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The Note

Chapter 4 titled The Note of The Graveyard Runes by K.D. Upton

The clouds hung low as I hurried back to the graveyard where I’d last seen the strange man. Even at such a young age, his was a face worn by years of brooding. Although his warm eyes held a hint of gentleness behind the turbulence, he walked with a slow and deliberate gait.

I rounded the tall oak tree and stepped into the cemetery, stopping to scan the area. Folding my arms about my waist, I wondered where he could have run off to, and the thought of him lurking about the property not only raised the hairs on my neck, but gave me pause. Who was this stranger, and how did he know my name? Instinct said to tuck tail and race back to the safety of the mansion, but I barely snuck out this last time. Stopped by my father at the last minute, I promised to return in no more than an hour. He reminded me that Elsa had planned a dinner, and she wouldn’t forgive my absence. I stole out the door, promising not to be late, and heard his deep voice call out behind me, “Wear a dress, Cherry. Not pants.”

In answer, I waved at him and pumped my legs harder to get some distance between us. Elsa expected ladies to wear fancy dresses while visiting Le Lys Doré, except I didn’t own any. I was more of the slacks and flats kind of person, and whenever my paternal grandmother saw me on one of my trips to see my grandfather, she’d often snap, “What respectable man would marry you? A woman’s appearance projects her character.” Though I rarely replied, because le pépé would crack, “The dress does not make the woman, Elsa. Integrity, courage, and intention do. Mon chéri will find her match, and he will be better for it.” He then continued playing chess, glancing over at me with a quick wink, while Elsa stalked off to pester some other poor soul.

I walked over to the fresh-turned earth, now more mud than dirt, and squatted to get a better view of the flowers resting beside his tombstone. I was the only one with the fire and ice rose. The rest of them tossed red roses without a second glance or even a sniffle.

While pride for the family name ran through the marrow of each one of us, love for my grandfather, or anyone, was a rarity. I’m not saying that they didn’t care for him. On the contrary, my sister, Noelle, visited him once a month like the rest of them. He’d listen attentively, asking them about their lives, goals, and dreams.

On multiple occasions, I watched this transaction of sorts. They’d act the part of dutiful son, daughter, grandchild, answering his questions. Most seemed to enjoy it, but the glances at the grandfather clock or constant watch checking didn’t go unnoticed by me or le pépé. He, of course, ignored it and kept the conversation flowing, which was one of his strong suits. Never did he chastise them about it. Instead, he’d wrap up the visit, give them some money, and send them on their way, knowing the same scenario would play out again the next month. Why they carried on the farce was both sad and complicated. Truth be told, they really came for Elsa’s benefit.

“It was essential,” she’d say, “for the family to appear united.”

Walls talked, and Elsa knew that all too well. On several occasions, she’d squashed rumors started by staff. A few included extramarital affairs. I swear her eyes nearly popped out of her head on those days. Thankfully, it wasn’t about my parents, but it might as well have been.

These days, people rarely cared about such things. Most of the time, it was a passing fancy. Something to occupy their curiosities until the next town faux pas redirected their attentions elsewhere. But Elsa’s pride couldn’t stand it, and to her, there was strength in numbers. That meant a monthly return to Le Lys Doré for everyone if they wanted to stay in her good graces and not cut out of the will. No matter. I loved my paternal grandfather, and my heart ached without him.

I ran my fingertips along his etched name on the tombstone. He now belonged with the other forbears, never to walk these gardens again. I bit down on my lip. With the burning knot in my throat, the warm rush of tears lingered on my lashes. How could it be? He was in good shape the last time I’d seen him. Not a wince, limp, or arthritic joint. The man was a poster child for elderly health.

I stood up and stepped away, but something white caught my eye, and I turned back, bending to get a better look. On top of his headstone was a folded note. Soggy from the downpour, it stuck to the marble. Blue ink appeared under the now translucent paper. I glanced around the cemetery, but didn’t see anyone lurking.

Strange, I thought, wrestling with the idea of picking it up and reading it.

“What are you waiting for?” came a deep male voice.

I jumped, squelching a yelp, instantly recognizing the young man from earlier.

“You like scaring people, do you?” I counted to five to settle my frayed nerves.

He pointed at the soggy note. “Read it.”

I frowned. “Why should I? Clearly it’s not for me.”

The man smirked. “You sound like Elsa. I didn’t expect that from you.”

“Meaning?” I raised a brow.

“Since when have you let manners get in the way? Read the blasted thing.”

“And you know me how? This is the first time I’ve laid eyes on you.”

“Au contraire, mon chéri.”

I groaned. This was tipping into the creepy category, and all I wanted was to find out who this man really was and get the heck out of here. The next time I saw my father, I’d fill him in and let him handle it. He had a way of shaking the truth loose on anyone with a simple stare. How I wish I’d inherited that trait.

“Listen, buddy. I don’t know who you are or what you are doing here, but you’ve got two seconds to fill me in or I’ll call the police.”

The man grinned, taking a step closer to me. Only the tombstone stood between us. I swallowed hard and eyed the one exit. I’d have to dart around him to leave. Would he stop me?

A robust laugh erupted into the still air. The birds quit chirping, and even the pesky mosquitoes zoomed off.

“There’s the feisty attitude I’ve heard about.” Dimples appeared on his tanned skin. “Good. You’ll need that in the days to come. Here.”

He picked up the note and extended it to me. Raindrops plopped of it to the ground below as I stared from it back to him. Why did he want me to read it? And what did he mean by needing a feisty attitude? None of this made sense.

Seeing as how he probably wouldn’t leave me alone until I did as he wanted, I snatched the wet note and opened it.

“Read it aloud,” he said.

My eyes grew wide, but I complied nonetheless. “My dearest love, the time we shared will never be forgotten. Rest well. Until we meet again. Love, S.”

“You look unnerved.”

I looked up from the writing and scrutinized his face.

“These symbols.” I held it up for him to see. “I’ve seen these before.” A faded memory popped to mind, but the details were fuzzy. I must have been four or five, but the event all seemed like a dream now.

A flicker of amusement flashed within his dark eyes.

“You don’t disappoint, mon chéri.”

Why did he keep calling me that, and how did he know le pépé’s nickname for me? A ball of anger swirled deep within my belly as I watched the man walk off.

“I’ll be in touch, Cherry. Until then, research those symbols.” He stopped and turned to face me, his features taut and ominous. “But be warned. They hold secrets. If you dig, others will try to stop you. Be careful.”

He strolled away, stuffing his hands in his pant pockets and whistling a tune.

“Wait! What’s your name?”

But he kept walking, rounding the massive oak tree and out of sight. Left alone, I stared a few minutes longer, baffled by what had just occurred.

Secrets? What secrets was he referring to? I looked down at the letter again, focusing on the feminine script. Why would an affair ruffle so many feathers? And why would I need to be careful? I tucked the note into my bra and decided to keep quiet about all this until I’d researched those symbols more. No sense in alarming anyone yet. Besides, it could all be some misunderstanding.

I strolled up to the mansion under the mass of darkened clouds that rolled in since I’d left the cemetery. A roll of thunder rumbled as the oak leaves rustled against the wind. Another storm was coming, and this one looked like it would throw a nasty punch. I jogged the rest of the way to the front door and walked in, but like the looming squall brewing outside, the one inside threatened to topple us all.

Other Works besides The Note

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