Chapter 19. The funeral for Rebecca and Benjamin was held two days later

The funeral for Rebecca and Benjamin was held two days later. The rain had stopped the day before, but the sky remained gray and overcast.

The graves had been dug in a corner of the field Jeremy had been working to clear. White rocks had been placed at their heads since there were no gravestone carvers in the village.

Standing at the side of the open graves as the minister delivered his funeral speech, Mary gazed at the dark-suited mourners.

Several people had come from the village and neighboring farms to attend. Their blank faces and hushed whispers revealed more curiosity than sadness.

Mary glanced at them quickly, then turned her attention to the members of her family. As she studied them one by one, the minister’s droning voice faded into the background.

The past two days had been a waking nightmare in the stone farmhouse that had so recently rung with laughter. Now the faces of her family, Mary saw, were pale and drawn, eyes red-rimmed and brimming with tears, mouths drawn tight, in straight lines of sadness—and fear.

On the far side of the graves Edward Fier stood with his shoulders hunched, his head bowed. His hands were clasped tightly in front of him.

At first Edward had reacted to the deaths of his wife and father with stunned disbelief. In a frenzy he had shaken Mary violently by the shoulders, demanding that she stop telling such wild tales, refusing to believe her gruesome descriptions.

But her racking sobs forced Edward to see that Mary hadn’t been dreaming. With a wild cry he had burst from the house, out into the driving rain, running awkwardly with his sling bobbing in front of him, running to see the horrors for himself.

Afterward, Edward had become silent, barely speaking a word. He spent a day in silent prayer. When he emerged, his eyes were dull and blank.

Edward wandered silently around the house like a living corpse. Constance, crying without stop, was forced to tend to Ezra. Matthew made the funeral arrangements and supervised the digging of the graves since Edward was unable to speak to anyone.

Ezra sensed immediately that something terrible had happened. He had to be told that his mother was never coming back.

It had fallen to Constance to tell the boy. Mary watched from a corner of the room, huddled next to the hearth.

Constance had drawn Ezra onto her lap and, tears running down her cheeks, told him that his mother had gone to heaven.

“Can I go, too?” Ezra had asked innocently.

Constance tried to hold herself in, but the boy’s words caused her to sob more, and Mary had to carry him away.

Afterward, Ezra had acted troubled. He stayed underfoot while the funerals were being planned and cried loudly if anyone spoke a harsh word in the house.

Poor Ezra, Mary thought, gazing at the boy, so tiny and solemn in his black coat and breeches. Ezra’s black hat was several sizes too big for him and fell down over his ears.

The minister droned on. Mary turned her gaze to her father. Matthew stood beside her, his large stomach heaving with each breath he took, his eyes narrowed, staring straight ahead.

He had reacted more strangely than anyone when he heard the news of the two murders. Mary had expected him to crumple with grief, especially at the news of the loss of his brother.

But Matthew had only reacted in fear. His eyes had narrowed. He had glanced nervously around the sitting room as if expecting to see someone who didn’t belong there.

Then, gripping the three-toed amulet at his throat, he had disappeared from the room.

Late that night, while the house was cloaked in silent sadness, Mary had spied Matthew in his room, seated at his worktable, his face deep in shadow. Holding the strange medallion in front of him with both hands, Matthew was repeating its words aloud, again and again like a chant: “ Dominatio per malum.”

Mary wondered what the words meant.

Was it some kind of prayer?

She didn’t know any Latin.

The next day Matthew had still seemed more frightened than sad. His eyes kept searching the farm, as if he expected an unwanted visitor.

Mary was desperate to talk to him about what had happened. But he avoided her each time she approached. She was forced to spend most of her time trying to comfort her mother.

The minister continued his prayers. One after the other the two pine coffins were lowered into the graves.

Mary suddenly saw Jeremy standing at the edge of the crowd of villagers. He was dressed in black breeches and a loose-fitting black shirt. He was wearing a battered old hat with a broken brim.

Despite her grief, a faint smile crossed her face. She had never seen Jeremy in a hat before.

Mary hadn’t seen Jeremy in two days. Nearly all work had stopped on the farm, and Jeremy had been sent home.

She was surprised to see him now. Their eyes met. She stared at him, wondering what he was thinking.

He lowered his eyes, his expression troubled.

After the graves were covered over, the minister and villagers departed quickly. Constance and Matthew led Ezra back to the house. Edward remained standing stiffly, staring down at the graves.

Mary saw Jeremy walking slowly in the direction of the toolhouse behind the garden. Taking a deep breath, she decided to follow him.

“Jeremy—wait!”

She caught up with him at the side of the toolhouse and threw herself into his arms. “Jeremy. Oh, Jeremy. I—I have missed you. I need you. I really do!”

Grabbing both of his hands, she tugged him behind the toolhouse, out of view of the house, and breathlessly kissed him, pulling his head to hers.

To Mary’s surprise, Jeremy resisted. He gently pushed her away.

“Jeremy—it has been so horrible!” Mary cried. “The past two days. A nightmare. I—”

She stopped when she saw the troubled expression on his face. She reached for him again, but he took a step back.

“Jeremy—what is wrong?” Mary demanded, suddenly frightened. “What has happened? Why are you looking at me like that?”

He locked his eyes on hers. “Mary, I have to tell you something,” he said in a low, trembling voice.

Mary started to answer, but her voice caught in her throat. She searched his eyes, trying to find a clue in their blue depths.

“Jeremy … I …”

“Please. Let me talk,” he said sharply. “This is hard. This is very hard.”

“What?” she managed to whisper.

“I—I know who killed Rebecca and Benjamin,” Jeremy told her.

A cold chill ran down Mary’s back, a chill of fear. And heavy dread.

“Who?” she asked.

Дата добавления: 2015-07-20