Page 47 of The Lost Hours
Frustrated, I slid my chair back and stood. After circling the living room and kitchen several times, I left the cottage, not really sure where I was heading.
Helen sat on the ledge at the bottom of the obelisk and took another drag from her cigarette. She’d taken to smoking in places where the children couldn’t find her, their disapproval taking all of the fun out of smoking. Mardi crouched beside her as if making sure she wouldn’t slip off the narrow ledge while her heels sank into the soft earth around her grandfather’s grave.
The canvas she’d been working on sat tucked behind the obelisk, out of the sun. She’d been painting Earlene, using Tucker’s description, seeing her clearly now in her mind and hoping she’d managed to at least convey part of it onto canvas. She wasn’t sure if she was done, and would wait a while before calling Tucker to come and retrieve her and her paints.
Helen heard the approaching uneven footsteps before Mardi sat up at attention and let out a bark of warning. “Earlene?”
The sound of crunching leaves became louder. “Is my limp really that bad?” Earlene’s voice sounded more amused than annoyed.
“Just distinctive,” Helen assured her. “You know, maybe you should talk to Emily about exercises you could be doing that might lessen your limp. She’s studying to be a physical therapist.”
Earlene’s footsteps stopped abruptly in front of Helen. “I don’t need fixing.”
Helen smiled, then took another drag from her cigarette. “Oh, we all need fixing.”
Earlene leaned against the ledge. “You shouldn’t smoke; it’s really bad for you.”
“I was blinded by measles as a child. I figure lightning has already struck me once—it’s not going to strike me again.”
Silence fell on the cemetery, the only sound that of the wind in the trees and a small sigh from Earlene.
“I used to think the same thing. When my parents died I thought I’d already lived through the worst thing that could happen to me. But I was wrong.”
“You had your accident on the horse.”
“Yes.”
“And now you think fate’s gunning for you, waiting to trip you up again.” Helen took a long drag from her cigarette, waiting for her words to sink in. “I don’t believe life works that way. Helps me to get out of bed each morning, knowing that I’ve got more to look forward to than dread.”
Helen took another drag. “But yes, I know that smoking’s bad for me. The girls keep telling me that and eventually I’ll quit. I’m just enjoying it too much right now.” Helen blew out smoke away from Earlene. “How’s your research going?”
“Frustrating. The more I find out, the more I don’t know. I know all the puzzle pieces fit together, but I just can’t see how.”
“Like they’re all white pieces with no picture to show you how they fit.”
There was a short pause before Earlene answered, “Exactly.”
“Was the family tree Susan made helpful to you at all?” She heard a squirrel run through leaves a second before Mardi bolted from her side.
Earlene’s words sounded measured. “Not yet. I plugged all the names and dates into my software, so at least I’ve got them for reference. I also found the burial records for all of the plots in this cemetery, and I was able cross-reference each grave with a name on the chart. Except for one. The small angel marker in the corner without any inscription. There’s nobody in the Harrington-Ross family tree who’s not accounted for. I’m beginning to think it’s not a marker at all.”
Mardi returned to Helen’s side and bumped his head against her leg. She reached down and took the stick from his mouth and threw it in the direction of the small angel, listening as the dog raced toward it.
“Oh, there’s definitely something buried beneath it.”
She felt Earlene looking at her. “How do you know?”
Helen gave a small laugh. “I’m almost too ashamed to tell you, but I figure it was long ago enough that I can blame it on my youth. But once, when Tucker and I were still kids and full of mischief, we wanted to find out what was under that little angel. I guess we were curious because there wasn’t a name or anything on it like the rest of the markers in the cemetery. We made a bet—I thought it would be dog bones but Tucker thought there was buried pirate treasure. So we each took a shovel from the gardening shed and began digging.”
Helen pictured Earlene holding her breath. “And what did you find?”
Helen rolled the cigarette between her fingers, remembering the smell of damp earth and rotting leaves. “It was some kind of cloth—Tucker thought it might be a rotting blanket, but it was hard to tell because it looked like it had been there for a long time. I guess we were both spooked because we didn’t stick around to find out more. We dropped the shovels and ran away screaming. Our mama caught up with us and she was so angry over what we’d done that I thought she might knock us into next week.”
“So what happened?”
“She made us swear that we’d never desecrate a grave again and then she marched us over to the groundskeeper and we had to help him refill the hole and replace the grass. I think it was almost a year before either one of us stepped foot in the cemetery again.”
Earlene’s voice sounded distant, as if she’d turned her head away to face the lonely angel marker in the corner of the cemetery. “Did you ever ask Malily or your mother about it?”
