‘Well, I think we can safely say, you’ve come to the right place.’ The vicar gave a little chuckle. ‘I’ve got a graveyard full of them. Any particular dead person?’
‘That I am a little unsure of,’ admitted Molly. ‘Do you hold records for each burial plot?’
‘The local county record office does, but in this weather it’s likely closed. I’m not even sure the bridge is open for you to travel there.’
‘Is that the only record?’ asked Molly, knowing she couldn’t wait that long to answer the question she so desperately needed answering.
‘Or there’s the computer.’ The vicar gestured towards the computer in front of him. ‘Everything these days is computerised but I really don’t like technology. I’m all about the simple things in life, pen and paper.’
‘I can find what I’m looking on the computer without travelling into town to the county offices?’
‘Yes, it’s simple. All you need is the deceased’s full name and it will tell you what plot they are buried in and then…’ The vicar got up and walked over to a large chest. He elevated the lid and Molly watched as he lifted out a leather-bound folder. The vicar sat back down and cleared a space on his desk. He carefully took off the band that bound the book together and opened up what looked like a map. He tapped it. ‘Then I can tell you exactly where they are buried.’
Molly was staring at the prehistoric-looking map in front of her, which had numbers written all over it and the churchyard drawn in fountain pen. The paper looked fragile and old.
‘Free plots are still available, but not many. Look out for the January sale, you buy one and can get one free.’
Molly raised an eyebrow. ‘I’ll bear that in mind.’
‘Make sure you do, because people are dying to get in here.’ The vicar laughed at his own joke. ‘The old ones are still the best.’
‘What if I don’t know the deceased’s name?’
‘Then that is a little trickier. I’d need the name to locate the plot.’
Molly sighed. ‘Somehow, I thought you were going to say that.’ Molly was kicking herself for racing up here so quickly. The easiest thing would have been to ask Bree her mother’s name but she hadn’t been thinking straight.
‘Is there no headstone?’ continued the vicar.
‘Unfortunately not, but what if I know where the plot is?’
The vicar pondered for a second. ‘That’s different, we just need to work backwards. I can locate the plot number on here and see who is buried in there…’
Molly brightened. ‘Fantastic. I can show you where the plot is.’
‘I’m intrigued, who exactly are you trying to find?’
Molly exhaled. ‘Possibly my mother.’
Chapter Eleven
The vicar looked confused. ‘I may be a little long in the tooth but my memory is still going very strong, unlike my knees; those steep stairs into that vicarage can be a little challenging at times… But I know exactly where Di and Doug are buried, and you do too. I see you tend to the grave.’
‘I was adopted.’
The vicar processed the information. ‘Well, I never. I always said to Doug you were the spitting image of him.’ He looked amazed.
Molly smiled. ‘He would have been so chuffed with that. Di and Doug were wonderful to me and so I’ve never had any real desire to look up my biological parents before now. I’ve been so happy with my life and I couldn’t have wished for better parents.’
‘Well, they were lovely people and you were a lovely family. Always had the time of day for the church. But what I don’t understand is why you think your biological mother is buried in this churchyard.’
‘Call it a hunch. I may be way off the mark but it’s something I just need to keep to myself for the time being.’ Molly pointed to the plan of plots. ‘It’s in this area, near to the bench. The whole area is covered in deep snow so I’m not entirely sure which it is, but it’s definitely one of those.’
The vicar adjusted the spectacles on the end of his nose and stared at the place where Molly was pointing. He nodded. ‘And you do not know your biological mother’s name?’
Molly shook her head. ‘I know that sounds daft but I was a little girl when I was adopted and I only ever called her “Mummy”. Di and Doug are really all I have ever known and though they never hid from me the fact I was adopted, they also never talked about who or where I’d come from and so I never really gave it much thought. But I keep getting flashbacks to the time I was around four or five years old, and it’s made me wonder about where I came from.’
‘I best get my coat. There are a few in that area with no headstones so it would help if you could pinpoint the plot outside for me. If you could excuse me for a moment.’
