ElevenElisabeth stood at the graveside, head down, lips moving in prayer. Beside her, the two young men, with their wives, and another older man, a farmhand. Their hands were clasped in front, eyes closed, the silence in that desolate place palpable.
They buried the old man, with the maid alongside. A simple wooden cross marked their respective places. Engraved into the wood were the dates of their death. Nothing more. No names, no epitaph. A further mound announced a previous death, two years earlier. Elisabeth assumed it must be the burial place of the young men's mother. She didn't ask, did not think it appropriate, not now with their grief so profound.
They trailed back to the house in silence and when they stepped inside, they all stopped and surveyed the mess. Shattered furniture,
