A Haunted Town
Archer Sullivan’s debut novel is a story of missing children and much more
When we meet private investigator Annie Gore, the narrator and protagonist of Archer Sullivan’s The Witch’s Orchard, she’s desperate for work. Her laundry is piling up, her refrigerator is almost empty, and her prized watch, a gift from her uncle, is languishing in a pawn shop. When Max Andrews asks to meet with her, she is sure she’ll take the job, no matter what. But then she meets him.
Max’s sister Molly was the last of three girls abducted from their small Appalachian town 10 years earlier. An applehead doll was left in each girl’s place. The second girl abducted was mysteriously returned, but nothing was ever heard of other two again. Max, only 18, has been taking on various jobs so that he can afford a private investigator to discover what happened that summer. Annie tells him the chance of finding anything after all this time is minimal at best, but Max is insistent. And Annie needs the money. She agrees to take the case for one week: “I will come to your town. I will read your casebook. I will poke around and stir shit up and ask a lot of questions that make people uncomfortable.” And that she does.
Annie is a good choice for the job. She was an investigator in the Air Force and became a PI when she realized that working for herself is the best way she can function. She also comes from a small Appalachian town in Kentucky, which she left to get away from her dysfunctional family. Nevertheless, she still appreciates and defends mountain life: “People in cities — living, working, talking at a fast clip — experience the quiet, slow pace that permeates these communities, and they assume a slowness of mind, a lack of character. Or, worse, they base everything they know about mountain people on the stereotypes in the media. And I should know. Jokes about illiteracy, incest, and shoelessness elicited more than one broken nose while I was in the Air Force.”
The Witch’s Orchard, Sullivan’s debut novel, is both an excellent mystery and a study of how a small, isolated community endures a series of soul-shaking events. The same summer the girls went missing, the main source of employment in the area, a toy factory, closed. People’s financial and emotional security disappeared all at once.
Sullivan herself is a ninth-generation Appalachian, and she seamlessly weaves folk tales and practices into the novel, such as the applehead dolls found at the scene of each abduction. Crows, both real and fictional, permeate the story. The folktale about the witch’s orchard, featuring a famine, maternal love, and jealousy (with crows) is told several times in the novel, each time with different details giving the story a new meaning. Sullivan also celebrates the people’s resilience while never shying away from the hardships and hard choices of the region.
In Quartz Creek, Annie finds most people are sympathetic to Max’s need to find answers; they all want him to have some sort of closure so he can get on with his life. However, that sympathy doesn’t translate into being helpful with her investigation. The mother of the girl who was brought back won’t let Annie talk to her daughter, who is nonverbal. Max’s father offers to pay Annie to quit. And Molly Andrews’ piano teacher, who was in the house the day she disappeared, threatens to call the sheriff if Annie returns. The sheriff’s not too happy to see her either. The exception is Mandy Hoyle, the mother of the first child taken. She thinks the investigation didn’t really start until the second child went missing because being dirt poor meant her family didn’t deserve the help or had something to do with the abduction.
Soon events show the danger is not passed and the children’s abductor may be closer to home than anyone previously thought. And may not be finished.
Annie Gore is a delight as a protagonist. She is tough and can stand up to anyone. But she also has a great deal of sympathy for those still suffering the effects from that awful summer. She talks to her car, Honey, a Datsun 260Z. She eats like a hungry high school football player. And her friend and superior in the Air Force describes her as a crow: “Always sticking your beak into the messes others shy away from. Raising a ruckus that no one wants heard. Digging out truths no one wants seen.”
Although there is no way a novel about missing children can have an unqualified happy ending, readers will want to spend more time with Annie Gore in the future.
Faye Jones, dean of learning resources at Nashville State Community College, writes the Jolly Librarian blog for the college’s Mayfield Library. She earned her doctorate in 19th-century literature at Indiana University of Pennsylvania.
