Page 51 of Always to Remember
Clay glanced through the open door and saw a man walking toward the shed.
“I can’t let him find me here,” she whispered harshly.
He hopped off the stool and set his tools aside. “I’ll see that he doesn’t come inside.” He strode past her, resisting the urge to shake her and ask what difference it would make if people discovered that she talked with him. Hell, she did more than talk with him. Sometimes, he suspected that she actually enjoyed his company. He was a damn fool.
He stepped outside and squinted against the sunlight. “Afternoon.”
Tom Graham merely nodded. Slightly older than Lucian, he had a prominent Adam’s apple that bobbed as he avoided Clay’s gaze. The peach fuzz covering his chin looked as though it hadn’t been shaved in a while. Holding a large piece of wood pressed against his side, he ran his finger over the raggedly curved edge that extended past his arm.
“Lucian is out in the fields,” Clay informed him.
“Didn’t come to see Lucian.”
Clay shifted his stance. “Well, the twins aren’t about.”
“Didn’t come to see them neither.”
Clay was about to tell Tom the mule was in the field, but he narrowed his eyes and studied the wood more closely. Tom had cut it into the shape Clay disliked most. “What can I do for you then?” he asked quietly.
Tom wiped his eyes. “Our baby girl died. Dr. Martin said she was just born too soon. Weren’t nothing he could do for her. Sally ain’t stopped crying since. She wants a proper marker, but her pa says if I get one from you, he’ll break it up. Hell of a thing when a man’s hatred for another is greater than his love for his grandchild.” He wiped his eyes again. “Anyway, I been trying to make a marker, but Sally wants special words on it, and I keep running out of room. Thought maybe you might show me how to cut the words in this here piece so I don’t run out of room.”
“What words were you wanting?” Clay asked.
With a shaking hand, Tom reached into his pocket and brought out a crumpled piece of paper. “She wants ‘Here lies the sweetest bud of hope that ever to us was given.’ “ The young man’s face reddened as he met Clay’s gaze. “I don’t know where Sally got that, but it’s what she wants.”
Clay nodded solemnly. “My pa carved some headstones before he died. I think there’s one with those words on it.”
Disbelief washed over Tom’s face. “He did?” Then another somber truth hit him. “But it won’t have our little girl’s name on it. Sally named her, wants her name on the marker.”
“I can have Lucian carve the name and dates.”
“Didn’t know Lucian did any carving.”
“He can carve lettering.”
Tom rubbed his scraggly chin. “Sally’s father couldn’t object to that, could he?”
“I wouldn’t think so,” Clay said.
“How much would I owe you?”
“My pa didn’t take money for headstones he made for children. We won’t either. When is she to be buried?”
“Tomorrow morning. In that little cemetery beside the church.”
“I’ll place the headstone on the church doorstep at dawn.”
Tom extended the crumpled paper toward Clay. “Here’s all the information Lucian will need.”
Clay took the paper and turned to walk back into the shed.
“I’m obliged to you,” Tom said. “You didn’t have to tell me about them headstones your pa made.”
Clay looked over his shoulder. “Wouldn’t make me much of a neighbor if I hadn’t, now would it?” Stepping into the shed, he stuffed the paper into his pocket.
“Your father made some headstones before he died?” Meg asked.
He gave her an unappreciative stare as she cowered behind the door. “What were you doing? Listening?”
