The Girl in the Maze Read Free

cradled a drum. Two young women gazed at the camera, wide-eyed, enigmatic.
    “They’re the direct descendants of slaves. Like the Gullah, in South Carolina, only…now where did we put those—” She opened a shoe box, glanced inside, replaced the top. “They’ve lived in isolation, maintaining a truly distinct culture and system of beliefs.”
    “What kind of beliefs?”
    “They still believe in magic, ghosts, those kinds of things.”
    Martha felt a chill run down her back. She wrote the word in her notebook.
Ghosts?
    “Don’t worry; they’re beautiful, gracious people. The elders hand down traditions to their children, traditions they brought from places like Sierra Leone and Liberia. It’s a wonderful culture, but it’s dying, you see.”
    Martha nodded, jotting down the information.
    “Only seventy-five are left on Shell Heap. Most of their other communities along the coast have been bought out. It’s happened on St. Simons, Daufuskie, and Hilton Head. They’ve been forced to sell, in some cases.” She moved away from the cabinet and began opening and closing file drawers. “Many of the island residents are quite elderly now. Most of the younger ones have fled. The whole culture has been preserved orally. It exists only in the words and memories of the elders. That’s where the society comes in. Last May, we received a grant from the Georgia Trust to capture that history—that’s what the book is about. I suppose we’ve recorded about five miles’ worth of tape already. That’s why we need…ah, here we are.”
    Lydia slid open the cover of a rolltop desk, pulled out a shoe box, and handed it to Martha. The box bulged with cassette tapes, separated by labeled index cards.
    “Sixteen tapes here already. We still have another thirty-three interviews to record. We want to get every surviving member of the community on tape if we can.”
    “You want me to help transcribe these? All of them?” Martha felt a twinge of apprehension, mingled with excitement.
    “More than that. Make sense of them. You know, clean them up. Make them sing. Your professors said you were good at that.
And
help with the rest of the interviews. For that, you’ll need some ‘people’ skills. A lot of these residents are shy. Some of the older ones are afraid of having their voices recorded.”
    “Afraid? Why?”
    “They think it gives you a mystical power over them. Any other questions?”
    Martha looked at the photo of the Geechees. She tried to think of a question, but drew a blank. She couldn’t take her eyes off the image of the two girls, the ones staring at the camera. Braided hair, like woven ropes. The gnarled and mossy oak…and then the room started to spin and the image was fading, going dark, as if someone were turning down the lights, twisting the dimmer switch. In the darkness, a vision flashed into Martha’s head. A cloth sack, hanging from a metal hook. Something alive inside, something squirming….
    “Martha?”
    Lydia’s voice broke through the cloak of darkness and Martha was back in the room. She clutched the edge of the table to steady herself.
    “Miss Covington? Are you all right?”
    “Yes. I’m fine.” She fought to control her breathing. “I’m just a little tired. It must have been that ride on the bus, all day yesterday. I guess it sapped my energy.”
    Lydia blew on her ring, rubbed the pearl against her dress. “Well, I hope you get your strength back by Wednesday. There’s going to be a special night meeting of the County Commission to discuss the Tidewater Project. Are you familiar with it?”
    “Yes.” Martha clicked her pen.
Focus.
“Before I came here, I read some news articles about it online. I understand it’s going to bring new business to the county.”
    Lydia slapped the map with the palm of her hand. The ring made a sharp
bang
. “Business? At what cost? The Tidewater Project is just the latest bid to grab Shell Heap Island and turn it into a cash cow. It’s got