Page 15 of Heartbreaker of the Ton
“No, sweetheart, it’s not yours. It belongs to another.” It belonged to the poor soul whose body lay in the ground beneath the stone.
Etty crouched beside the headstone and read the inscription.
Here lies Freda Gadd
beloved daughter
b Dec 25th1789
d Aug 13th1805
“Beloved daughter…”
Etty’s heart ached at the simple inscription, and she drew her son into her arms. Somebody’s child lay in the ground before them. Of all the pain a heart had to endure, none was greater than that of losing a child.
A twig snapped behind her, and Etty leaped to her feet and turned to see the farmer’s lad standing in the center of the path, his hands in his pockets.
“Are ye all right, Mrs. Ward?”
“Y-yes, I’m sorry, James,” Etty said, wiping her eyes. “It’s just…” She gestured to the headstone. “I know children die all the time,” she said, “but to see it carved into a stone makes it more real. I-I’ve never known anyone to die, except my grandfather, warm in his bed. But this girl was just fifteen years old.”
“Aye.” He nodded and let out a sigh. “That she was.”
Etty glanced at the headstone again.
Freda Gadd.
“James Gadd,” she whispered. “Sweet Lord—she was yoursister?”
He nodded. “Aye. Twelve years ago last week. Ma still cries for her. Not even our Frannie…” He hesitated. “It matters not.”
Etty touched his arm, and he flinched. “It does matter, James,” she said. “It matters a great deal. When you lose someone you love, a piece of your heart goes with them. And the pain may fade, but it’ll never truly leave you. But you wouldn’t want that, for then you might forget them. And Freda deserves to be remembered.”
He nodded. “Aye, that’s what Pa says. We always mark the day so we can remember her. Do you remember Mr. Ward?”
Etty opened her mouth to ask who Mr. Ward was, then checked herself. “Only a little,” she said. “He…left us before Gabriel was born.”
“Forgive me, Mrs. Ward. I didn’t mean to pry.”
She smiled. “It matters not. What matters is that your sister is at peace, knowing that she’s not forgotten.”
The lad sighed again. “She died before I could tell her that I loved her.”
“I’m sure she knew.”
He shook his head. “We always fought. She used to tell me what to do, and I didn’t like it. She was five years older than me, you see.”
“Brothers and sisters always fight,” Etty said. “It doesn’t mean they don’t love each other.”
She fought to restrain her conscience at the memory of how she’d tried to ruin her own sister.
“Do you have a brother, Mrs. Ward?” he asked.
“I have a sister,” Etty said. “But I was unkind to her.”
“Are you sorry for it?”
“More sorry than you can imagine, James.”
