Chapter 9 - The Cemetery Gate
Route 11 was a sheet of unbroken white ice, flanked by towering snowdrifts and skeletal pine trees bending under the weight of the winter storm.
Our rented SUV crept along the deserted highway, its hazard lights flashing rhythmically against the falling snow. Richard sat in the passenger seat, leaning forward with his face pressed close to the cold glass, scanning every abandoned bus stop, diner sign, and roadside mailbox we passed.
“There,” Richard suddenly barked, pointing a shaking finger toward an iron gate half-buried in snow off the shoulder of the road. “St. Jude’s Parish Cemetery. Pull in.”
Daniel turned the steering wheel hard, the tires crunching through a thick bank of snow as we swung through the rusted iron gates and bounced along an unplowed gravel lane.
The graveyard was a desolate sea of white marble headstones jutting out of the drifts like jagged teeth.
Daniel killed the engine. The sudden silence inside the cabin, broken only by the muffled howling of the wind, felt oppressive.
“Stay here,” Richard said, pushing his door open before either Daniel or I could protest.
“Dad, you’ll freeze out there without a proper hat or gloves!” Daniel called out, but Richard was already stepping out into the knee-deep snow, his soaked dress shoes instantly disappearing into the white expanse.
Clare and I exchanged a quick look, then both of us opened our doors and followed him out into the freezing vortex. The wind hit us like a physical blow, stealing the breath right out of our lungs.
Richard waded through the drifts with surprising speed, his white shirt flapping against his heavy frame like a broken sail. He headed straight toward the oldest section of the cemetery, where a cluster of dark, wind-battered oak trees stood sentinel over a row of weathered stone markers.
As we rounded a large granite family crypt, Richard stopped dead in his tracks.
May you like
A few feet away, half-buried in a drift beside a moss-covered headstone bearing the name Eleanor Vance, lay a dark navy jacket and a scuffed leather bag whose strap was secured with electrical tape.
And curled up motionless in the snow beside the frozen earth was a small, fragile figure.
