Free Across the Winds of Time by Bess McBride Page B

home, jumped up onto the couch and took the opportunity to clean one of her paws.
    “This is awful, Sass. Our furniture really looks hideous in here. And I need a carpet for the floor. I’m not sure I have enough money to get any more stuff. The electrical work and heating and cooling are going to put me in the poorhouse as it is.” I scrunched my face, and my lips twitched. “Did you hear that, Sass? Poorhouse? That’s what this is.” I waved a hand to encompass the house. “The poorhouse. Everyone’s been too poor to afford the darn thing. Now, I know what they meant.”
    Sass ignored me completely and moved on to capturing the end of her tail and cleaning it as if this was once-a-week Saturday bath day.
    “Well, that’s it for visitors today, Sass. I’m just going to take a quick walk. Up the road.”
    At this, my black and orange speckled calico cat fixed me with a reproving stare. At least, that’s how I interpreted it.
    “What?” I challenged the pint-sized dynamo with a matching glare. “What? So, I’ve got work to do...unpacking boxes. Is that your point?”
    Holding her own, Sass continued to eye me with an unwavering gaze.
    “Oh, I see. It’s because I’m thinking about going up to the cemetery. Well, what would you know about it, missie? By the way, Marmaduke is going to be coming in and out of the house, but you aren’t going to be going outside. I hope you’re okay with that!”
    I turned my back on the silly cat and walked out the door. Marmaduke jumped down from the railing and followed me down the driveway to the road.
    “Oh, no, pal. You’re not going with me. That’s all I need is to be seen wandering around a cemetery with my familiar. They’ll burn me at the stake for sure. You stay here. Besides, you don’t want to get hit by a car, do you?”
    I interpreted the marmalade cat’s look to mean “What cars?” And he was right. Few cars seemed to use this country lane which led only to the cemetery.
    “Okay, no cars. You’re right. It doesn’t matter. Stay here!”
    I stepped out onto the road and turned left. A glance over my shoulder reassured me that Marmaduke did as he was told. I clasped my hands behind my back, and instead of briskly striding up the road, I found myself taking tense, hesitant steps—unsure of what I would find at the cemetery. At the base of the hill, the loud humming of cicadas in the nearby trees and bushes caught my attention, and I paused to listen with fascinated absorption. One might call the noise a “racket” if the buzzing sound didn’t have such a steady rhythm to it.
    No swarm descended on me, and I was oddly comforted by the presence of the vibrating cicadas. Life pulsed all around me. The vivid green of the trees and bushes delighted the eye. Lush crops of corn across the road sprung from obviously fertile earth. I inhaled deeply—the sweet country air itself a celebration of life.
    Feeling somewhat fortified, I pushed myself forward and marched up the hill. I reached the entrance with its iron arch all too soon and stopped one foot short of entering the cemetery.
    My heart pounded as I scanned the grounds from my limited vantage point. The base of the majestic oak tree where I’d seen Darius several weeks ago appeared barren, the bench empty. Nothing moved except the graceful oak trees as they swayed in the stiff breeze, stronger now on the top of the hill. The late afternoon sun danced across those tombstones that weren’t directly in the shadow of the massive evergreen trees, warming them to a light golden hue.
    I took several wary steps into the cemetery, stopping often to scan the area. The constant humming of the wind blowing through the pine needles of the trees provided a loud backdrop of noise, and I realized I wouldn’t be able to hear any approaching footsteps—a realization that gave me an uneasy vulnerability.
    I swallowed hard and moved on through the cemetery, coming to a stop near the massive oak tree where the wind