Page 68 of Strangers in Time

CONFESSIONS

THE MORNING OF THEburial emerged cold, with fringes of dreary, moistened clouds wrapping the city like clingy wisps of gossamer. The long hearse sat at the curb. Wilkinson & Dunn had supplied the men necessary to carry the coffin.

The graveyard was a small parcel of dead grass coated with leaning, aged, lichen-coated tombstones of varying degrees of embellishment. A rusted wrought iron gate attached to a tilting stone column constituted the sole entrance. The short parade of people made its way to a rectangular hole already dug to the requisite depth.

Wilkinson the Second was in front wearing formal tails and top hat, commensurate with the somber occasion. Behind him were Molly in a black dress and Charlie dressed in the other set of clothes that Molly had purchased for him. And behind them were the two columns of men, their broad shoulders holding aloft the coffin with Gran’s remains inside.

Earlier, Charlie had viewed Gran in her coffin back at the undertakers. Molly had stood resolutely with him, gripping his hand. She had been right, Charlie had told her. Gran looked quite peaceful, like she was merely sleeping. Her eyes were closed, her small hands resting one on top of the other at her chest. Her dress looked very fine, her skin was paler than Charlie thought possible. And her face andbody seemed compressed, as though the firm of Wilkinson & Dunn had released something buoyant from within the woman.

As he continued to stare at her, Charlie’s face screwed up and the tears slid freely down his cold cheeks. Molly said nothing, but she squeezed his hand and kept her gaze respectfully downcast, as tears trickled down her face.

The church’s vicar was waiting at the gravesite with his somber vestments and worn Bible. He read from the Scriptures and said some spirited words over the dead that no doubt he’d said many other times, especially with a war going on. And then he tossed a handful of dirt into the hole, where it landed on the coffin.

The man of God nodded at Molly, gripped Charlie firmly by the shoulder, whispered some words clearly meant to be helpful and healing, then took his leave, perhaps scurrying off to preside over another interment, without even asking Charlie where the rest of his family might be.

Wilkinson doffed his hat, gave them both a curt, officious nod, and left with his men in tow and his fee fully paid. This left Charlie and Molly alone, other than a big, rough-looking bearded fellow with huge, callused hands sitting on the ground with his back against an ancient tombstone three over from Gran’s grave with a dented shovel resting next to him. He took a swig of something from a flask, closed his eyes, and dozed off before it came time to place the English earth over the old woman.

Charlie’s attention was not on the freshly dug hole, but on a pair of grave markers. He pointed at one, a small affair where the engraving was still reasonably clear.

“That’s my grandfather.”

Molly leaned in and read, “Elias Jacob Wilson. That’s a very fine name.”

“My second name comes from him. He told me he got a bullet in the arm fightin’ the Jerries the last time. And he had one eye not work proper ’cause ’a the gas they used.”

“That’s terrible.”

He nudged the other marker with his boot. “And this here is my mum.”

Molly looked at the inscription:Jane Alice Matters, Cherished Mother and Daughter. She glanced at Charlie. “I’m sure you miss her so very much.”

Charlie slipped off his cap and stared down at the sunken dirt and his face screwed up once more. “I was still in hospital when they buried her. But then I come here and told her I’d never leave her ’cause I can’t leave my mum. I don’t want her to be alone. Not ever. Wouldn’t be right after all she done for me.”

Molly drew a breath and looked at the grave marker. In her mind, she scrubbed clean what was there and replaced it with:Eloise Mary Wakefield, Devoted Wife and Mother.

A tear formed in the corner of her right eye and she suddenly felt lightheaded as her thoughts swirled on a southwesterly route all the way to Cornwall and the Beneficial Institute.

She envisioned her mother wrapped in blankets and sitting on a gothic, windswept terrace looking out over a countryside vista that would seem quite foreign to a woman used to calling London home.

“You okay?”

Molly broke from these thoughts and looked at Charlie, who was staring curiously at her.

“You can leave from here and still never, ever leaveher, Charlie.”

“How’s that?” he said doubtfully.

In response, she gripped his hand and guided it to his chest. “You will always have her inside you, no matter where you go. That’s how powerful love is. She carried you inside her for nearly a year. That bond is unbreakable. Wherever you go, she will be there with you. It’s… it’s like a law—no, acovenant, that’s the word. It’s forever.”

She let go of his hand.

“You really think so?”

“Iknowit is so. Do you believe me?”

Charlie thought about this for a moment. “Yeah… I do.”

“I have something to tell you. A confession, really.”

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