SWNOVELS Chapter A Headstone
Lips tightening, his jaw ticked rhythmically as he debated it. Finally relenting. It’s time.
His words came haltingly. “When you died in 1701 your name was Anastacia.”
“Died?” She exclaimed. After a moment, her brows drew together. “Anastacia what?”
“Black.” He studied her reaction.
“As in Derrick Black. And Der-agan Black?” She enunciated slowly.
“Exactly like that.” He answered. Lifting his chin. “I buried her in a fenced graveyard on the Northernmost corner of this property. Under a black marble headstone. And long before that you were Falacia Black who died in 1482. With many names in-between, including Sarah…Black” Without another word he turned and walked from the doorway.
We’ll see if that was too much.
When Nora finally skid into the entryway after him, she found it empty. Barely pausing she rushed up the steps and grabbed her gray shawl. Returning downstairs at a similar pace drew the twins’ attention from the Dining Room.
Dual heads poked from the doorway. “What’s going on?”
But she slammed the door behind her and headed down the stone steps to reach the path to the border of the property.
Dangerous ground, that far from the Manor. Deragan stood in his chamber peering out the window at the lawn beneath.
Several wolves peered up at him. He nodded toward her and lifted three fingers.
Three wolves broke from the others to splay. Moving silently behind her.
They’ll watch over her.
Watching from near the stairs Deragan stepped into the light of the foyer. His hand on the front door. Shadows darkening his features as a worried look marred his face.
Bast materialized at his side. “Want me to go with her?”
“No. She’s protected. And the Cimmerii won’t bother her yet.” Deragan gave him a meaningful look. “I just pray you’re right and this isn’t too fast.”
“Where’s she going?”
“The graves.”
“Does she know?” Bast asked in surprise.
“Only about Anastacia.”
“That’s going to be a shock.”
An understatement.
“I’m aware.”
“What are you going to do?” Bast asked.
“Try to help her through it.”
Try to keep her calm. And to keep the visions from overtaking her. They can make her ill when they come too fast.
Reaching the northernmost corner of Rosewynn’s grounds, Nora slowed at the sight of the towering tomb that hovered over a low decorative wire fence. Managing her way threw the strewn rocks and the uneven ground she slowed at the sight of a litter of worn headstones. Some far older than the others.
Vaguely surprised to note the hunkered back of a man already there in the faded dawn light. Tending the grass around the stones with a sickle.
The scent of a descending night storm filled the air, the few maples stood regally nearby with outstretched branches lazily propped on the low fence, leaves still glistening. The sun was quickly descending. Casting long shadows over yellowed patches of grass.
The old man knelt over a headstone.
Drawing closer she saw he held his hat against his chest as he lovingly drew fingertips over the flat face of a fresh stone.
Nearby a slightly wilted bouquet of white roses rested near a dark headstone. Black marble in good condition, but with words partially eroded, nonetheless.
Without realizing it she’d moved closer. Nervously squinting at the frayed words, piecing them together.
‘Cherished Wife. Anastacia Black. 1684-1701.’
She died young. Nora stared slack-jawed.
The laughing voice of the old man distracted her. “She’s a popular girl, that one.”
Nora turned stunned eyes to the smiling withered face.
“She gets more flowers now than most alive do.” He gestured. “He has me lay them there twice a sennight. Always fresh, all white and twelve of them.” Pausing he stared down at the headstone at his feet as he added. “Used to know him.”
Nora’s eyes brightened with interest at the fond note in his voice. “You did?”
He nodded and his eyes sparkled at some far away memory. “Nice young man. You see, this here is me Lizzy. Her family worked for him and when she got sick he said I must bring her here. That he’d save plots for us both.” His voice was tinged with pain as he continued. “I can’t afford her no pretty white roses, but I come see her, every day.”
Nora’s heart clenched for his sorrow.
“Saw him standing there once staring at her stone with those flowers. I was so bold as to ask if he might spare one so my Lizzy could have a rose so lovely.” He flushed before smiling faintly again.
“And he did.” She finished strangely certain.
Shaking his head slightly in disbelief he added. “And insisted I pluck a thirteenth rose for me own wife, ever since….” Bobbing his head, he shuffled closer and murmured. “May I? I forgot yesterday.”
At her nod he knelt and picked up the rose returning to place it on the flat stone lovingly.
“She was his wife?” She asked.
“Why yes.” He frowned. “He said. They all were,” He gestured to all the headstones further back then Lizzy’s. “in a way. Not sure what that means but seems awful sad. Poor bastard.”
“Yes. Poor bastard.” She echoed hollowly.
Startling the man with such language.
Badly shaken, Nora made her way back, somber faced.