Page 41 of From Salt to Skye


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I thought of the letters, folded and tucked in their envelopes and sitting neatly under my pillow in the keep. I thought it fitting that Keats would keep a box of old love letters, that last living witness to something as profound as what Atlas and Fawn had experienced.

I decided then that my next step involved a soapy bucket and bristle brush.

Within minutes, I was walking out to the graveyard, full wash bucket, brush, and rags in hand along with my defunct smartphone that now was only good for its camera. At least with a photo, I could document the lost souls still bound to this land and Leith. I could cement their existence in the history books of time.

And I knew exactly which gravestone I would start with.

The big one.

The angel wings were poised to spread but were also hanging with moss and dead thorns, as if being held back from ascension.

I started first with pulling down the debris, admiring the delicate work of the angel’s wings the more the sun was allowed to shine on its sculpted planes. I then moved to the front of the stone, working at the epitaph and wondering who had been so special to warrant the expense of a stone this large. People whose souls were worth remembering, I figured.

I scrubbed with the coarse brush first, dipping it into the soapy water until shades of moss colored my soap bubbles. I scrubbed the length of the stone and then worked along the next path. My fingers twitched with awareness when I realized what I’d found.

The epitaph read:

When we two parted

In silence and tears,

Half brokenhearted

To sever for years,

Pale grew thy cheek and cold,

Colder thy kiss;

Truly that hour foretold

Sorrow to this.

The dew of the morning

Sunk chill on my brow—

It felt like the warning

Of what I feel now.

In secret, we met—

In silence, I grieve,

That thy heart could forget,

Thy spirit deceive.

If I should meet thee

After long years,

How should I greet thee?—

With silence and tears.

I worked quicker then,anxious to confirm my assumptions as hot tears hovered at my eyelids. The grime came easily off the first name: