Feast-Days
We chose a wreath of honeysuckle.
Rebecca told me its what out Mother smelled like.
Mr. Rook carried the imps and I on his shoulders, plowing the snow aside as we walked through the cemetery. It was over my head now and still coming down. Rebecca wore Mr. Jonathan's coat, pulled tight around herself. Trevor and Mr. Jonathan led us through the drifts, scenting out the path to her grave.
It was a simple headstone that we dug to find. Plain and simple. Efficient and caring.
