Lincoln,
I hope that you had a wonderful Christmas Day and I want to thank you for your last letter. I’m still deeply hurt by Trey’s affair, although I do believe it now. I received a letter from a solicitor wanting to discuss her child receiving part of Trey’s estate. I did a little Googling, he’s entitled, but I think there could be lots of complications, because Trey wasn’t British, he was American.
Anyway, I’m not focussing on it for a while. I’ve decided to put it all to the back of my mind for a couple of days.
I want to tell you something interesting. I met a gentleman in the cemetery the other day; his name was Lincoln as well. How strange to have two gentlemen in the same village with the same name. He was a lovely and humorous, man. I’d love to meet up with him again. He said he lived in an old people’s home…
I paused writing. Daniel had spent Christmas Day in an old people’s home. I couldn’t imagine the village was large enough to support two. In fact, the more I thought about it, the more there seemed to be so many connections, and overlaps.
Daniel, our local vicar, spent Christmas Day in the local old folks’ home, I wonder if he might know that Lincoln.
I had hoped the man I met would have been you, but I guess not. Anyway, I made a decision to go to the cemetery on Thursday, I don’t want to ignore my child, and I’ll just have to get over the fact he’s with her. I had spoken to Daniel about exhuming him, but now my mind is a little clearer, I guess that’s a little extreme. A total overreaction I imagine. I think I shocked Daniel to hell and back!
I’m going to spend New Year’s Eve on the beach, I remember doing that as a child for so many years. We’d watch the fireworks exploding from all different directions and then the boats tooting their horns at midnight. I’m hoping it will remind me of better times, and give me a future to look forward to.
Dad had a wonderful plaque made for my new home. It was known as The Hayloft in the past, so I hope I can get the planning and it can return to being called that. The name is carved into a piece of driftwood, Dad felt we were both lost but now we have a home. I thought it was a wonderful idea. I feel like I have something to be excited about, and the guilt I feel is lessening each day, for that, I’m thankful.
I’m also thankful for you, Lincoln. I’m not sure what I would have done without having you read my ramblings and taking the time to reply.
Your friend, always.
Dani.
I read back through my words and started to remember certain things said by both Miller and Daniel. I began to think that one, or both, knew of my Lincoln. Daniel had been vague on the ‘Anna’ issue. Surely he’d know, or have access to records of, who was buried in the cemetery? Miller seemed shocked when I’d told him about the Lincoln I’d met. Like I’d thought before, what were the chances of two Lincolns in the same small village?
I folded the letter and placed it in the envelope, I wasn’t sure how long that envelope was going to last. It had long since lost the ability to stick and we’d given up on using tape. Instead, I tucked the flap into the back of the envelope and pulled on my boots and jacket. I took a slow walk up the lane to the honesty box.
Another thought hit me. There wasn’t a defined time between letters. Did that mean Lincoln walked this lane frequently, daily even? How else would he know there was a letter waiting for him?
Only once had anyone seen me near that honesty box, and that was Mrs. Hampton. It was just a broken wooden box, nestled in a hedge, which most people would walk past without noticing.
“Been for a walk?” Dad said when I returned.
“Just posting a letter. You know those ones I get from Lincoln? I leave them in the honesty box up the lane.”
“I didn't know it was still there. Old Fred Samuels used to own that farm. He died a year ago, I think.”
“Who owns it now?”
“His son, he rents it out, though. He doesn’t even live in the UK, I don’t think. I’m sure someone said he’s emigrated to Australia, or it might have been America.”
“I’ve been thinking about this Lincoln person. I’m wondering if that’s not his real name. I met a man called Lincoln in the cemetery. How likely is it to have two men with the same name in the village?”
“It’s not the most common of names, I guess. Have you asked him?”
“I don’t want to, really. If he felt the need to use a fake name, I guess there’s a reason for that. It’s a shame though, because I’d love to know who he really is.”
“He puts a letter through our door, doesn’t he?”
“He does.”
“We could get one of those camera things,” Dad said.
“CCTV? You know, although I really want to know who he is, what if I’m disappointed? He said once that he’d known me as a child. I wonder if he was teacher at my old school.”
“That won’t be hard to work out. I’m sure all your old school reports are in the barn. Although you’d need to know his surname, but we might be able to work out who’s still alive at least, narrow it down a little.”
I paused, thinking about something Miller had said.
“Do you remember Miller as a child? He said something, I can’t remember his exact words, but I told him I’d been on a boat, when I was kid, and he…Oh, what did he say?”
I racked my brain for the words. “It was as if I should remember who the other kids were, I think.”
“I do, I’m sure you might have played with him. All the kids used to gather on the beach. Things were easier back then, you kids had way more freedom than perhaps you should have. You’d go out in the morning and come home when you were hungry. Maybe he was on that boat with you. I know a few of their parents had boats, you used to moan that we didn’t but your friends’ dads did.”
“I don’t really remember him, I wonder why.”
“Who do you remember from your childhood?”
We sat while we chatted.
“I remember Katy, I wonder what happened to her. She had brown pigtails and was always crying if someone messed with her hair. The boys used to pull it all the time. Then there was, George, I think he was called. He was a snotty kid, always up for a dare.”
“He died, in his teens,” Dad said.
“How?”
“Cliff diving, so I was told.”
“Bloody hell! There’s nowhere local for that.”
“Oh, I don’t think it was here. I can’t remember the facts. You know who you should ask? Colette is the font of all that goes on in his village. There’s not much she doesn’t remember, I’m sure.”
I wondered if that was an excuse to invite her down again.
“I think that might be a good idea. Maybe she’d like to visit later, for dinner?”
“She has family visiting today, she told me. But I’ll give her a call and invite for the day after. I’m sure we’ll still have some of that turkey left over.”
I grinned at the smile Dad displayed.
“I don’t know why you two don’t make it official,” I said.
“Whatever do you mean by that?”
“Well, you’re both single, you have a fondness for each other, so call it what it is.”
“Call it what it is? I’m not following. We’re friends, nothing more.”
“Dad, you’d love for it to be more than ‘nothing more,’ I can tell,” I said with a laugh.
“Well, young lady, you might be right, but at my age, friends is what we call it.”
He laughed as he made his way to the hallway, no doubt to call her. I started to prepare us some breakfast. It had surprised me not to remember many children from my childhood. I struggled to remember anyone from secondary school, so I guessed I couldn’t blame myself, or my memory, for not going back even further.
Chapter Nineteen
Miller arrived earlier than I’d expected. I could hear the truck rumbling on the drive outside. I opened the front door and gave him a wave. I pulled a coat off the rack and shouted out to Dad that I’d see him later.