“Gravestones were stained with lichen, and some were so old that wind and rain had blurred their carvings. Some stood straight as soldiers, and others tipped like drunks. The fact that they did both, that there was no static order to it all, Jack thought, made the hill all the more poignant, all the more powerful. The grass, still thick with summer, rose in wild hillocks and lifted the scent of living, growing things as it waved in the breeze. And on countless graves, flowers grew or were laid. ...Some wreaths were sheltered in clear plastic boxes, and others held little vials of holy water taken from some shrine. He found the sentiment oddly touching even as it puzzled him. What possible help could holy water offer to the occupants of a graveyard? He saw fresh flowers spread beneath stones that had stood for ninety years and more. Who, he wondered, brought daisies to the old, old dead? Because there was no way he could reasonably refuse Rebecca’s obvious desire for some time alone, he walked through the cemetery to the brilliant green carpet of smooth and tended grass sheltered by the yews.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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