In The Garden Of Stones by Lucy Pepperdine Read Free Book Online Page A

a
wide lazy ring, letting the warm grass tickle her bare
feet.
    Then it
is cold. Wet. This part of the lawn is in shade, drops of morning
dew clinging to the leaves. They gather between her toes bringing
about a disorientating unpleasant rush of déjà vu.
    She
shivers and hurries back to the path, puts on her shoes and
continues onward to where the gravel walkway swells to a circle of
stones, at the centre of which sits a fountain, a chubby stone
child carrying a seashell on its back through which water spouts
and dribbles into a reservoir, tinkling like a wind chime, catching
the light and blinking rainbows at her. Beautiful.
    Grace
continues forward to another hedge wall and another archway. This
one is more intriguing because whatever lies beyond is hidden in
deep shadow.
    Curiosity must, of course, be satisfied.
    She steps
through the archway to something totally unexpected, yet shockingly
familiar. A cemetery, very neat, very tidy, laid out like… a
garden. A garden of stones.
    Rectangles of neat grass bounded by low railings, guarded
by rough hewn moss covered crosses and obelisks, marble columns
topped with serene angels, kneeling winged cherubs with their
chubby hands clasped in silent prayer. A number of plain upright
markers sit between table-like slabs. They are old, very old, the
words and numbers on them all but obliterated by age and
weathering. This is all
too
familiar.
    A beam of
sunlight has draped itself over the nearest flat stone like a
tablecloth, warming it and illuminating the faintest of barely
legible inscribed markings. She traces over the list of names and
dates with her fingertips, like a blind man reading
Braille.
    “ John Edward St John. Born January 15, 1712. Taken into Our
Lord’s care February 2, 1713. A baby, barely a year old. How
sad.”
    Looking
closer, she can just about make out two of the other names engraved
above his. Two girls. Alice and Catherine. Twins. They too died in
infancy.
    She
moves higher up the list. Seven names in all, four boys, three
girls. Not one survived past its fifth birthday.
    “ This grave is filled with children. Their poor parents. How
could they bear it?”
    She
tries to imagine the family if Death had not intervened, a proud
mother and father watching from a distance as their happy thriving
brood chased each other in innocent play across those immaculate
lawns, laughing, tumbling, squealing with childish
delight.
    “ Perhaps they are playing together wherever they are now.”
She runs her hand across the sun warmed slab.
    “ Let’s see if it’s as solid as it looks.”
    She
smoothes her skirt over her legs, perches on the stone, giving it a
little weight. Seems strong enough. She gives it some more. Still
fine. Satisfied it isn’t going to give way under her, she shifts
herself until she is in the centre of the pool of light, turns her
face to the sun and lets it warm her closed eyelids.
    Around
her birds sing, insects buzz, and there is the gentle babble of
running water from a nearby stream. So peaceful.
    The
parents must have been wealthy to afford such an idyllic resting
place for those poor lost children, although all the money in the
world would have made no difference. Where Death is concerned, the
privileged truly are on par with the deprived. The Grim Reaper
shows no discrimination, he is the ultimate equal opportunities
advocate.
    Her ears
pick up a rustle in the long grass nearby. A curious rabbit maybe?
She might risk one eye to peep at it, so as not to frighten it
away.
    Darkness
falls on her, a shadow.
    “ Who are ye? How did ye get in here?”
    Her eyes
snap open. Dark - everything is spinning and she feels dizzy and
sick.
    She
gives herself a moment to get her breath back and re-orientate
herself. No garden, no cemetery, just her room, her bed.
    A dream,
nothing more.
    She
slides out from under the duvet and wobbles to the bathroom on
elastic legs, draws herself a glass of water and watches the
ghastly image in the mirror as it does