“What do you think it's about?” Elizabeth asked. She'd asked that a dozen times before they'd left and the answer was always the same.
“We'll know when we get there. And,” Simon added craning his neck to see over the next rise. “Unless I'm mistaken, that won't be long now.”
The road had wound its way out of town and up and over a few rolling hills. As they crested the last, Elizabeth felt a tingle of anticipation. This was where it would all begin. Of course, they might not find out anything today, she reminded herself and smoothed down her skirt to give her hands something to do. They were there a day earlier than the one given on the list, just to get the lay of the land. She had hoped they might learn more about Mary Stewart before tomorrow, too.
The research they'd done at home wasn't very helpful. The name Mary Stewart was common enough to muddy the results and the historical records of the period were pretty limited. They'd also tried to find out if the date listed - May 5, 1852, 9 p.m. - was historically significant at all. Research didn't turn up much on that front either. It was, as far as the public record was concerned, an uneventful day. That left the location, Catholic Hill. It had been easy to find on the old maps, but knowing where it was didn't tamp down her unease.
“There it is,” Simon said as they came out from under a canopy of trees and out into the open.
Elizabeth pushed out a bracing breath as they drove into the city cemetery.
Chapter Two
Simon pulled the buggy off the road onto a grassy patch of shade just outside the main wall to the cemetery. He got out of the carriage and picked up the twenty-pound, iron bell-shaped hitch weight and lead rope from under the seat. Running his hand along the horse's back to calm her, he attached the lead rope to her bridle and set the weight down on the ground. With no groom or hitching post, the weight would act as an anchor and discourage her from straying. He hoped.
“Good girl,” he said giving the horse's cheek a friendly rub.
While he'd settled the horse, Elizabeth had managed to extricate herself from the buggy. She stood looking over the low, stone wall at the graveyard beyond, as unsure as he was as to just what exactly they were looking for. Doing a little early reconnoitering of the area was undoubtedly a good idea, but what they expected to find here, he wasn't sure.
He joined Elizabeth and expected her to fall into step with him as he approached the gate. When she didn't, he turned back. “Something wrong?”
She wrinkled her forehead in worry and shook her head.
He tried to suppress his smile as he walked back over to her. “Don't tell me you're afraid of graveyards.”
Her frown deepened. “Not afraid. I just don't like them.”
He was about to tease her when she looked up at him. The sadness in her eyes brought him up short.
She saw the concern in his face and shook her head. “It's okay. It's just … they're so full of endings, you know?”
Simon turned to look out at the grassy expanse, dotted with large oak trees and worn pathways.
“It feels like the only place on earth where hope doesn't belong,” she said.
The tiny thread of pain in her voice was something Simon hadn't heard before. He started to ask her about it when she started for the gate. “We should go before we lose the light.”
He watched her for a moment, concerned, and then lengthened his stride to catch up.
They walked up one of the paths toward the center of the cemetery. There, they found wooden signs marking the various portions including Jewish Hill and Catholic Hill. Catholic Hill housed a special section of the cemetery set aside for the paupers and the less fortunate and was the location on Sebastian's list. The afternoon sun bathed the grounds in a warm glow and long shadows began to stretch out from the trees and larger monuments. Small groups of people gathered at various gravesites to pay their respects. But the only sound was the wind coming off the river from across the road.
Simon looked down at Elizabeth as they walked along the well-planned paths between rows of gleaming white headstones and large mausoleums. Whatever had troubled her at the gate still lingered. No one else would have noticed the subtle change in her body language or felt the slight undercurrent of unease. To anyone else, she would have appeared as her usual self, open and curious.
Feeling him watching her, she turned and smiled up at him. It was a genuine smile and not one sent to simply assuage him. Simon put away his worry, for now.
The grand mausoleums and obelisks gave way to simpler headstones until they reached a section set off from the rest. It was covered with small wooden anonymous crosses. As they moved closer, Simon realized that the people in the distance were not visiting, but conducting a funeral.
An elderly priest and two women stood at the foot of a freshly dug grave. Simon and Elizabeth watched from afar as the priest finished and nodded solemnly to the two women before walking away. The older of the two women wore a simple black dress and dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. The younger, clearly wealthier woman, judging from the silk of her dress, patted the other woman's arm consolingly and then led her away from the grave.
Once the women were out of sight, Simon and Elizabeth continued on. It wasn't until they were close to the grave that they could see how small it was. A child's grave.
Simon felt Elizabeth's hand slip into his. The pall she'd carried with her since they arrived settled heavily on his shoulders.
A man appeared at the graveside and began to shovel the mound of dark fresh earth back into the grave. The clumps of heavy dirt cascaded and drummed against the wooden lid of the small pine box inside. It was a wholly unsettling sound.
Despite that, they stood transfixed. It felt wrong to watch and yet somehow disrespectful to turn away.
With such a small grave, the man's work was quickly done and he patted the earth down with the back of the shovel. He took off his hat and wiped his brow before bowing his head and saying a silent prayer. When he looked up again, he nodded to them in greeting and then looked sadly back at the grave. “Such a wee thing,” he said with a gentle Irish lilt. “Did you know the gal?”
Simon shook his head and the man nodded again. The three of them stood in silence at the grave for a moment before the man tipped his hat and quietly walked down one of the paths.
“What was her name?” Elizabeth asked suddenly.
The man stopped and turned back. “Mary, ma'am. Mary Stewart.”
Chapter Three
Elizabeth couldn't explain what had prompted her to ask the child's name. The words had just come out. And yet, some part of her knew what the answer would be.
“Mary Stewart?” Simon repeated.
The man nodded, tipped his hat once more and resumed his way back toward the main road.
“It's a common name,” Simon said. “We must have come across a dozen or more in our research.”
Elizabeth looked over at the grave. “But how many of them are here on Catholic Hill?”
Simon didn't have an answer for that. “Perhaps a relative of the girl? One of those women?”
It was possible, but Elizabeth knew that wasn't going to be the case. She could hear in Simon's voice that he didn't really think so either. He was more pragmatic than she was and giving himself over to the illogical, no matter how much he knew it to be true in his heart was difficult for him. He'd come to accept it though. Elizabeth could feel the truth of it. It vibrated inside her like a living thing. “It's her,” she said.
Simon looked like he was going to argue the point further, but instead he sighed and frowned down at the grave. His fingers brushed against Elizabeth's and took hold of her hand.
How on earth were they going to help someone who was already dead?
~~~
Elizabeth tugged off her gloves and laid them on the cloth-covered table as Simon ordered dinner and a bottle of wine. She leaned back in her chair, running her bare fingers over the dark wood and upholstered velvet armrests. The setting was rich and for the
rich. The table legs, to the extent they were visible beneath the starkly white starched tablecloths, had deeply carved legs with lion’s heads and huge clawed feet. The lighting was warm and a little smoky. Candles burned in their holders on the table and in the huge crystal chandeliers above and oil lamp sconces flickered against the dark wooden walls. The restaurant was lavishly furnished with early and very elaborate Victorian detail.
“I hope claret's all right,” Simon said.
“Honestly, I could use a bourbon after this afternoon.”
Simon hmm'd in agreement and shook out his linen napkin before slipping it onto his lap. “If you're right—”
“I am.”
Simon ceded the point with a nod. “Then this mission will be challenging.”
“Unlike the others,” Elizabeth said with a grin. She took a sip of water and was grateful for the cooling sensation it brought. Although it hadn't been a hot day, wearing all of these clothes was beginning to take its toll.
Simon smiled back and then cocked his head to the side. “Are you all right?”
Elizabeth plucked at the lace collar of her dress. “Just a little hot.”
“I'm sure, but I meant, about earlier,” he said, treading carefully in a way he seldom did with others.
Elizabeth wrinkled her face into a frown. It wasn't something she liked to talk about. “It just makes me think about daddy.”
She'd told Simon about her gambler father, of course, and even how he'd died when she was just seventeen. But what she hadn't spoken about was how that made her feel. How standing in the dry dusty cemetery in Texas as they lowered her father into the ground had been the loneliest moment of her life. No matter how loved she felt now, she could still feel the bite from the cold wind and taste the dust in her mouth. That singular moment when she realized she was completely alone.
Simon reached across the table and covered her hand with his. His hand was warm and strong. She could tell from the look in his eyes that he wanted to know more, that he wanted to help, to take away the pain of the memories, but he loved her and trusted her enough to wait until she was ready.
Nestled next to the comfort he offered was a mirror to her pain. Simon was no stranger to loss, she reminded herself. He'd buried both his parents and his grandparents and had spent the better part of his life alone. She was hardly a special snowflake.
Feeling suddenly embarrassed at her indulgent self-pitying, Elizabeth squeezed his hand and gave him a sniffley smile. “It's silly. It was years ago…”
“Some moments never fade,” Simon said. He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. “Not all of them bad though.”
Elizabeth nodded and let go of his hand as the waiter arrived with their wine. As Simon approved it and their glasses filled, a gentleman and two very attractive women entered the restaurant. They must have been well-known, because a few of the patrons stared and whispered appreciatively. Judging from their make-up, so much rouge and lipstick were hardly de rigueur for the typical Southern woman, they might be from the showboat that docked at the landing earlier that day. One of the women even winked at Simon as they passed by.
Simon coughed to hide his embarrassment.
“Too bad Jack isn't here,” Elizabeth said not bothering to hide her amusement. “He would have enjoyed that.”
Simon took a sip of wine. “No doubt, but I think he made the right choice in staying home. He needs some time to himself.”
That was probably an understatement. Jack's broken heart had a long way to go before it healed. If it ever did, Elizabeth thought sadly. Since they'd returned from 1930's Hollywood, Jack hadn't been the same. Oh, he'd dated. A lot. But his heart wasn't in it. He'd sacrificed his chance at love to protect the timeline and the wounds were still raw even a month later.
“He'll be fine,” Simon said as if he'd read her thoughts. “And, after all, we'll be back before he has a chance to miss us. Or miss you, at least.”
“You're probably right,” Elizabeth said. “But it wouldn't have been the worst thing in the world to have another set of eyes on this.”
“It is a bit of a puzzle, isn't it?”
The waiter arrived with their meals — stuffed chicken and new potatoes for Elizabeth and roast mutton and asparagus for Simon. They both smelled delicious. Now that she'd had a chance to cool down and recover from the day, she realized she was actually starving.
She took a bite of chicken and then washed it down with a little wine.
“If she is our Mary, what are we supposed to see tomorrow? I mean, who goes to visit a grave in the middle of the night?”
“Someone who doesn't want to be seen.”
“The two women we saw there today didn't mind being seen. We should track them down tomorrow.”
“Agreed,” Simon said. “They were an odd pair, weren't they?”
Their clothes were definitely from different social strata. “Neither of them looked very motherly.”
Simon swallowed a piece of his mutton and wiped his mouth with his napkin. “You could tell that from twenty yards away?”
“Maybe. You have to admit, neither of them looked like you'd expect a mother to if she'd just lost her child.”
Simon nodded. “True.”
“Did you see all of those children's graves? Can you imagine?” The memory of it made her shudder.
“Considering the infant mortality rate is nearly one in ten and worse still until adulthood, I'm surprised there weren't more.” He took a long drink from his wine glass. “But, no, I can't imagine.”
The topic settled like a lead balloon on the table between them. The idea of burying her own child chased away Elizabeth's appetite. She reached for her wine.
“We should start with the priest tomorrow,” Simon said, neatly closing the door to that topic. “I'm sure he can tell us where we might find those two women.”
“Good idea.” Elizabeth put her glass down and ran her finger along the stem. “I've been thinking. If she is our Mary, why don't we go back earlier in time,” she continued, “and help her before she…”
“Dies?” Simon finished for her. He frowned. “I've thought about that as well, but however tempting, I don't think it's wise. We have no idea the repercussions a change like that might bring to the timeline.”
Elizabeth sighed. “I know. I just…” She shook her head.
Simon reached across the table and gave her hand a comforting squeeze before letting go. “We have to trust that we've been given this window, here, now, for a reason. We have to trust my grandfather. We have to trust the list.” He picked up his wine glass and stared into it before meeting her eyes again. “No matter how difficult that might be.”
He was right, of course. She'd known that in her heart already. But knowing it didn't make it any easier.
The rest of dinner was subdued. The thought of what they might face tomorrow preoccupied them both. And things lingered unsaid.
~~~
Simon stood at the window of their hotel room and watched the morning street traffic. Horses and riders varied as much as cars and drivers back home. Instead of a beat-up pickup truck, an old swayback or ancient mule carried a poor tenant farmer. In place of a luxury sports car, a high-strung thoroughbred pranced among the carts and wagons with a wealthy planter astride. The more things changed…he thought.
A particularly large cart stopped just beneath the window. The driver barked orders to some unseen men who appeared and began to unload the supplies in the back. A large crate was mishandled and dropped to the sidewalk with a thunderous crash.
Simon spun around to see if the noise had awakened Elizabeth. He smiled to himself and shook his head. She continued to quietly snore away. That woman could sleep through anything. He'd always envied her that. Always a restless sleeper and early riser, he'd gotten used to being up well before she opened her eyes. Those quiet moments in the morning, before the whirlwind that was life with Elizabeth, gave him a chance to reflect and consider. It gave him time to thank the po
wers that be for sparing him from the life he'd felt sure he was destined for. He could still feel the shadow of that world, but the loneliness that used to pull him under was gone. Never in a thousand years had he thought he could be part of something, or more to the point, want to be part of something outside himself. Now, he couldn't imagine life any other way.
Elizabeth moaned softly and rolled onto her side. Her arm flopped onto the side of the bed he'd vacated. She must have been expecting to find him there and the shock of finding an empty space instead pulled her from sleep. She blinked against the morning light streaming through the tall window where Simon stood.
“Good morning,” he said.
She mumbled something unintelligible and blinked rapidly several times.
“Natchez,” Simon supplied, having gone through the same confusion an hour earlier when he'd awakened.
Elizabeth nodded and smiled sleepily.
Simon turned back to the window. “It's a beautiful day. Not too warm, I hope.”
He heard Elizabeth slide out of bed and pad over to join him. She leaned against his back and her warm hands slipped inside his half-buttoned-shirt. He covered them with his own, and turned around in the circle of her arms and kissed the crown of her head.
She nodded sleepily against his chest. “Morning.”
He chuckled, and led her over to a small table with a pitcher and washbasin. He poured some fresh water into the bowl for her and left her to splash water on her face and come fully awake.
While she did that, Simon slipped on his vest and took his pocket watch off the wooden stand on the side table. He checked it, as a force of habit, and slipped it and key fob into his vest pocket. “The desk clerk will probably be able to tell us where we can find the priest. If I remember our research correctly, there weren’t many Catholic churches in Natchez, so he shouldn't be hard to find.”
“Breakfast first,” Elizabeth said as she pulled off her long cotton nightgown and tossed it onto the bed.
Thursday's Child (Out of Time #5) Page 2
