Page 19 of The Lost Hours
Earlene pulled away and Helen felt her kneel. “It’s the biggest monument, though. And somebody’s brought flowers recently.”
Helen let her hands trail down the monument until she was kneeling next to Earlene. “Yes, well, Malily comes here dutifully once a month and puts flowers on his grave. She’s always been good with appearances.”
“What do you mean?”
Helen stood and turned away, picturing the row of smaller head-stones that rose from the earth like historical markers, indicating the periods of epidemics that took the lives of children and left the parents with cold marble in a cemetery. She faced Earlene again, not sure why she’d chosen this stranger to confide in. Maybe it was because they were both essentially orphans. Or maybe it was Earlene’s admission that her parents’ deaths had felt like a desertion worthy of her anger. And Helen knew all about that.
“The first time Malily brought me here, I was about seven or eight. She either thought I was too young to remember or to understand, but when she put down the flowers for Grandpa Charlie, she didn’t say anything sentimental. Nothing like ‘I love you’ or ‘We’ll be together again.’ ”
“What did she say?”
Helen shook her head. “It sounded a lot like ‘I’m sorry’ and then ‘Thank you.’ Not that Malily is prone to sentimentality, but I’ve always remembered how strange it was to say that to a man you were married to for so long. Look, Earlene. . . .” She stopped, not really sure if she wanted to continue, recalling Earlene’s words.My own parents died in a car accident when I was six. I don’t remember them very well, but I still miss them. I was angry for a long time that they’d left me behind.She took a deep breath. “I’d like to help you with your research. If you’d like. I was helping Susan before . . . before she died. She’d found some old letters of my grandparents and other miscellaneous papers in the attic. I think that’s what started her genealogy kick. Anyway, I don’t think Malily would mind you seeing them—at least after I speak with her. And if you think it would help, I could bring you over to the house for the two of you to get to know each other better. She might even offer information on her own once she gets to know you. At the very least, I could answer any of your questions that I can.”
A rustle of wings disturbed the silence above them. “That’s very generous of you, Helen, but I don’t . . .”
“Please don’t say no. It’ll give me something to do besides helping Malily with the estate and painting. My brother’s not much company these days and I’d welcome the distraction.”
Earlene was silent for a long moment as if weighing her need to find information with her need to stay aloof. Finally, she said, “All right. Thank you. I promise not to take advantage of your generosity, though, and put you at odds with your grandmother.”
“I’m glad to help. You’re the most interesting thing that’s happened here since . . . well, for a while.”
“That makes two of us then. That’s the first time I’ve been called interesting in probably as long.”
They both shared a laugh until Helen heard Earlene’s stop abruptly. Crunching leaves and sticks marked her passage to the far side of the cemetery. “Is this a moonflower vine?”
“Yes, it is. But it refuses to bloom. I think Lillian’s given up on it now, but she used to tell me that she’d come here at night to see if it would bloom, but it never did.”
Earlene didn’t say anything but Helen heard her take a few steps. “There’s a grave here—but it’s on the other side of the fence, outside of the cemetery, and it has fresh flowers on it. I can’t read the inscription. Do you know whose it is and why it’s there?”
Helen’s lips began to tremble as they always did when she remembered. She could even still smell the scent of rain when they’d come to tell them that they’d found Susan in the river. Even now, she could hear Tucker calling Susan’s name as he’d searched for her and taste her own tears on her lips. Odd, she thought, how something she hadn’t seen could be so imprinted on all of her other senses.
“That’s Susan’s grave. My grandmother wouldn’t allow her to be buried in sanctified ground.”
Earlene didn’t respond right away, but Helen could hear the rush of breath as she sifted through the possibilities.
“Why?”
Helen swallowed. “She killed herself.”
Earlene’s breath came heavier now. “Oh. I’m so sorry—I didn’t mean to intrude. . . .”
“That’s all right. You’d find out eventually anyway. It was very sad, especially for her children.”
“She had children?”
“Two girls. Lucy and Sara. They’re eight and five now. Young, but old enough to remember her.” Helen paused, listening to the whir of cicadas hang in the summer air for a moment, suspended over them like anticipation, then evaporate into silence. “They actually seem to have come to terms with it. Susan wasn’t . . . a happy person, I guess you would say. The girls probably see it as some sort of relief.”
Helen heard Earlene approaching again. “Your poor brother.” Earlene’s footsteps stopped. “What about this one? It’s a small stone angel stuck by itself in the corner.” She paused and Helen pictured her leaning down to examine it more closely. “There’s no inscription on it.”
“It’s a bit of a mystery, I’m afraid. Nobody seems to know what it is or how long it’s been here. Susan was obsessed with it. I think that’s why Tucker chose to bury her nearby.”
She reached out for Earlene’s arm and felt again the reassuring pressure of her hand as Earlene brought it to the crook in her elbow—the one without the scar this time.
“Did he love her very much, then?” Earlene began to lead her toward the gate.
Helen stumbled on something soft and small and stopped to pick it up. She held it out to Earlene. “It feels like a glove.”
Earlene took it from her hand. “It is. It’s a man’s riding glove.”
