separated out. Cora sat up and leaned over, trying to see the main building more closely. It had a front porch, but there were no chairs or swing and it appeared very stark and empty. She felt the buggy swing right and realized that this is the place that they were sending her to. This is the place that she will have to now call home. Cora suddenly felt very afraid. Her eyes moved to the other side of the property where there were remnants of an old vegetable garden. She watched as the gone-by brown, crinkly corn stalks blew gently in the wind until her father stopped the carriage. He proceeded to climb out without any words and walked quickly over to Cora. Getting ready to climb out of the buggy, she took his hand and stared up at him. His face was expressionless, and as her feet stepped on the ground, she leaned over and embraced him.

So sorry, father, for all my trouble. I will miss you, Cora whispered in his ear and then stood back and tried to gauge any sort of emotion in his eyes, but saw none. Her father stiffened up and pulled her arms away, making Cora’s eyes immediately shift down to the dirt road. Her father hastily retrieved her suitcase and began to briskly walk across the lawn toward the open porch. Cora was disheartened to see that he had looked over his shoulder a few times to make sure that she was following. Even at this juncture, never quite trusting her.

Reaching the top of the steps, they stood there in front of very beautiful wood doors with metal insets that almost looked like leaves. Cora was so nervous she could feel that her heart was beating out of her chest. She turned her head and looked over to the clearing at the corn stalks again, and in the distance she saw that the sun was beginning to rise. She was so scared at what she would find beyond the door.

Her father grabbed the door knocker and clanked it twice. The sound was loud and final, and it made her ears ring. After a few minutes, a pudgy woman with graying hair piled high on her head opened the door, wiping her hands on her apron. She looked very kind.

Welcome! Welcome! She bellowed to her father, and then looked over at Cora. I’m Miss Betsey. And you must be Miss Cora. Welcome Mr. Robinson. Come inside from the chill.

Her father lifted the suitcase again and walked into the foyer Yes, good morning ma’am.  This is my daughter Cora. I assume you got all the papers by post last month?

Cora’s parents had received paperwork that Cora read when they weren’t looking. They were basically signing her over to the State of Maine and washing their hands of her. Practically making her disappear.

Yes, we did, sir. Come this way, I’ll show you to Miss Cora’s room.

Cora watches as her father follows Miss Betsey up the stairs, holding her suitcase and looking forward to putting it down and never seeing it or her again. Cora grabbed ahold of the railing and began her assent, finally realizing that today is the day that will change everything.

Chapter 3

Present day

Mary climbed into her black Range Rover and accelerated out of her driveway. Various soda bottles rattled back and forth on the passenger floorboard creating a wrinkling sound as it rolled over the pile of mail she hadn’t even looked at yet. Usually she wasn’t a procrastinator but the state of her car said otherwise.  As she turned left past her apartment she saw that Mystery had climbed up onto the windowsill just sitting there looking like the angry cat and she felt a small pang of guilt for being away so often.

She did a rolling stop at the stop sign and turned toward the highway. The trees flew past her like an old movie scene.  Paulie had sounded so panicked, and she felt excitement and trepidation all at the same time. A new puzzle to figure out. She knew she had driven past the old brick buildings dozens of times watching as it slowly deteriorated into nothing more than moss and bricks. The landscape of the hills and ash and maple trees dwarfed by the massive pines looked beautiful and out of place next to the rubble that lay before it. Had someone dumped a body there?

It was now early evening and Mary’s stomach growled and seemed to echo through the silence. She should have eaten something before she left. An apple or a pear even. But food would have to wait, just like it always did. Sometimes as she drove on the highway she declined to play any music from her I-phone. She just listened to the road noises and the thoughts in her head. The thoughts of not having a significant other. The thoughts of not having children.

Mary slowed down as she approached the property. Her crew and trucks were already there as well as police,