The story I'm going to tell you is true. It was told to me by my grandfather, Sherman William Potter. My grandfather has passed on, to either heaven or hell. I can not really say. He was different from the rest of the Potter Clan, and according to some there was a bit of malice living in his heart that he would feed from time to time. This story was told to me when I was a young girl, and when I first heard it, I was sitting around a roaring bonfire deep in the woods, much like we are tonight.
It was that time again, Benton Agricultural High School was once more hosting its Junior and Senior Prom. My grandfather, who was never a popular fellow with the ladies, had the misfortune of being without a date that night. But, his best friend Tim Perry, had convinced him to go anyway. And so being pressured by Tim, he finally caved in and decided to go. Now his friend Tim, lived on the other side of the Big Black River, you had to cross this old wooden bridge to get to his house. Then you had to go down an old dirt road.
Now in this area, there lived a number of sharecroppers. Their dwellings were nothing fancy and were often just simple, wooden cabins. The road Tim lived on was home to a good forty or so of these families. The road was named Rebecca Road, after a local Bella who had been killed some years before in a tragic hit and run accident as she waited on the bridge that spanned the Big Black for her date.
Anyway, grandfather had just picked up his best friend Tim, and well it was getting late and the sun was starting to set and prom was about to take in. Time was in a very talkative mood that night. Grandfather not so much, he kept his mouth such for most of the drive and just let Tim ramble on about the latest going on at school. You know, who was dating whom, who might have been crowned homecoming king and who was going to be crowned homecoming queen that year. They also shamelessly speculated on whom of the homecoming maids they could sweet talk into a local motel that night.
But all that changed when they spotted her. They had just rounded the bend in the road that takes you down to the bridge when in the headlamps of their car they spotted a beautiful woman standing beside the bridge. Her raven hair and porcelain skin enchanted them and big blue eyes seemed to sparkle. She wore a daring baby blue strapless dress with a matching shawl wrapped around her shoulders.
We'll, grandfather was stunned, he and according to him she was the most beautiful gal he had ever laid eyes on. And that only grandmother on her wedding day came close to matching her in beauty and grace. Grandmother never did like that last line and would always slap him on the shoulder when it came to that part of the story.
Anyway grandfather pulled over and the young woman slowly made her way toward the car. They of course asked where she was headed and if she needed anything. And much to their amazement she informed them she was heading toward the Benton Agricultural High School junior and senior prom. Grandfather could not believe his luck, and quickly suggested she could hitch a ride with them, since they were going to the prom too and would love to have her tag along.
The girl agreed and climbed in, then as if in a off handed kind of way. She told them her name was Rebecca Marie Faulkner. A hushed silence fell over the car. Rebecca Marie Faulkner had been the name of the young woman who had been killed a dozen or so years ago. Back when my dad and his friend Tim were still in elementary school. After a few moments of tense silents, my grandfather exchanged a look with his Tim. Both boys then just shrugged her shoulders. Maybe it was just a fluke that she shared the name of the girl who had been killed on this same bridge so many years ago. But then, both noticed a sudden chill came over them as if they had been hit square in the face by a gust of cold, biting winter wind.
Anyway, grandfather and Tim took Rebecca to the prom and all three had a wonderful time. Something odd happened, Rebecca it seemed took an instant shine to grandfather and kept him busy all night. Tim though, despite being something of a ladies man and being known for something of a smooth talker failed to even get a dance that evening. His supposed date never showed up, and none of her friends could explain why. And for all his charm, his smooth words, he could never lure one of the belle's to dance with him, while on the other hand, grandfather and Rebecca were the talk of the town.
All of the guys wanted to dance with Rebecca that night, and all the girls whispered among themselves about the mystery new girl. It was the harsh kind of whispering, the kind that breeds hate. Many of those girls felt shown up by the new girl who knew all the right steps and drew in the boys like flies to the honey pot.
We'll, the dance drew to a close. Rebecca was not crowned homecoming queen as you might expect. That honor went to another girl, Linda Croft. And after that Rebecca, Tim and grandfather left for home. Now it was at this time that Rebecca claimed she was freezing, and what little color she had from her cheeks had drained from them, leaving her as pale as a ghost. Grandfather wanted to get her home as soon as possible, I think he too had taken a shine to the mystery girl too.
As they drove, Tim brooded at the horrible time he had and Grandfather and Rebecca flirted wildly, but then something came over Rebecca, as they neared Rebecca Road she started to become agitated, she started to loudly complain about being freezing cold, despite it being a very warm early spring night. So grandfather being a gentleman had wrapped his sports coat around the slim shoulders of Rebecca.
Then as they came near the bridge, she demanded that she let out. Now Grandfather and Tim young bucks they were and born and bred true Southern gentleman were not about to just drop a lady off at the bridge. No, they were going to drive her home, and Grandfather was going to walk her up to her door and say something. I think he was hoping for a second date or something. No, it never happened, she demanded to be dropped about a half mile from the bridge.
And so they did. And like a ghost she vanished into the night. With grandfathers dinner jacket still on her shoulders. Now, grandfather had the good sense to sew into the back of the jacket his name, phone number and address. This matters because we'll grandfather had no way of tracking the girl down and being a Potter there was no way in hell he was going to drive up and down Rebecca Road, Tillman Road and Hogmire Road knocking on those cabin doors, asking where Rebecca Marie Faulkner lived.
The folks that lived in that were strange and a ill mannered lot. Many still lived like they had back before the War between the states, many had tangled family trees. And so Grandfather considered his formal dinner jacket that had cost him a whopping twenty five dollars a loss and scheming on how to reclaim his money when one day the phone of the family shop rang.
At that time, my family's story made deliverers to people, all you had to do was phone the store, a clerk would answer, you would tell the clerk what you wanted and they would write it down, the goods would be picked and packed, sometimes in ice if the goods were meat or produce products and another clerk would deliver them right to your house and sometimes even unpack them for you. This was years before Amazon and well we still do it today. Anyway, as dad cradled the phone in his hands and reached for a piece of notebook paper he was surprised to hear a rough man's voice on the other in.
The voice told him that there was a dinner jacket hanging on one of the graves at Bethany Primitive Baptist Church and he best come and get it before somebody snatches it.
And with that the fellow hung up the phone on the other end with enough force to really jangle my grandfather's nerves. Thinking this might have been a prank call or a set up he called his friend Tim and asked him to come along and as an afterthought told him to be armed too, but something he said, told him that it was not a prank or a set up. He claimed that he felt that in his heart he knew that they would find that jacket resting on the grave of Rebecca Marie Faulkner.
It was about one o' clock in the afternoon before Tim and grandfather could leave Benton, the drive to Bethany Primitive Baptist church took them a good hour, mostly because the roads in the back country were washed out and full of potholes and they got turned around a few times. But after several false leads they found the turn correct turn off. It was the first turn off as you crossed the bridge, not the third. Anyway it was two' thirty three when they finally reached the gravestone that sure enough had grandfather's blue blazer draped over it.
Grandfather who at that point was acting all cool and calm started to tremble as he reached over and picked up the blue blazer. And then as he expected there was, engraved in the surface of the stone three words. And those three words were “Rebecca” followed by “Maria” and finally “Faulkner” No date of birth was given nor a date of death. Grandfather told me nobody really kept records back in those days. And that the old family bible was good enough. Safe to say he felt his blood run cold when he read that name.
Well that was the last and only time he encountered Rebecca. Over the years other people have often encountered the bridge. Being a woman, I often wondered if Rebecca was grandfather's first love, I've often wondered if the memories made that magical night had not brought a measure of peace to that lost soul who had died way to gunge. That maybe she had been given the prom she had waited for, for years and years. I've also wondered if Rebecca was there waiting for him at the gates of Heaven.
And if the sly old fox had not blushed when he introduced her to grandmother, a powerful woman who was the only one who could control grandfather when he was in one of his moods. The two had given birth to three wonderful children who had produced a plentiful crop of grandchildren. Something to ask when my own time comes.
