PROLOGUE
In 1927, the Swift River Act condemned four western Massachusetts towns, Dana, Enfield, Greenwich, and Prescott, to create Quabbin Reservoir and feed Boston’s growing need for fresh water. The state graced the Swift River Valley with an eleven-year respite before it would seize the thirty-nine square-mile region and build the world’s largest man-made reservoir. The project displaced over twenty-five-hundred residents; demolished thousands of homes, businesses, and schools; and disinterred seventy-five-hundred bodies from the valley’s thirty-four cemeteries. The flooding took seven years and buried the four towns under four hundred-billion gallons of water. By 1946, the Swift River Valley existed only in memory.
Chapter One
March 1938
Greenwich, Massachusetts
The body proved heavier than he anticipated.
He’d heard the phrase ‘dead weight’ before, but it never made sense until now. The girl wasn’t heavy by any stretch of the imagination, but when he tried to lift her body, the weight of the hanging limbs, and most surprisingly the head, had him stumbling about trying to keep his balance. Like she had doubled in size. Before long he had to stop every few yards to catch his breath. Soon, he would need to lay her on the ground and drag her.
Still a distance from the main road, he faced the prospect of a long slog back to town. But he wasn’t worried about anyone spotting him. He couldn’t see more than two feet in front of him in the moonless, near-midnight dark. Toting the girl’s body over his shoulder, he mounted the grassy hill beside the pond and laid her on the ground with gentle hands. He rested beside the corpse, replaying their earlier conversation.
“Where did you come from?” she had asked.
“Just walking by the pond. I smelled the burning wood.”
“Do you want to sit with me a while?”
He dropped beside her in the grass, the light from the dying fire illuminating her face. “You look like you’re gonna cry.”
“Maybe,” she said, dabbing each eye.
Snaking an arm around her shoulder, he met her gaze. “You wanna tell me about it?”
She reached for his hand as her slender frame shuddered with each muted sob.
He examined the still body, studying the way she had braided her hair into two twisted tails running behind each ear. She had wanted to look her best tonight. Maybe her mother helped and tied the frilly ribbons on each braid to pretty her up a bit. Not that she wasn’t pretty enough already. But mothers loved to fuss over their daughters’ hair. His eyes fell to her patterned dress, his throat tightening. She would never again tie the lacy string at the neckline or pull the fabric off the clothesline, hold it to her face, and take a deep breath. Would she have chosen the same outfit if she knew it would be the last thing she ever wore? Would she have picked the same shoes, or the white socks folded over at the cuff? Maybe never knowing when your final moment came was a blessing.
As he observed the body more closely, he swallowed to keep the bile from creeping up his throat. He didn’t like the way her mouth stuck open as though desperately trying to gasp a few more breaths of air. Or her wide eyes staring lifeless at the stars. In the movies, the dead always looked like they were sleeping. But that awful post-mortem grin plastered on her face and the pin-prick hemorrhages branching across her eyeballs made Death appear like a vengeful thief who not only snatched the life inside her but left a mess behind.
“I appreciate your being here,” she had said.
After a time, he sensed her body stiffen, and he unwound his arm from her shoulder. “What’s the matter?”
“I need someone to talk to.” She hid her face behind her hands.
“I’m right here.”
Dragging a sleeve across her eyes, she placed a gentle palm over her belly. “Can I trust you with a secret?”
He touched her forehead. Her skin still radiated warmth, and he wanted to tap her cheek and say, ‘wake up, let’s forget this whole thing.’ But it was too late now. He had to make her disappear. It wouldn’t be too difficult with the approaching flood waters. Quabbin Reservoir would leave the Swift River Valley underwater as far as the eye could see. But he needed a secure place until then.
He pictured her mother and father, how hard it would be to never know what happened to their little girl. To one day gaze across the reservoir and imagine her under there somewhere. The not knowing would drive them both mad. He had observed the girl with her folks before, wandering home after church services or milling about the town common. They appeared happy, and that would make it hurt even worse. As years passed, they might suspect—or hope—she was still out there somewhere, and maybe that hope would keep them alive. Or kill them slowly each day.
Grabbing her beneath the arms, he trudged backward, hauling the body through the grass and peering over his shoulder to navigate the twisting path. With each step, her head lolled from side-to-side or jostled against his legs. He repositioned her body, aiming her feet in the opposite direction. Facing forward, he grasped each ankle and dragged her behind him. He heard their banter again, replacing her skull’s rhythmic thud as it skipped across the rocky ground.
“What will you miss most about the Swift River Valley?” he had asked. “Once everything is under water.”
“I’ll miss playing fetch with Jinx in the meadow after supper,” she said with a teary-eyed smile, “and ice skating on Mill Pond. But the hardest thing will be leaving all my friends.”
“Really?” he said, scratching his chin.
A crease formed between her eyebrows. “Don’t you think it’ll be hard saying goodbye to everyone?”
“I don’t know.” He thought for a moment. “To me, goodbye just means there’s something new waiting around the corner.”
Tugging the body across the main road into town, he approached the spot. Pausing, he scanned the property. No lights burned in the darkened house, but he took extra care sliding her across the lawn to avoid detection. The back of her head had taken a beating against the hard ground, and one of her braids had come undone. He would make sure she looked pretty tonight, no matter her ghoulish face. Flipping her over onto her stomach, he twisted the pair of thick hair ropes around each other and tied the frayed ribbon to the damaged weave as best he could. Gripping her legs, he hoisted the body upward and into the hole. He breathed a sigh of relief, no longer having to endure her twisted mouth grinning at him. Whispering a silent goodbye, his eyes fell shut as he recalled her final moments.
“I’d better be getting home,” she had said, standing and brushing the earth from her dress. “My mother will start to worry.”
“I’ll walk you,” he said, rising to his feet. “It’s on my way.”
“That’s kind of you.” She squeezed his hand. “You know, that made me feel better. About goodbyes and all.”
“I’m glad. But I do have another question for you.” They strode through the field in silence before he spoke. “What do you think happens when you die?”
She flinched. “Why would you ask me that?”
“Don’t you ever think about dying?” He clamped a hand around her wrist. “Kind of the ultimate goodbye, wouldn’t you say?”
“I guess so.” She eyed him before glancing at her captive forearm. She tried to smile but it appeared more like a wince. “If it’s goodbye, then there must be something new waiting around the corner, right?”
“Or nothing at all.” He pulled her close, and her face changed with the moment. Pressing a hand across her mouth, he dragged her struggling body to the ground. “Too bad you won’t be able to tell me which one.”
