Contrary to Christian superstition, heathens do not burst into flame or feel intense pain on holy ground. It tingles a bit, but that might just be me. Caleb senses people, I sense places. I can read the mood and emotional history of a location just by stepping into its boundaries. I feel the age of trees, the enthusiasm of water, the austere solemnity of churches and the patient sorrow of their adjoining cemeteries. That was where we went that afternoon, shortly before sunset. My breathing was already short and shallow because of the cold December air, but the combined sense of the old chapel and the expansive graveyard with its century of built up loss and longing further tightened my chest.
Caleb put his hand on my back, looked into my eyes, and took a deep breath, letting it out slowl
