“We won’t give up,” she said forcefully. “But you’re tired. Get some sleep.”
She went to the foyer and reached for her jacket.
“Where are you going?” asked the first young woman.
“I need some air.” She opened the door. “I’ll be back soon.”
Outside, the sky was just beginning to lighten through the clouds. The drizzle from yesterday was forecast to continue off and on but, for now, it wasn’t raining. Across the road, the golf course was dark, but she could hear the distant roar of mowers. She set out for the village, drawing her collar up against the chill.
The cool air helped clear the fog of disbelief from her head, but that only left room for the ache in her heart.
The village streets were deserted. A few lights were on in houses she passed as she wound her way through town to the cemetery. Even without full sunlight, she knew where she was going. Unlike the village, the cemetery was full of activity. Squirrels hopped around, gathering acorns and walnuts that had dropped from the trees. The birds were noisy, hopping up to perch on headstones and chirp before pouncing on unsuspecting worms in the grass. A fat groundhog trundled along, pausing to watch her as she made her way to a gleaming white stone.
Ignoring the wetness that soaked into her jeans, she knelt, brushing away a few branches that littered the grassy surface of the grave.
Unable to hold her emotions in any longer, she bent double, letting herself cry the tears she hadn’t wanted to shed in front of her students.
After what felt like a long time, she sat up, wiping her face. The sun was just visible over the horizon, a gauzy spotlight through the clouds as she heaved a shaky breath.
“It happened again.”
She reached out to run her fingers over the smooth marble.
“I know I promised I wouldn’t give up, Henrietta, but sometimes, it’s just so damned hard. I wish I could talk to you.”
As if she were listening, she cocked her head. After some minutes, she bowed her head.
“But I know what you’d say, don’t I?”
She sniffed and pushed to her feet. “Got work to do, Hank.”
Brushing her knees off, she turned back in the direction of the house.
As she left the cemetery, the clouds broke, and sunlight streamed through in rays that resembled an Italian Renaissance scene. One of the beams lit on the white stone, illuminating the deep carving there.
Meryn Grace Fleming
November 23, 1959 –
Invisible, as music…
Henrietta Marie Cochran
April 11, 1930 – July 3, 1999
…Positive, as sound
The End
About the Author
Bestselling author Caren Werlinger published her first award-winning novel, Looking Through Windows, in 2008. Since then, she has published fourteen more novels, winning several more awards. Influenced by a diverse array of authors, including Rumer Godden, J.R.R. Tolkein, Ursula LeGuin, Marion Zimmer Bradley, Willa Cather and the Brontë sisters, Caren writes literary fiction that features the struggles and joys of characters readers can identify with. Her stories cover a wide range of genres: historical fiction, contemporary drama, and fantasy, including the award-winning Dragonmage Saga, a fantasy trilogy set in ancient Ireland. She has lived in Virginia for nearly thirty years where she practices physical therapy, teaches anatomy and lives with her wife and their canine fur-children.
Website: carenwerlinger.com
Blog: cjwerlinger.wordpress.com
Amazon: www.amazon.com/Caren-J.-Werlinger/e/B002BOI2ZI
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Invisible, as Music Page 38