Out on Cemetery Hill, over-looking the town of Bovey, exposed to the elements, Simms stood in his thick coat and stared towards the graves. There were two, side by side, one so much smaller than its neighbour, rough-hewn crosses at their heads proclaiming the names and dates of demise. Caleb and Noreen Simms. Whoever carved them did not know Noreen"s birth date, but the little boy"s was there for all the world to see. The same day as his death. And that of his mother"s too.
In a tight cluster, the other mourners, all four of them, hands clasped in front of their stomachs, looked down into those gaping holes without speaking. Reverend Tucker had spoken the words and now the only sound was that of the wind.
Martinson was the first to break the silence, slipping over to Simms"s side, brushi
