The old man’s eyes met mine, a scowl on his face before he turned away. “Mornin’.”
I followed him outside as he stumbled along after the dogs. They hobbled easily, mimicking Keats’s unsteady walk in a funny way. Wasn’t that something they said? Dogs often looked like their owners? I thought how true it was in this case, right down to the wiry salt-and-pepper hair.
“Plans today?” Keats paused when he reached the edge of the graveyard, the dogs lingering in the woods at its perimeter. Their noses were bent as if they were on a cold trail. Just like my reason for being here. I thought again of his unofficial status as the local historian. How would I ever get this man of few words to open up to me? Was it possible he had been here when my great-aunt was?
“You got cotton in your ears this morning?”
“Excuse me?” I hummed, eyes trained on the tiny limestone-washed cottage across the loch.
“I asked if you’ve got plans today. Or will you just be trailing me around while I work?”
“Oh, I was going to spend more time in the library researching, I guess, and then maybe wash off a few of these gravestones—”
“Why would ye go and do that now?”
“Why not now?”
“Most people ain’t wantin’ them disturbed.”
“But you can’t even read the names.”
“What good are names if ye don’t know a damn one of ’em?”
“Well, research, for starters…”
“Everything you need to know is in those books. Mightin’ lose ya mind spending so much time in that musty library, though.”
“This looks like a good spot to read.” I gestured to the large boulder that anchored one corner of the cemetery.
“With dead folks? Livin’ have more to say. Why not try the Hazelwood?”
“The Hazelwood?”
“The pub in Kylemore.”
“The pub? At this time of morning?”
“Spike ya coffee with some whisky and tip well, and Harris’ll tell ya anything you want to know.”
“All right, then. I guess I’m going to the pub before noon.”
“Never a dull moment ’round here.” He’d already turned away, his limp particularly pronounced this morning. I wondered if he’d had an accident.
“Have a good day, Keats.” I waved as I turned back to Leith.
“You start readin’ that book I told you about?”
“I read the foreword and chapter one. I’ve been focusing on old newspaper headlines and the history of Kylemore village and Leith Hall, though.”
Keats huffed. “Aye, cockswaddle, all of it. The greatest truths lie in fiction, lass. No one tells the stories worth telling and owns up to it, at least not while they’re alive.”
I laughed at his strange turn of words, waving again before I headed for the old wooden doors of Leith.
Fable
“So, you’re the new lassbrave enough to stay at Leith?”
I sputtered and spat out my lukewarm coffee. “Pardon?”
