“Forgive me,” he said again, his mind still struggling to accept this bizarre, inexplicable reality. “It’s just that I didn’t expect to see anyone here and, with the fog and all, I didn’t see you till the last moment. Er, I brought these for my mother.” He held up his bunch of chrysanthemums and nodded to where his mother lay. “So, I’ll just put them, er, that is, I’ll just put them on her grave.”
He went to the grave, removed the wilted flowers from the previous week, and replaced them with the fresh blooms. Then he stepped back, seeming to pay his quiet respects. In truth, he was silently praying that his appearance and his babbling hadn’t scared the woman away. He longed to know who she was, to solve the mystery of his dreams. Then another thought occurredto him.Might this be just another dream?He pinched the flesh on the back of his hand. Nothing changed.
Taking a slow breath, he turned, relieved to see that she was still there, now staring at him with something akin to uncertainty. Seeking to reassure her, Daniel smiled. “I visit my mother’s grave once a week to change the flowers,” he said. “She loved her garden and her flowers.”
“My mother loved flowers too,” the woman replied, and gestured with a nod. “She rests there, next to your mother.”
“Ah.” Daniel nodded, and glanced over his shoulder, observing the fresh bouquet of flowers on the grave as well as the name on the headstone.Evadne Margaret Miller.It meant nothing to him. She had died in July of that year, he noted, as he regarded the young woman once more.
“I usually sit on the bench for a while when I visit,” he said, “but if my presence bothers you, I can remove to another part of the cemetery.”
It was a genuine offer drawn from courtesy, but one he hoped she would counter. He wanted to stay. He wantedherto stay.
She shook her head. “You needn’t do that, sir. If it is solitude you seek, it is perhaps I who should leave.”
“You don’t have to, miss,” Daniel replied.Stay. Please stay.“The bench can seat two persons comfortably. Besides, you were here first.”
The uncertainty on her face remained. “I will not be in the way?”
“Not at all. Actually, it would be nice to have some company.” Desperate for her to remain, Daniel moved toward her and inclined his head. “My name is Daniel Barton.”
“My name is Miriam Sinclair,” she said.
A different surname, Daniel noted. “Is it Miss Sinclair?”
“It is,” she replied. “My have my father’s surname. Mama married twice.”
“I see. Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Sinclair.” Daniel glanced about. “Even under these somber conditions.” He gestured to the bench. “After you, of course.”
She smiled and lifted her chin slightly as she took her seat. “I’m actually waiting for someone,” she said, settling herself at the farthest end of the bench. “I expect he’ll be along at any moment.”
A lie, Daniel knew. A defensive ploy. “The fog has delayed him, perhaps,” he said, taking care to sit at the opposite end of the bench. “In any case, there’s plenty of room for one more.”
“Yes, of course.” She looked toward the graves again. “Might I assume yours is a recent loss, Mr. Barton?”
“You may, Miss Sinclair. Not quite eight weeks. The headstone is close to being finished and should be placed in a few days.”
“Please accept my sympathies, sir.”
“Thank you. Though in truth it was actually a blessing,” Daniel replied. “My mother had been ill for a good while.”
“My mother suffered also.” Miss Sinclair sighed softly. “My stepfather is long deceased, so I am obliged to live with my stepbrother now.”
The latter statement seemed to imply a burden. Might that have something to do with her desire for protection, Daniel wondered, and then checked himself. The dream was only that. A dream. Maybe his brain was seeing what it wanted to see. Maybe the woman in his dream merelyresembledthe one currently seated on the bench. He checked himself again.
No. It’s her. Definitely her.
“What does he do?” Daniel asked.
“My stepbrother?” There followed a slight pause. “He is the vicar of St. Marks.”
Daniel heard a hint of bitterness in her voice. “On Stilgate Road?”
“Yes.”
“An admirable calling and a handsome church.”
Miss Sinclair gave a vague smile. “And what of you, Mr. Barton? Do you have a family? An occupation?”
