The Cemetery - II
Part 1
Mathias
5th May,
1712
I cannot find the words to express the profoundness of my
sadness. It fills my body like a cold liquid and drains me of my energy and will
to carry on. We have laid Genevieve down yesterday, my god, what pain my wife
and I have endured in this endeavor. Josephine has not stopped weeping since
that morning, and I fear that if she does not once again see the light of day she
will succumb to grief. How the world moves on beyond the death of a sweet and
innocent child I will never understand. It is taking all my power to keep my
heart pumping and my legs moving.
The inn
has suffered little of this, thankfully at least, but I can’t deign it
necessary to show my face to the patrons there. They have their well wishes,
everyone does in town, but the words are hollow to my ears. No solace will come
from this.
Oh
Genevieve, we miss you my love. We miss you so much.
12th May,
1712
The cemetery foreman, Nicholas Jenkins, has been gracious
enough to us to let us put Genevieve in a partitioned off portion of the cemetery.
We paid a little extra, but it was worth it for Josephine’s piece of mind. The shrubbery
that was transplanted around her grave gives it shade from prying eyes. My wife
enjoys her privacy, especially in moments of woeful oppression. We visit the
site separately now as she won’t even let my eyes fall upon her in such states.
I never
imagined that the loss of my dearest Genevieve would cause a rift between my
wife and I. The pain is great but surely love is stronger. I cannot say. I feel
a great rift within myself. Betwixt my drive to move forward and my own resignation
to death. I must not think such things. For God does not deem it permittable to
chase after death in such a manner, even if one has lost a child. I must hold
my faith in high regard in these trying times.
I hope I
can speak with my wife upon her returning from the cemetery. We have more plans
we must agree upon. Such as what the statue will look like atop her gravesite.
Some might find it gaudy, but my beloved Genevieve was worth all my affection
in life and death. I will make sure she is remembered.
22nd May,
1712
The statue is erected, and I visit it weekly for upkeep.
Nicholas tells me that his grave tender a mister Garrison, will do a fine
enough job as there are few graves to tend but I pay him no attention. Genevieve
is my daughter and I will be responsible. But I assure him that it is not from negativity
towards his man and his handiwork. Just a father extending his working hands
upon his daughter.
I feel
as though I have not laid an eye upon my wife in some days. Her comings and goings
have been separate from mine own in night and day. We pass each other in the
halls but I feel as though I am passing an apparition of my wife, a shade of
her former self. The grief has pulled all the life from her skin and her face
and her once bright eyes. Her countenance shows a woman ten years older than my
wife but the same she is. I have not had the heart to speak with her much as
she explodes in a furious anger whenever I approach her. The ache in my heart
persists even now. What will I do to amend this? What words could I possibly
say to save her from her darkness?
I hear
her footsteps behind me. She leaves again for the graveyard. Josephine, what
can I do to help you my love?
23rd May,
1712
I followed my wife in shadow and secret from our home across
the village to the cemetery. I made sure to keep a subtle distance as not to
alarm her. I wanted to find out what she said to the grave of our daughter, I wanted
to know the machinations of her woeful midnight strolls to the grove. Perhaps with
that knowledge I could unlock the secret behind her grief and pull her up from
the abysmal darkness that held sway on her soul.
Once at
the gates to the cemetery I decided to follow along the newly erected fence
west towards where my daughter was placed. I would stay on the outside far enough
away to stay hidden from my wife but close enough to possibly hear if she did
indeed speak her hearts pain to the edifice of our daughter.
I hid
myself well and waited for my withered wife to emerge around the shrubbery. She
walked slowly and calmly almost sliding like a phantasm. It made my skin crawl with
its eeriness but I held steadfast. She placed a single flower at the feet of
our daughter and knelt on the soft ground to pray. I was thankful in that
moment that she did not forsake God. I had seen others, good men and women forsake
the name of God at the outset of hardship, but my bosom was filled with relief
at the sight of her bowing her head. I felt at that moment she would indeed be
saved from her pain. Though now I’m not sure what will become of her.
Though
the night was calm I could not hear all her words. I recall only a few but they
still sting in my heart like daggers. I am afraid to repeat them here even on
paper but I must. The evidence should be kept.
“I pray
you release me from this pain.”
She
waited to speak again as if she were hearing a response from somewhere that I could
not.
“What
more do you want from me?”
Again,
she waited.
“I cannot
take that which is not mine. I have told you this before. Please anything else!”
Whomever
or whatever she was conversing with wanted some gift or perhaps something worse.
With a hesitation, that I knew from years of marriage to mean a great pain to
my wife in her proud confidence, she spoke again.
“That
will suffice. I will return in two days.”
With
that she stood, looking even more drained, more tired and feeble in countenance
than she had not twenty minutes before. I followed her once again back home
being sure to arrive before her as not to alarm her of my movements. I lit the
candle in my study, where I had been and would surely draw the least suspicions.
I called out to her as she passed my door but I heard no reply. I found her
laying in her bed the covers pulled tightly up to her chin her face pointed
towards the ceiling.
What will
happen in two days? I must follow her again though it pains me to spy on my wife.
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