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Constance’s Story–Renascence

Archivist note: This post is from an older recovered archive.

==Initial Post==

(Posted by Kit SpiritWeaver on April 2, 2010 at 10:35am)

I stood by the graveyard fence behind the Mechanix Arms, enjoying the relative warmth of springtime after the long chill of winter. Within the fence the spirits mostly slumbered, for it was close to the noon hour.

Within ourself the others mostly slumbered too, aside from Chastity, who peered curiously at the scene through my eyes. I was hardly surprised; after all, there was a child here, albeit one who had long since passed beyond the need for any protections Chas might provide.

There was a faint stirring, an eddy of air catching up leaves and twirling them around one grave marker. And then something more. I caught a brief glimpse of a young girl–faint, ephemeral, gone almost before I could see her. She looked to be my own daughter’s age.


“Are you the one they call Evie?” I asked.

There wasn’t an answer, but I had hardly expected there to be. Not to a stranger, certainly not at this hour of the day. I was surprised to see a spirit about at all. She must have been a curious child, this Evie. Probably still was.

“We are coming inside, dear. And you ”will” mind your manners.”

We had heard through the town grapevine that these spirits had tried to possess someone before. But this was of little concern to me as I crossed through the gate. They could try to take this body, if they could summon up the strength to attempt it at this hour, but they would be in for a very rude surprise.

Deep inside, Khan growled his amusement at the thought. ”Let them try,” he mindspoke.

”Spirit possession is hardly a thing to wish for, my dear Khan. But all the same, we’re at full occupancy here, I should think. ”

Chastity snorted, an equine sort of laugh.

We approached the small tilted stone that marked the child’s resting place. I slowly stooped to lay a basket of flowers at its foot.

“I had a child once, many years ago. She would have been grown now, mayhap with babies of her own, had she lived. Her name was Hope.”

We could feel the silence listening.

“My darling Theophilus and I had wanted others, but one child was all God granted us, and truly she was enough. She was the sunlight of our days….” My voice trailed off as I stood there, lost in old memories.

A breeze gently tugged at my shawl, recalling me to the present.

“I woke up ill one morning. It was a Sunday, and Theo was a vicar, you see, so he had his duties to attend to. So off they went, he and Hope, to the village church, while I lay in bed awaiting their return that afternoon. But they never did. It was an accident, I was told. A drunk coachman ran them off the road. Hope was crushed beneath its wheels, and as for Theo…well, he hit his head on a rock as he fell. He never regained consciousness. I lost him three days later.”

The wind sighed.

“The accident happened on this very day, but oh so many years ago!” An old grief, but as I told the story, the fresh-remembered pain welled up anew, blurring my vision. I raised a shaking hand to blot away the tears.

“Hope loved lilies, so I’ve brought an Easter basket.”

We watched the flower heads bob as if gently caressed by the April breeze.

“Years passed. At times I was bitter, not understanding why my loved ones had been taken from me, angry that I alone was left to go on with life without them. Where was the grace in that? The mercy? Then one day, as my small savings was close to running dry, I saw an ad in the newspaper. A Lord living on a nearby estate was seeking a woman to be a nanny to his two young wards. It occurred to me I might never embrace my husband again or see my own child grow up, but I could still find some meaning in life by helping others. I could help raise another family’s children, guide them, and watch them learn and grow as they took their first faltering steps towards youth and then adulthood. And so I applied for the position. I became a caregiver for two children, Christopher and Katharine. Little did I realize how momentous this choice would be, how inextricably intertwined our lives would become.”

”One way of putting it,” mindspoke Christopher from within the Merge, his mindvoice dry with irony.

“More years came and went. The household no longer had need for a nanny, but Miss Kat still needed a governess, so I remained, watching my young charges blossom under my loving care. And then one day, when they were nearly grown, I discovered the Master’s secret, and it all changed so tragically.” I stopped, belatedly recalling who I was sharing this story with. “Ah, but that’s not a suitable tale for a young child. Suffice it to say, matters changed drastically.”

Within, Katharine curled up into a tight, protective ball, saying nothing.

“I found what I needed, though, my purpose in life. My life was spared those long years ago because I am still needed here. This was never the life we planned, but it is the life we have now, to make the best of as we will. The evil designs of scheming men might have brought great harm to us, but there is a greater design at work in this universe that slowly, in its own time and way, sets things aright again.” I smiled at the child’s marker. “Perhaps you, too, shall discover that in time, and find your own way Home. If you do, please tell my Hope I have never forgotten her, and tell my Theo I still look forward to his loving embrace.”

A warm breeze touched me briefly. I smiled.

“I’m very tired, my dears,” I said. “Someone else take us back?”

Christopher ascended, leaving me free to re-enter the Merge. We left the graveyard, returning to his potter’s stall in the Open Market.


*Comment by Zachary Somerset on April 2, 2010 at 1:11pm
Looks like Miss Book’s “neighbors” have a busier social life than I do, despite being dead. I really need to get out more…. *grin*

*Comment by Queer Hermit on April 5, 2010 at 10:54am
Evie is the child that I talk with. Perhaps you saw her dolly Gloria there also. While I have not really gotten to know all the spirits in the graveyard, I do know they they still possess feelings and concerns about those who visit. I am sure that if they can, your prayers to your lost ones will be sent by them to the hereafter.

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