Rebecca drew herself up. “Well, I am on my way to the churchyard.”
“To visit your parents’ graves, of course. Here, let me give you some flowers....” Kitty disappeared behind the wall, bending to retrieve her basket. “I was cutting them for the parlour, but I can easily cut more.”
She handed over an informal bouquet of daffodils and tulips.
“Thank you, Kitty. That is very kind of you. I hope to see you again while I am here.”
“I shall make sure of it!”
Rebecca continued up the street past the vicarage, which was—perhaps mercifully—mostly out of sight behind a tall hedge.
Reaching the church where her father had faithfully served as vicar, she pushed open the old gate, which swung wide with rusty reluctance.
Eyes lowered to watch her footing on the cracked path, she walked by listing, lichen-spotted monuments until she came to her parents’ gravestone.
Gone to their Redeemer
Elizabeth Stephens Lane
and
Rev. Arthur Lane
Beloved Parents
Forever In Our Hearts
Rebecca bent and pulled the weeds that had cropped up during her absence. One sapling clung tenaciously to life. She tugged hard and almost fell in extracting the stubborn root.
Finally satisfied, she laid the flowers before the shared gravestone.
“These are from Kitty Fenchurch,” she whispered. As she straightened, tears heated her eyes. “I think of you both every day, and I miss you.” Her voice thickened, and she added hoarsely, “Though in some ways, I am glad you are not here. You would hate to see John like this, struggling so. But then, maybe if you were here, he would not be.” The old feelings of inadequacy and guilt sluiced through her, running down the deep gullies carved into her soul.
A voice startled her, and she looked up.
Several yards away, beyond the shady sprawl of an oak tree, a man stood before a headstone that appeared fairly new. He wore a green frock coat and buff trousers, hat in hand, head bowed. Frederick Wilford. She decided she would quietly retreat and leave him to grieve in peace. But as she turned to tiptoe away, his words reached her ears.
“I am sorry. Truly.”
She paused, struck by the lament in his voice.
Heart squeezing, she walked slowly toward him. Her half boots scuffed a stone, and he looked up, expression stricken.
She said, “Forgive me for intruding. Are you ... all right? If you prefer to be alone, I will go. But if there is anything I can do...”
“Stay a minute, Miss Lane, if you would.”
“Of course.” She moved to stand beside him, reading his wife’s epitaph. Reserved words, she thought. NoBeloved, orForever in Our Hearts. She cautioned herself not to infer too much from the simple, though dignified, inscription.
Rebecca twisted gloved fingers, searching for something to say. “I ... suppose you ... visit her grave often?”
He shook his head. “Not in some time. But I felt drawn here today. To try to come to terms with what happened. I have ... regrets.”
Rebecca’s chest tightened. “I am sorry.”
He nodded. “Thank you, but please don’t pity me. I neither want nor deserve it.”
The rumors Kitty had whispered snaked through her mind. Surely, he’d had nothing to do with his wife’s death. Had he?
