He nodded. “The family did me a good turn long ago, and since I find myself nearby, I thought to stop and pay my respects.”
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“Well, Abraham passed some three years back,”
Easter said.
“God’s will be done,” the visitor said, gravely. “And Mrs. Wharf?”
“Twenty-three years dead.”
“So young!” he cried.
“A canker in her breast.”
“A terrible thing,” he said. “Foolish of me to imagine that she might still be among the living.”
“Abraham buried her behind the house,” Easter said.
“Scandalized the minister who wanted to plant her in sanctified ground. But Abraham had to keep her close.”
“His angel,” said the stranger.
“That’s what Abraham called her, all right,” she nodded.
“Even so, I should like to pay my respects, but I seem to have lost the way. Would thee be so good as to set me on the right path?”
“I warn you that there ain’t much left to see up there,”
said Easter. “But if you’re set on it, just follow the road the way you were headed till you get to a hard bend to the right, Mr.—” Easter paused. “You ain’t told me your name!”
A momentary panic passed over his face. “It’s Mr.
Henry,” he stammered and got to his feet. “Thee have been a gracious hostess, Mistress Carter.”
“Nobody calls me anything but Easter, dearie. Stop by on your way back. I hope to have something stewing by then.”
“Good day, Mistress Carter,” he said. “God bless thee.”
Above stairs, Ruth lay on her bed. She had no work that day, which was just as well since her back ached all the way down both legs. She pocketed a long, narrow iron
chisel,
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winced her way down the stairs, and was gone before Easter had a chance to call out to her.
She hurried until she got the black coat in her sight, then kept a safe distance as the man made his way to the old Wharf place. Ruth watched him wander the tall grass until he found the hole that had been the cellar. He removed his hat before he stepped down, as though there were still a difference between inside and out. Turning slowly, he shook his head and frowned.
After a few minutes of this, he stepped out of the hollow, replaced his hat, and began circling the overgrown boundaries of the house, thrashing at weeds and brambles with a stick until he found what he was looking for. He crouched and set to pulling the grass and saplings away from a thin slab of a headstone. He ran his fingers across a name still visible, clasped his hands, and bowed his head.