Dreaming Of The Bones

I have been in a black hell this past week, railing against fate for taking you from me, railing against you for not letting me cling to false hope. Until now I’d begun to believe I’d been tested in my life—I’d even been smug enough to think Yd endured more than my share and that Yd emerged with some sort of fire-forged honor.

But when your news came I found nothing had prepared me for this, that the courage I’d taken such pride in was a mere travesty, and I thought I could not bear it.

I woke early this morning to find frost on the windowpanes and the first crisp hint of autumn in the air. I dressed and went out, compelled by an urgency I didn’t understand, and walked until I reached the river meadows. It was you who taught me about the healing power of walking—about the magic in the harmony of breath and stride that opens the connection between heart and mind.

Then somewhere in that clear space between field and sky, I saw my anger for what it was.

Losing you means I must grow up, at last, and I’ve been kicking and screaming like a child unwilling to come into the world.

I saw that Yd underestimated the strength and capacity of your love for me, but that you had not done me the same disservice. You thought me equal to the task before me, and so I must be.

Why are the old truths so simple and so hard to learn? Love is a two-edged sword—it can be no other way. I will be forever blessed by your love, and forever diminished by your loss.

Lydia

The air under the yews felt cool and damp against Kit’s face. It had a musty, humic odor that reminded him of the way the mud smelled when he dug in the riverbank, but his flash of pleasure at the thought quickly faded. There didn’t seem much point now in wanting to be a naturalist.

Tess whimpered and pulled at her lead, but Kit stood fast, not yet willing to move from the dimness of the tunnel. He carried the books Nathan had lent him, and it felt to him as if returning them would sever his last connection with the village.

Mrs. Miller had brought him to the cottage that morning to help him pack up the remainder of his things, then had agreed to return for him after he’d visited Nathan. Colin had offered, awkwardly, to come with him, but Kit refused. He’d wanted a few minutes alone to say good-bye to the cottage.

When they’d driven away, he stood for a long while in the front garden, gazing at the house, memorizing its lines and imperfections, then he’d kicked the estate agent’s sign as hard as he could. It wasn’t fair. Nothing was bloody fair. How could his dad bear the idea of some other family living in their house? And how could his dad leave—

Kit stopped at that point in the well-worn groove of his thoughts. He didn’t want to think about his dad anymore. Giving a gentle tug to Tess’s lead, he stepped out into the sunlight of Nathan’s back garden.

Nathan knelt at the edge of the knot bed, digging in the earth with a trowel. He looked up, smiling, as Kit and Tess came across the grass. “Hullo, Kit. Is this your dog, then?”

“Her name’s Tess,” said Kit, dropping to his knees beside him.

“She’s lovely,” said Nathan, scratching her rough coat and the pink insides of her ears. “Why don’t you let her have a run in the garden?” he suggested. “It’s secure enough.”

“What are you planting?” asked Kit as he unhooked Tess’s lead and watched her bound across the grass towards the robins feeding near the hedge. “They’re not very pretty.”