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Grabbing handfuls of grass, he began yanking it from the ground, clearing space around the stone. By the time Hulda and Beth came running over, he’d found a second similar stone, a little smaller, a few feet away.
Baptiste might not have heard him.
“Brilliant,” Hulda said, helping him tug away grass. Beth announced she’d found a third, and bent the surrounding plants at their bases, stepping on their stalks to encourage them to lie flat.
Four stones in all, one clustered near the initial two, one of them fallen over.
Hulda ran her hand over one of them. “Hardly legible. Beth, would you search the area and see if there are any more?”
Nodding, Beth set off walking toe to heel, prowling like a puma.
Merritt had brought out a notebook and pencil from the library; he tore out a page and placed it against the first gravestone, then dragged the edge of the pencil lead back and forth to make a rubbing. The7came through clearly, as well as a birthday that said162, the last digit of the year consumed by time.
He held up the rubbing to Hulda. “O... A-C-E. That’s the first name. And M-A... E-L.”
After tearing out a second paper, Merritt handed it and the pencil over, and Hulda took a rubbing of the second stone. The family name on the fourth stone had been preserved well enough for them to read it in full:Mansel. It seemed they were all Mansels.
Merritt snapped his fingers. “Horace.” He pointed at the gaps between the letters in the first rubbing. “H-O-R-A-C-E. I bet his name was Horace.”
Hulda nodded. “It certainly fits.”
The wife’s name was indiscernible. But with some sleuthing and guessing, they determined the other two graves belonged to Dorcas and Helen.
“All daughters,” Merritt commented. “How terrible for dear Horace. No wonder he chose to stay behind. Needed a break from all the femininity.”
Hulda scoffed. “I’m sure.” She wrote down the names and what they’d been able to glean of the dates. “This is good. This is a start. The Genealogical Society might have this on record. They’re very thorough. Even if these persons weren’t magically inclined, they might still have records for them.”
Miss Taylor returned, holding up empty hands. “No others around here, Mrs.Larkin.”
“Good. That narrows it down more.” Standing, Hulda brushed off her skirt. “I think we should still check the rest of the island, but there’sseldom reason to scatter the dead, and given the house’s history, I doubt we’ll find any other grave markers here. Still, best to be thorough.”
Merritt stood as well, ignoring his muddy knees. “And what if the Gen Society doesn’t know anything?” He blanched. “We won’t have to exhume them, will we?”
“I hope not,” she retorted, and Merritt’s stomach turned.
Miss Taylor asked, “Could we not ask the wizard which one she is?”
“And why would she answer?” Hulda looked sidelong at Merritt and lowered her voice. “Mr.Fernsby wants to exorcise her.”
Merritt shrugged. “Can you blame me?”
She glanced down at the rubbings, and a twinge of guilt wormed through his stomach. “I suppose not. It’s early enough in the day that I could leave for Boston now.” She stood quickly, and Merritt caught a distinct tearing sound. Turning sideways, Hulda clicked her tongue and held up her skirt. Part of the hem was thoroughly torn. “What a bother. But I’m not surprised. I’ve mended that same spot twice already.”
Merritt shifted weight from foot to foot. “Do you want to change before you go?”
She waved away the question with a quick flick of her hand.
“You should see if you can find any communion stones,” Miss Taylor suggested. “So we can talk to you when you’re away.”
Hulda nodded. “I requested them; I’ll have to see if they’ve arrived.” New stones were hard to come by, due to the dilution. But not impossible.
Merritt reached into his pocket, though he’d left his wallet in his room. “Do you need fare or anything? Company?”
For some reason, the offer had Hulda stiffening. “Not at all, Mr.Fernsby. This is BIKER work; they will cover the costs. And I am quite used to doing things on my own.”
She didn’t even look at him when she spoke, which had him thinking back on their conversation and wondering if he’d said somethingwrong. When he determined he hadn’t, he decided Hulda must simply be prickly in the mornings.
“I’ll at least walk you to the boat. Work on tramping that path. Beth, would you go collect Baptiste? I very much want to eat whatever he made this morning.”
