Page 74 of Stay Buried

But even as he said the words, I knew the truth.

I knew, deep down in my soul, that my uncle and I would never see Amsterdale.

Once Aunt Margaret strapped on her snowshoes and trudged out of town with David and Mercy and the boys, we’d be saying good-bye to her for the last time.

Uncle Thomas would never meet his child, never know if he had a son or a daughter.

And if Pearl went with them, I would never see her again.

I felt cracked open, ruined.

Who are we without the people we love most? What do we become when we are no longer looked at through their eyes? No longer seen for who we truly are?

“Trust me,” Uncle Thomas said as he held tight to Margaret’s hand. “It will be all right. Whatever happens, it will be as Godintended.”

I FOUND PEARLat home. Her father was still unconscious. Pearl was alone in the kitchen, making squash soup.

“Last of the fall squash from the pantry,” she told me as she stirred. It smelled rich and buttery. Pearl dipped a spoon into the pot, took it out, blew on it, then gave me a taste. “Stay and eat with me?”

“Of course,” I said.

She set down two place mats at the table, two spoons on cloth napkins. “Would you like some brandy? Father has loads of it.”

“That would be lovely,” I said, and was surprised to see Pearl get down two glasses. Pearl usually passed when alcohol was offered—her parents had taught her it wasn’t ladylike to imbibe.

“A toast,” Pearl said, raising her glass.

“What shall we drink to?” I asked.

Pearl looked lost for a second, like she couldn’t think of a single thing. “To squash soup,” she said.

“To squash soup,” I said, clinking my glass against Pearl’s. We both let out a small laugh.

Pearl looked pale and exhausted. There were dark circles under her eyes. Her dress was wrinkled and stained with bits of orange squash. Even in this state, she was so beautiful I found myself forgetting how to breathe, hardly able to believe she was real.

“I know,” she said. “I look a fright. I’m surprised you can stand to be in the same room with me.”

I laughed. “You look lovely,” I told her. “And there is nowhere else I’d rather be.” I touched her cheek and she closed her eyes, smiled. I kissed her then, right there in her kitchen. It was a deep and long kiss, and for that brief moment, the rest of the world melted away.

Pearl served the soup, topped up our brandy glasses.

We ate and talked about the weather. About when spring wouldcome. About flowers and squash.

We did not talk about Pearl’s parents or the sickness. We did not talk about the knackerman. There was no mention of the devil.

We let ourselves pretend that none of what was happening around us, outside that room, was real. For an hour, there was only her and me, talking quietly, touching each other’s hands, cheeks colored from brandy and the warmth of the kitchen.

When we finished, we did the dishes together, side by side.

“This is nice,” Pearl said, leaning into me. “Having you here like this. It’s like… like we always talked about.”

I smiled.

“Shall we go into the parlor? You can smoke your pipe and maybe give me a puff?”

“You? Smoke a pipe?”

“I’ve had cigarettes,” Pearl admitted.