Understanding warms the brown of his eyes. “You don’t like graveyards, do you?”
“No.”
He holds out a hand. “Come on. I’ll be right beside you.”
My feet are stuck to the mossy church floor. I shake my head again, like a stubborn child.
“Betts.” He steps over the foundation and circles me with his arms. “I won’t let anything happen to you.” His dark eyes plead with me gently,Trust me. He’s so confident, so earnest, so sheltering. “I’ll stay right beside you. I promise.”
Dammit, why am I nodding?
Side by side, we walk slowly, silently, around the church. No sign of gravestones, no creepy feelings, nothing to sense but the bite of the cold and the crunch of leaves underfoot. When we get back to where we started, Leo sighs.
Shoulders sagging, he turns in a circle, scanning the forest floor. “I thought for sure…” He shrugs and offers me a weak smile.
“Let’s keep looking.”
He blinks at me.
Yeah, I don’t know why I said that. It’s just that I hate seeing him so deflated. The sparkle is gone from his eyes and I want it back.
He tries to suppress the hopefulness in his voice. “We don’t have to.”
“I’ll be fine.” I think. The sun is shining, the forest is peaceful, and with him close by— “Just, please stay with me.”
“Of course.” He takes my gloved hand in his own and draws them both to his chest.
For a moment I stand there, eyes glued to our joined hands, struggling to jumpstart my brain.
Right, graveyard. Okay.
Like a detective, I think of all the churches I’ve seen and been to, especially the one where I went to Sunday School as a little girl. The graveyard wasn’t right next to the church itself.
Tugging on Leo’s arm, I start to climb. The entire town sits on a hill that slopes down to the river. The further down, the greater the risk of flooding. The higher up, the better for digging graves.
Leo doesn’t ask questions, not until I stop a good fifty yards from the church. Even then, all he does is raise his eyebrows. I shake my head. Either there’s no graveyard or I’m a shitty psychic. He throws up a hand and chuckles.
“Oh well,” I say with a resigned smile. “It was worth a try.”
We start back down the hill, winding through a section of ruins we’ve yet to explore. As we pass the church, this time far on our left, it happens. A blanket of sorrow drops onto my shoulders, pulling me down and pressing on my bones. My legs, heavy and cold, don’t want to carry me any further. I reach for Leo, my fingers sinking into something soft, something I can grip.
“What is it?”
“It’s here,” I breathe, twisting the sleeve of his coat. “If thereisa graveyard, then it’s right here.”
He steps in front of me and tips up my chin. “Are you okay?”
I nod and even manage a smile.
At his request, I explain what I’m feeling and together we carefully comb the area. The sadness clings to me, but with Leo close enough to feed me his strength, I’m not afraid. We kick aside leaves and yank away underbrush and vines, but all we find is one shard of stone. It could very well be a piece of a headstone; it’s smooth on its wide sides, like it’s part of a slab. But if it was ever engraved, the markings are long gone, erased by weather, water, and moss. I toss it back on the ground.
“Maybe my imagination ran away with me?” I suggest, though I don’t think that’s the case. I’d already given up when the sadness hit me. I hadn’t conjured it up in my mind.
Leo doesn’t believe it either. “No, if you feel it, then it was here.Something was here.” He pushes his hair off his forehead. “Think about it. These people were laborers. How many of them had the money for gravestones? If they couldn’t pay a stonemason or do the work themselves, then they probably just used wood to mark the graves.”
In my mind, I see crosses made of sticks and twine, lovingly draped with a treasure of the deceased: a handkerchief or a ribbon, a hand-knitted baby blanket. I swallow down the burn in my throat. “It’s grief, isn’t it? That’s what I feel in graveyards.” Not the dead, but the living. The mourners.
Thoughtfully, Leo nods.
