by Susan Haught
Cemeteries fascinated her. Covert clues engraved on the headstones offered glimpses into the mysteries of those buried beneath the stone. Where most people found sadness and apprehension crossing from one grave to the next, Ryleigh’s curiosity heightened.
Today promised something different.
A light breeze rustled through the trees, and bronzed in red, orange, and gold, leaves fluttered from above and stirred underfoot. An odd uneasiness plucked at her as she crossed the cemetery, but Ryleigh’s eyes remained glued to the casket perched next to a mound of soggy dirt. Simple in style, the casket seemed overly large for a body diminished by a silent, arbitrary thief.
Not far from here, Ryleigh had brushed through her mother’s hair as white as the roses she so loved and held her misshapen hands for the last time. It seemed peculiar how quickly the memory had become engraved on her mind like the names carved in granite.
Evan guided her as they approached the gravesite, his grip unwavering. Natalie and Mitch stood arm in arm under the scarlet umbrella of two immense white oaks and the couples nodded to each other, their somber message understood.
Artificial grass covered the soggy earth and leaves speckled the white casket with the burnished shades of October. A small wreath rested against it and ivy formed the word “Mom” across a circle of wildflowers and two perfect white roses. Fireflies danced among the flowers. It seemed an odd choice to her, but her mother had been specific in her wishes. The roses and “Mom” part she was sure of, but more in the forefront of a growing list of questions was why there seemed to be so many pieces missing from a simple woman’s life. Fireflies? Why? Why didn’t she know?
The pastor excused himself from a small knot of people and took his place across from Ryleigh and Evan. He scanned the gathering and then nodded modestly to her. He blew a breath across his fingers and opened his Bible, tucking the frayed ribbon into the binding. A familiar melody murmured with the voice of the breeze as a small choir of ladies quietly sang “Amazing Grace,” and Pastor Edwards spoke fondly of one of God’s children—a wife, mother, and grandmother.
The service was short and thoughtful, yet uplifting, exactly as Eleanor would have wanted. The small crowd filed past and conveyed their condolences before moving on to pay their respects to loved ones. Ryleigh didn’t envy them. On any normal day, imagining the lives of the deceased was fascinating, but she didn’t take much pleasure in visiting her family here. One had been too many. Now there would be two.
“Excuse me, Ryleigh?”
The pleasant voice pulled her from her thoughts. Ryleigh turned. “Pastor Edwards.” She smiled and extended her hand, and he accepted it warmly with both of his. With round cheeks flushed from the October chill and ears that took up more space than they should have, he wasn’t a particularly handsome man, but his expression was compassionate and kind, his handshake warm and comforting. Prerequisites that surely came with the territory. “The service was lovely and I appreciate the kind words about Mom.”
“Your mother was quite explicit in her wishes.” The pastor reached inside his jacket. “And she left this for you,” he said as he handed her a worn, yellowed envelope.
Ryleigh frowned. “What’s this?”
“It’s an insurance policy your mother asked me to keep until after the funeral.”
“Life insurance?” She glanced at Evan, and then back to the pastor. “I’m afraid I’m finding there’s a lot I don’t know about my mother.”
A subtle smile crinkled the corners of his eyes. “Some folks aren’t comfortable sharing their lives,” he said, still holding the envelope, “and some want only to protect those they love.” The pastor pressed his Bible to his chest. “And she valued her privacy.”
Ryleigh nodded. “Thank you, Pastor. You’ve been most helpful.”
Pastor Edwards smiled and tipped his head in thankful acknowledgement. “Eleanor was special to God and to us.” He patted her hands politely and offered a firm handshake with Evan. “She was a strong woman and I sense her strength in her daughter as well. Yours will surface, Ryleigh, once healing has surpassed your grief.” Pastor Edwards took her hands, his engulfing hers in a warm cocoon. “If there’s anything I can do, you have my number.” He gave her hands a squeeze and then turned. The questions he’d raised disappeared with him into the crowd of mourners.
“You ready to go, Mom?”
She glanced around as the last of Eleanor’s friends filed through the entry gate. “Can you give me a minute, Son? Alone?”
He squeezed her arm. “I’ll wait with Nat and Mitch.”
The unpeopled silence filled the cemetery. Grief’s darkness pulled at her, yet life penetrated its thickening fog. Birds chattered. Tires splashed on wet asphalt. Wind murmured its song. A child laughed in the distance. Time passed in lethargic motion, stalled in the air heavy with the musty dampness of rotting leaves, and weighted in sorrow. To remain in the shadows of grief seemed effortless. To move forward, an unwelcomed burden. Yet life drifted by—air, light, and sound.
Only she stood lifeless.
Ryleigh blinked and the mental fog lifted. She removed a plastic bag from her purse and brought the roses to her nose, the scent a promise of sunshine and warmer days. Placing one white rose on top of the casket, she kissed her fingers and pressed them to the wood. “Sweet dreams, Mom.” With the second rose in hand, she turned to her left and paused.
Two white roses lay at the base of the headstone. She spun in a slow circle, searching. Who else knew of her mother’s affection for white roses? She turned back, knelt, and placed the last rose next to the others at the foot of Benjamin Endicott’s headstone. She kissed her fingers and pressed them to the engraved name. Cold rippled through her, choking her words. “You’re together again, Daddy.”
Light snow settled on her shoulders. Ryleigh rose and removed her gloves, tucking them neatly under her arm. With her palm facing the ground, she held her bare left hand in front of her and twisted the gold band, the metal a warm comfort—a reminder of the close family circle it once stood for. She removed it from her finger and clenched the ring tightly against her heart. The urge to run trembled in her legs. To reconsider. To forget. Then with a mix of grief and purpose, she straightened her shoulders and tossed the ring into the black hole of her mother’s grave.
Never before had it left her finger.
THE GNARLED TRUNK of an aged oak forked at the base, their girth twice that of a grown man. Chandler stood behind the tree, his head between the forks and eyes focused on his wife standing near the casket.
He adjusted his view to watch, longing to take her in his arms and hold her, protect her, and shield her from the pain. But he couldn’t force his feet to move and simply watched from the shadows of his blind.
She raised her ungloved left hand, tugged on her ring finger and hesitated—just for a moment—and tossed something into the grave. No light glinted from it, but he knew exactly what it was and what she’d done.
Gripped in the unbearable straightjacket of self-torment, his six-foot-two-inch frame slumped against the tree as if its strength could take the weight of regret from him.
Chandler shoved his hands deep in the pockets of his jeans, the collar of the lined denim jacket pulled up against the icy fingers of remorse. His eyes remained dry, yet his heart wept as he grieved the loss of someone he should never have let go.
Chapter Seven
RYLEIGH SHIVERED, BLEW into her hands, and then pressed them against the vents in the cab of the Tahoe.
“So,” Evan said, turning onto the highway, “what’s the plan for the weekend? I don’t intend to spend the next three days studying.”
Evan’s exuberance lifted the tension. She leaned into the seat and studied the concentration seeping into his features as he settled into the drive. “Do you know how to locate someone? You know, someone you don’t know anything about. Or who they are or where they live?”
“Thinking of joining a dating service?”
“God
, no.” Warmth flushed her cheeks.
He glanced at her with a sly smile. “You sure?”
“Positive. But I do need to find someone.”
“Who?”
She lingered on the thought. “Nat and I were going through your grandmother’s desk and we found a letter signed by someone named Ambrose.”
“Got your curiosity up, did it?”
“You’ll help?”
“What do you expect to find?”
“Nothing, probably. But your grandmother never mentioned this person, so how does he know us?” She waved her hand to dismiss the silly thought. “I can’t figure this out,” she said and turned to look out the window.
“I’m not into investigative reporting, but I am taking a media research class and this sounds intriguing.”
She studied her son with renewed interest. “I’ll show you the letter when we get home. And there’s something else I want you to see.”
“Look out, Jessica Fletcher.”
“Not hardly. But I have so many questions.”
Evan kept his eyes glued to the winding mountain highway, but concentration pinched the muscles of his jaw. The telltale sign confessed his absorption in deep thought, a mirror of his father’s. “Now I’m curious.”
“It would’ve been so much easier to just ask your grandmother.”
Evan agreed in a methodically slow nod.
Ponderosas passed in a blur. Sleet splattered against the windshield as they navigated the curves through Arizona’s Mogollon Rim. The more miles that separated her from the cemetery, the closer she was to a life alone. To answers she didn’t truly want to know. Though warm inside the Tahoe, she shivered. Ryleigh’s right hand swept to her left and she twisted a ring no longer there. The automatic gesture twisted nothing but the ghostly shadow of what once had been.
By dusk, the temperature had dropped dramatically. The wind skipped through town in fitful gusts depositing whirls of leaves in heaps. Intermittent waves of nickel-sized snowflakes feathered the sky and the shades of evening fell over Hidden Falls. Kingsley was curled contentedly at the end of the sofa engrossed in a cat bath.
Ryleigh retrieved the envelope Pastor Edwards had given her and sat next to Evan. Annoyed at the jostling, Kingsley peered at Evan, jumped off the sofa and strutted off.
“I didn’t do it, you poor excuse for a cat. Go do something constructive like puke up a fur ball.”
Ryleigh glared at him.
“Okay, okay.” Evan raised his hands in resignation. “I’ll try to be nice to the mangy critter.”
Ryleigh removed the policy and skimmed the information, Evan reading over her shoulder. Ryleigh’s hand flew to her forehead.
“I guess Gram wanted to take care of you.”
“Mom didn’t have any money for things like this. She barely made ends meet.”
Frowning, she returned the papers to the envelope and removed a sheet of stationery. She ran her finger curiously over the embossed fireflies.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, it’s just fireflies…” She rose. “Come with me.”
Evan followed her to the study. Ryleigh retrieved the journal from the desk and motioned for Evan to pull up a chair beside her. Without thinking, she pressed her palm to the stained cover. Her stomach fluttered.
“Looks old.”
She handed him the journal and watched his eyes move rhythmically through the verses and duly noted his expression, a reflection of hers.
When he’d finished reading, he looked at her with a deer-in-the-headlights stare. “Who wrote these? Fireflies are significant, there’s no doubt,” he pondered. “But why?”
“Don’t know the answer to the ‘why’ or the ‘who.’”
“Want to give another one a shot?” Evan’s eyes shone with anticipation. She understood the feeling. “Aloud?”
She nodded. “You read. I’ll listen.”
Evan turned a few pages and stopped. “This one’s called ‘Beside You.’
‘When raindrops dance upon your windowpane
or turn to a blanket of new-fallen snow—
and transform the earth to tranquil hill and vale
I’m there beside you, as the stillness quietly grows.
When a seedling emerges with the first breath of spring
or trees once barren burst forth in budding grace—
and the breeze wafts warmly against your skin
I’m there beside you, in subtle embrace.
When you hear the symphony of summer birds
or listen closely to the flutter of butterfly wings—
and hear the harmony of a wind chime’s notes
I’m there beside you, as the soft breeze sings.
When the wind whispers and gently graces your cheek
or whips golden autumn leaves upon the ground—
and chases chasms of sunlight into the dusk
I’m there beside you, just take a look around.
When you feel the last kiss of sunlight on your face
or as twilight beckons to steal the day—
and fireflies dance to their reticent song
I’m there beside you, a heartbeat away.’”
~R~’66
Evan set the journal in his lap. “Fireflies again.”
Ryleigh nodded and tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear.
“And it’s about separation. But Mister R comforts the recipient by telling her she can feel him with her in everything around her.”
“How do you know it’s a man?”
“I don’t. Just sounds like a guy.” Evan shrugged. “And you have some investigating to do.”
Ryleigh raised her eyebrows. “That’s the second time I’ve heard that.”
The corners of Evan’s mouth curled into a suspect smile. “This will drive you nuts until you figure it out.”
Murky afternoon skies slipped into the quiet shadows of night. Ryleigh curled into the round chair in her den, an unexplained edginess pushing its way through the part of her that begged to settle into some sort of calm, but clashed in a duel of wills. Pouring over loose papers instead, she couldn’t help but think how ironic it was an entire person’s life boiled down to two cardboard boxes stuffed with what amounted to little more than junk.
Kingsley curled next to her with a flick of the tail. “Hey, big guy,” she said stroking the sweet spot under his chin. His purr-motor reacted loudly, paws kneading her thighs.
“I didn’t see Dad at the funeral today, so I thought I’d go see him.” Ryleigh turned to see Evan standing in the doorway. “Don’t wait up. You look tired.”
Ryleigh acknowledged with a slight nod. “Please be careful.”
The door closed after him with a benign shudder. Ryleigh took a deep breath and giving into the relentless debate, tossed the papers aside and turned to the journal. An odd familiarity swept over her as she rested her palm against the dark stain. Sinking deep into the chair’s embrace, she turned to the first page. “Enchanted” spoke of wizards and fairy tales, shooting stars and fairy-dust kisses—a lover’s magical language. But it was “The Shadow” that caused the hair on her arms to stand on end.
‘it clings to my heels
follows me close
it clings to the earth
i think it knows
it’s there in the light
cloud or rainbow
it’s there in thunder
i think it knows
it trespasses thoughts
larger it grows
it devours dreams
i think it knows
it pollutes the mind
plague of souls
it taints my tears
i think it knows
under mask of fear
the shadow grows
under destiny’s guise
i’m sure it knows
it is the shadow
ever present still
it is the shadow
it is God’s will'
~R~ ‘67
She felt an inexplicable connection, of déjà vu, as she read the words. But there were no notes—nothing to hint at the writer—except the sole “R” and the year closing each composition.
Ryleigh let the journal fall to her lap. The pages hesitated, and then stood at attention—a silent plea to re-enter their world. She hesitated, yearning for more, yet sidestepping the urge to toss it back from where it came.
Instead, she turned to the last entry. Though she’d read this one before, the words begged her back inside them.
Encased in the fragile world of grief, every word seemed to settle in her heart as an ache, a growing abscess threatening to explode in a rush of anguish.
Reading the disturbing verses unleashed the anger, pain, and guilt she’d kept locked away. The barrier she’d built around herself as an impasse to a year of pain had shattered and it gushed from her, a flood of emotion for the decimation of years built on trust. Tears stung her eyes, and deep, aching sobs shook her shoulders.
Minutes ticked by. Her tears ran dry. In her forty-three years there had been tears, of course, but there had been happiness, and fun, and love. But late into this October night, she couldn’t see past the pain that had overtaken her tiny slice of the world. He’d been unfaithful once. How many other faceless ghosts would emerge? He’d never reeked of anything but sawdust and sweat, but looking back, she swore she felt the ghostly whispers of unnamed women stroke the inside of her mind. But what did it matter? One time or twenty, he’d still broken their vows. She would forgive, eventually; but contrary to popular belief, it was impossible to forget.
Evan turned the corner into the swanky neighborhood. The Civic’s headlights pierced the dark façade and portico, casting shadows in the stone crevices. As impressive as it was, he never felt comfortable here. In fact, it gave him the creeps and embarrassed him to think his dad couldn’t see through the motives of someone as superficial as Della Mayfair. She was hot, but come on, even someone his age could see through the false layers. Like a rotten onion. The deeper the layers, the deeper the spoiled flesh.
