Page 49 of It Happened in the Highlands
“I’m not,” he replied, smiling down into her upturned face. “Does it still make you feel better?”
“Much better. Thank you.” Her bright eyes glistened with unshed tears. “I’ve put so much hope into finding an answer. And now, as the possibility of learning the truth becomes stronger, I feel so unsure. It’s no longer simply an issue of knowing. What happens if I don’t like the answer?”
“Does it matter?” he asked. “Whatever you learn today or tomorrow or next year, it doesn’t change who you are. And it won’t change anything for those who love you.”
Jo smiled and nodded.
“We all need to do what we know is right,” he continued. “Travel the road that we must. Even say the words that we should have said long ago. You’re doing it. You’re chasing an answer that means something important to you. But if you find nothing at the end of this journey, you’ve lost nothing in the search.”
He lifted her chin and wiped away a tear from her cheek.
“You are closer now than ever before, Jo.”
“I know,” she agreed, appearing to be satisfied.
Retracing their steps, they’d just reached the stone wall of the kirkyard when a thin young man wearing a dark suit and waistcoat came hurrying down the path toward them.
The curate hailed them and introduced himself. The old man they’d spoken to earlier had informed him strangers were waiting for him.
Wynne handed Mr. Kealy the letter of introduction provided by Dermot’s uncle, and the curate quickly scanned the contents.
“It will be my pleasure to assist you in any way I can, m’lady,” he said, directing his words at Jo as he glanced at a pocket watch. “Unfortunately, I have only a few minutes at present. I have a previous commitment I must honor, but I can help you once I have fulfilled that obligation.”
“Of course. But could you tell us if you do have records that might help us?” she asked.
“We do indeed. And I’ve been particularly diligent during my tenure here.” Kealy paused and looked at Wynne. “I must say, however, that hasn’t always been the case. Sadly, I know of one curate in recent years who was . . . well, less devoted, shall we say?”
Wynne and Jo exchanged a look as the young man motioned for them to follow him up the path toward the church.
The curate turned to her again. “What is it exactly that you hope to find, m’lady?”
“I’d like to start by looking up the name of a gentleman who may have some connection with Garloch. I can also supply the gentleman’s age, if that helps.”
Passing through a gate into the cemetery, Wynne was struck by the inordinately large number of graves.
“We keep records of birth, baptisms, marriages, and burials in a secure box with two locks,” Kealy told them. “Everyone in the parish is there. Since the change in the law six years ago, we’ve used the official registers from the King’s Printer, and once a year I send a duplicate copy of our records to the office in Aberdeen.”
“And how far back do these records date?” Wynne asked him.
“Well, with the exception of my predecessor, the curates and rectors have kept exceptional records going back to the years before the Union. So, well over a century, I’d say.”
The young man paused and looked thoughtfully at the graves around them. Many of the older stone markers nearest the church had fallen or were askew.
“But of course, one must discount the damage caused by the great flood. And there’s no telling how accurately the records were kept immediately following it.”
“The great flood?” Jo asked.
“Not Noah’s flood, m’lady, but a terrible version of it that struck Garloch, folks say. It was well before my time, but parishioners talk of it still. The churchyard was inundated. You can see the damage to the stones here. The water even reached the church, and the vestry was badly damaged. Actually, we’re fortunate the record box wasn’t lost entirely.”
“When was this flood?” Wynne took Jo’s hand in his, remembering Charles Barton’s agitation about Jo drowning.
“Let me see.” The curate stared at the sky for a few moments as if trying to recall the year. “I’m embarrassed to say I can’t tell you, but—”
“Do you have an approximate year?” Jo persisted.
The young man glanced past the older graves.
“This way, if you please.” He motioned for them to follow. “Quite a few died in that flood. And not just villagers, so I understand. Innocent folk traveling through were caught unawares and swept away. Many were buried in that section over there.”
