he mourning parents stood by the gravesite. John Peacock had an uncomfortable feeling of repeating the past. His wife, in mourning clothes, stood next to him, looking so much the same as the day he had first fallen in love with her. She was so strong to bear this tragedy so bravely. It tore his heart to think that they had come full circle to this place of sorrow. This was the place where they were all bound, after all.
He watched his mother-in-law’s strained face, the wrinkles now more severe, crevices drawn into her face. He felt a bond with this woman, whose husband had been taken from her and whose hopes for joy had rested with a new grandchild. His wife must feel even greater loss than either of them, the loss of a child of the flesh. The sheer strength of feeling caused her to be so silent in her tragedy.
Melissa greeted the guests who came to commiserate with her. She spoke with each in turn, taking in their statements of how her young girl had gone to a better place. Angel, the tombstone would say, and everyone commented on how apt that pet name was. This innocent was surely now an angel in heaven with the Lord.
Throughout the ceremony, Melissa held her head up high, her chin almost defiant, fighting the effects of sorrow. John fought to keep a solemn, wooden expression. He felt no real inner control, but somehow he muddled through. Magdalene was the only one who shed tears. She, an old woman, much older today than a few weeks ago, could not help but succumb to her misery. In his heart, John envied her.
Friends told him that he was young, that his wife was young, that many more children would bless them. Friends said that the Lord takes His own unto Himself and that this death showed the goodness of his offspring. Friends said that he should be grateful the child was spared the misery of this world and that Angel would never herself mourn for a loved one. He took these sentiments as kindnesses, but none of them could pierce the dismay he felt at his loss.
She was so small, so fragile, and so wonderful.
After the ceremony, a woman came up to the young couple.
“You are the parents, are you not?” she said, holding her hands out to them. “I am so sorry for your loss, so sorry to need to intrude on your loss.”
She greeted both husband and wife, but her focus shifted immediately to Melissa. She held Melissa’s hand as she spoke.
“I must introduce myself. I am Augustine Emory. I have a message for you, which I know will be a comfort. Perhaps, if it is not too much trouble, we can go somewhere to speak privately? Perhaps I can offer you tea.”
“I don’t think my wife feels up to tea with strangers,” said John. “We should get home. You should rest, honey.”
“Don’t worry about me, darling,” said Melissa. “I can manage.”
“I really must speak with you, although I know that it is an intrusion. Perhaps in a week or so? I do want to assure you now, though, that your daughter is in a place of peace and love, and that she sends her love to you.”
The woman pressed a business card into Melissa’s hand and went off.
Melissa looked down at her palm and blinked. John took the card and held it up to read it.
Augustine. Clairvoyant and Medium.
As he turned it over in his hand, Magdalene Archer approached the couple.
“Was that Augustine Emory?” she asked.
“You’ve heard of her?” John said.
“Why, yes. She is a very eminent spiritualist.”
“I suppose all of that is nonsense,” said John, unconvincingly.
“She is very highly thought of,” said Magdalene. “What was she saying to you?”
“She said that our Angel was happy and at peace,” said Melissa. “Do you suppose that she can really communicate with the dead?”
“I believe that they have done much scientific work in the field. It’s all a little above my head, but certainly so many eminent people cannot be mistaken.”
John looked at the card. “Perhaps we should go see her,” he said. “Just to see what she wants. Just to see.”
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