insisting on more information in case it made her chew off her hand.
She sighed. "No, that is all. There is not much more I can explain to you, Crystal. To tell you the truth, I was told very little regarding the family's history—especially the kind dating back so far. Whenever I broached such a subject, it was made quite clear to be strictly forgotten." She looked at the watch. "My goodness. It will be time for dinner before we know it. I think I will take a long hot bath and then divulge in a read myself before we dine this evening. Do you mind, darling?" She had already risen, making the decision for me.
"Enjoy your bath." I smiled with a look that probably seemed too calculated.
"Thank you, my dear." For the first time, she flushed. I wondered why.
"I will see you at dinner." She disappeared before I had the chance to think up an excuse not to attend.
I didn't want to attend another one of their dinner's. It was already more like a trip to the dentist: a chore and bit of an aggravation. Gal's attitude, Isobel's erratic behavior, and now Cray's added over cool demeanor to my visit was making me want to hole up in my room. It was like eating with a group of escaped mental patients. The only sane person seemed to be Zella. It was no wonder the she looked so pleased to see me.
And something was definitely wrong at Thorncrest Manor. Goose bumps popped up all over me as I thought about last night. A part of me wanted to run like hell while I still had the chance. But something stronger, more stubborn made me want to stay.
Admittedly, I was becoming fond of Milton and Syd. For more than just their general politeness. They were becoming likeable. They allowed me to feel extra cared for, important. It was something I wasn't prepared to lose yet.
Most of all, I had to figure out what was going on at the house, why Isobel was changing, and why I was clearly disliked by two members of the Lockes.
~ * ~
Exploring the grounds of the manor felt like a good way to clear my head of negative thoughts, so I peeled off the many layers to leave myself in just my shirt and jeans. Outside it was warm and sunny. I was glad the weather had improved.
The cemetery I'd seen from my balcony should have been the last place I would want to visit after last night, but my feet itched to see it. I wanted to see who was buried there. It was only yards away. I even picked a few flowers to place on any graves I might have come across with familiar names.
When I reached the burial ground I searched for the gate, but it didn't have one. It turned out to have just a short, stone wall that travelled around to an opening at one end beside a wilted apple tree. I stepped inside and felt discouraged by the display of dedications to the dead, finding tombs broken and some a little pushed open, inviting mosquitoes and flying ants.
Sun burnt leaves scattered the ground like a bed of black roses; the head stones were just as abused, lapsing backwards or sideways into a demeaning droop. Most weren't even standing, let alone readable. They had to be lifted to see who the grave belonged to.
In the center of the cemetery was a headless statue knelt in prayer, mottled gray and crumbling. Beneath it was a faded inscription.
Beginning of one's end.
The fallen shall be caught.
Retrieved and blessed if not thrown back to the wicked.
It wasn't an uplifting or consoling message, so I carried on walking along the humps of graves in search of a name to brighten my mood and catch my attention. It took me while, but I found him. Vander Asholme. The tomb was protected by the growth of weeds that covered most of the cleaved surface. The rest of his resting place was fenced, yet I could still make out his name engraved on the rusted plate. There was nothing else. Not even a date of birth or death.
Placing the flowers on top, I wondered why neither were noted, and if any family members had even been alive to give such details to pallbearers. Maybe
She sighed. "No, that is all. There is not much more I can explain to you, Crystal. To tell you the truth, I was told very little regarding the family's history—especially the kind dating back so far. Whenever I broached such a subject, it was made quite clear to be strictly forgotten." She looked at the watch. "My goodness. It will be time for dinner before we know it. I think I will take a long hot bath and then divulge in a read myself before we dine this evening. Do you mind, darling?" She had already risen, making the decision for me.
"Enjoy your bath." I smiled with a look that probably seemed too calculated.
"Thank you, my dear." For the first time, she flushed. I wondered why.
"I will see you at dinner." She disappeared before I had the chance to think up an excuse not to attend.
I didn't want to attend another one of their dinner's. It was already more like a trip to the dentist: a chore and bit of an aggravation. Gal's attitude, Isobel's erratic behavior, and now Cray's added over cool demeanor to my visit was making me want to hole up in my room. It was like eating with a group of escaped mental patients. The only sane person seemed to be Zella. It was no wonder the she looked so pleased to see me.
And something was definitely wrong at Thorncrest Manor. Goose bumps popped up all over me as I thought about last night. A part of me wanted to run like hell while I still had the chance. But something stronger, more stubborn made me want to stay.
Admittedly, I was becoming fond of Milton and Syd. For more than just their general politeness. They were becoming likeable. They allowed me to feel extra cared for, important. It was something I wasn't prepared to lose yet.
Most of all, I had to figure out what was going on at the house, why Isobel was changing, and why I was clearly disliked by two members of the Lockes.
~ * ~
Exploring the grounds of the manor felt like a good way to clear my head of negative thoughts, so I peeled off the many layers to leave myself in just my shirt and jeans. Outside it was warm and sunny. I was glad the weather had improved.
The cemetery I'd seen from my balcony should have been the last place I would want to visit after last night, but my feet itched to see it. I wanted to see who was buried there. It was only yards away. I even picked a few flowers to place on any graves I might have come across with familiar names.
When I reached the burial ground I searched for the gate, but it didn't have one. It turned out to have just a short, stone wall that travelled around to an opening at one end beside a wilted apple tree. I stepped inside and felt discouraged by the display of dedications to the dead, finding tombs broken and some a little pushed open, inviting mosquitoes and flying ants.
Sun burnt leaves scattered the ground like a bed of black roses; the head stones were just as abused, lapsing backwards or sideways into a demeaning droop. Most weren't even standing, let alone readable. They had to be lifted to see who the grave belonged to.
In the center of the cemetery was a headless statue knelt in prayer, mottled gray and crumbling. Beneath it was a faded inscription.
Beginning of one's end.
The fallen shall be caught.
Retrieved and blessed if not thrown back to the wicked.
It wasn't an uplifting or consoling message, so I carried on walking along the humps of graves in search of a name to brighten my mood and catch my attention. It took me while, but I found him. Vander Asholme. The tomb was protected by the growth of weeds that covered most of the cleaved surface. The rest of his resting place was fenced, yet I could still make out his name engraved on the rusted plate. There was nothing else. Not even a date of birth or death.
Placing the flowers on top, I wondered why neither were noted, and if any family members had even been alive to give such details to pallbearers. Maybe
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