The Caged Graves by Dianne K. Salerni Read Free Book Online Page B

washroom off the kitchen, Clara Thomas unceremoniously stripped her niece to her undergarments. To Verity it seemed overly familiar for somebody who’d never formally introduced herself, but family was family. Verity’s dress went into a basin of cold water, and since she couldn’t go home in her chemise and petticoats, nor in a soaking wet dress, her aunt ordered, “Liza, bring your cousin something that will fit her.” Liza opened her mouth to protest but thought better of it and flounced off.
    Aunt Clara fetched a jar of salt from a shelf, then cast her eyes over Verity’s hair and face. “You’re all Ransloe,” she commented, as emotionless as if she were remarking on the weather. “I don’t see much of Sarah Ann in you.”
    â€œDid you know my mother?” Verity watched her aunt take a handful of salt and scrub it into the bloodstains.
    â€œOf course.”
    â€œNathaniel McClure took me to the cemetery yesterday.” Verity didn’t mention that the visit was accidental—or that she’d punched him. “It was the first time I’d seen her grave.”
    Aunt Clara raised an eyebrow. “I suppose that was a startling sight. We’re so accustomed to those things by now, we hardly notice them.”
    â€œI think they look too bare. I’m going to make grave wreaths for them.”
    Liza returned, holding a dun-colored dress Verity suspected was the ugliest she could find. She thanked the girl for lending her something to wear home—which was as truthful a statement as she could make—and turned back to her aunt. “I want to decorate
both
graves,” she said. “It seems wrong to do only one. Uncle John said I could tend to Aunt Asenath’s grave too.”
    Liza drew in her breath sharply, but Aunt Clara only nodded. “Her grave has gone neglected far too long. It should have been John’s responsibility, but he was never one for unpleasant tasks.”
    Verity glanced out the washroom window, toward the arbor and the garden beyond it. “I’d also like to plant flowers around the graves. In Worcester we make the cemeteries look like gardens, pretty enough to walk through.”
    Her aunt took the hint quickly enough. “I’ll give you cuttings. I’m sure I have some plants hardy enough for that rocky soil.” Aunt Clara eyed her niece with speculation. “You don’t remember your mother and Asenath, do you? No, of course not. You were too young.”
    â€œI don’t remember them,” Verity agreed sadly.
    â€œPity,” said Aunt Clara. “I always liked Sarah Ann. Her passing caused me great sorrow. If you need help with the wreaths, Liza will assist you. She has a knack for such things.”
    A lifetime of practice enabled Verity to speak the complete truth without a moment’s hesitation. “If I need Liza’s help, I shall definitely ask for it.” She stepped into her cousin’s dress and pulled it up. Liza was so tall that the skirt dragged on the ground. “I’m very sorry about Piper getting hurt this morning, Aunt Clara.”
    â€œA small army couldn’t keep that boy out of trouble,” her aunt replied, unconcerned. “We’re lucky the war ended before he became old enough to run off and join.”
    â€œDid Uncle John serve?” Verity asked.
    â€œNo, he paid a Poole to go in his place, same as Michael McClure did.” Aunt Clara helped Verity button up the back of the dress. “Nathaniel’s father was too sick to serve; anyone could see that. He should never have been called up.”
    â€œI agree.” Verity had seen the army take men and boys who ought to have been unfit for service. She had never met Nathaniel’s father, but she knew he’d been ill even before the war started and had spent his final year of life bedridden.
    Her aunt shook her head disapprovingly. “The Poole man whom John