“The way you forgot your mother’s pride in you?”
“And a lot of other things as well. You remember what I did with Aunt Dimity’s cat? I did the same thing with the rest of the stories. It wasn’t until I had them shoved in my face that I began to remember the way things really were, the whole of it, not just the disappointments. Dimity handled it a lot better than Andrew and I did, though. She didn’t let pain cut her off from the world.”
“She had your mother to help her,” Bill reminded me.
I squeezed his hand. “Let’s say they helped each other.”
Bill nodded thoughtfully, then scratched his head. “So guilt can overwhelm you—”
“But love is stronger. It’s in the process of triumphing, remember? It just took a little time for the right messenger to come along.”
“Dimity’s spiritual daughter.”
I nodded. “There’s nothing between Dimity and me but love, and I think I know a way to bury her guilt, to get Bobby’s message through to her once and for all. That’s what we were sent here to do.”
“Who sent us? Bobby?”
“Yes.” I reached into the bag at my feet and pulled from it the battered old photograph of the clearing. “We were sent by Bobby, and by my mother, and Ruth and Louise, and your father, and Emma and Derek—even Archy and Paul helped. We were sent here by everyone who ever loved Dimity.”
Bill nodded slowly. “So what do we do now?”
“Wait and see,” I said. “And in the meantime, help me think of something to tell your father.”
*
I had called Emma and Derek from MacLaren Hall to give them an update and they were waiting for us at the cottage, flashlights in hand, when we drove up. I fetched the one I had purchased at Harrod’s and Bill took the emergency lantern from the car. The three of them exchanged looks, but asked no questions as I led them through the back garden to the path up Pouter’s Hill.
The woods had been dim in full daylight; now they were black as pitch. We had to stop frequently to search for the path and the beams from our flashlights danced like will-o’-the-wisps as we swung them from side to side. I could hear Bill puffing behind me, and the faint rustling noises of night creatures running for cover. I wondered what they made of our peculiar expedition.
As we reached the top of the hill, the gray predawn light was beginning to filter through the swirling mist that had settled in the clearing. When I pulled up short at the eerie sight, Bill walked into me and then Derek and Emma bumped into him, so our entrance was more in character with the Marx Brothers than the Bronte sisters, which was okay by me.
I led the way to the old oak tree and swung my carry-on bag to the ground. Kneeling, I pulled out a trowel and began to dig between two gnarled roots. Emma and Derek and Bill switched off their lights and watched in silence, and when the hole was deep enough, I paused to look up at the heart Bobby had carved so long ago. They followed my gaze and, one by one, knelt beside me, eyes alight with understanding.
I took from the bag the folded notes, still tied with the pale blue ribbon, and placed them at the bottom of the hole. From a pocket I took the blue box, then unclasped the chain from around my neck. I slipped Bobby’s ring onto it; it clinked softly as it touched the locket. I placed them together in the blue box and set it gently atop the bundle of notes. Bill troweled the dirt back in and as he patted the last scattering into place, the sun rose.
The clearing glittered with dew-diamonds and a lark sang out the first sweet song of morning. The mist rolled back from the valley floor, and the fields and hills emerged, flushed pink and peach and golden. It may have been a trick of the light, and I’ve never confirmed it with the others, but I’m willing to swear that the heart on the old tree shimmered as I stood up.
The scene was complete now; nothing was missing or out of place, and I knew that when the sun was high, the hawks would rise again to ride the thermals.
25
I’m not sure if the mind at work was that of a son or a lawyer, but Bill managed to come up with a fairly convincing story for me to give to Willis, Sr. It had to do with running into old friends during our country ramble, being invited to visit them at their home in northern Scotland, and getting drafted into arranging a surprise party. It sounded farfetched to me, but Willis, Sr., seemed willing enough to accept it. I figured that sort of thing must be routine in their circle.