Mistress Mary

Something about a country girl...

"Who was that by the trees over there, before you cut the scene? Is she an extra?" Jack was looking behind the cameramen toward the hedge.

"By the hedge, yonder? Let me guess," said one of the old guys. "Woman? White dress — like a sundress? Brown hair? Dark red lips?" He raised an eyebrow knowingly.

Jack looked at the man. "Yeah, that's right, but there's no one like that in any of today's scenes."

Another of the old timers said, "Mary of the cool green swale, son." The rest of the men agreed unostentatiously and sipped their water bottles.

"Who?"

"Mary of—"

"Yeah, I got that, Fred. Who is she?"

Fred looked uncomfortable. "Just pretend you never saw her, Jack."

Jack looked at the five old ranch hands. "Is this a 'new guy' joke? " He waved his hands in mock drama. "Is she some weird camp follower who'll—"

"She's death, Mr. Denger!" spat. "She lured three men down into the low willow marsh yonder, and killed every one of em!"

"Oh really? Then why isn't she in prison?"

Fred was quiet a moment. He looked around at the other men, and they all nodded slightly. He looked at Jack. "Worse than prison, Jack. After they found her first victim, they hanged her." He paused. "That was 1922. The other two was found long after that, in '57 and '84."

Jack looked at the old men. A night bird let out a mournful cry. Fred shook his head. "Stop thinkin' on her, son. You see Mary again, get your ass someplace else. Don't come back out here tonight."

But Fred did see Jack Denger out by the hedge around midnight. He got out his waders before he laid down, muttering: "Guess we're gonna be lookin' for something in the swamp tomorrow."



(Word Count: 300)