Free Writ on Water by Melanie Jackson Page A

knowing her thoughts. He sounded slightly wistful. “My Nancy was quite a reader. I wanted her to have her favorites nearby.”
    â€œThat’s thoughtful.” Chloe realized that her comment was odd, but the entire morning had been odd, and her assaulted eyes and senses couldn’t absorb anything more. Also, her host was looking a little wan. It was probably time to be leaving. “MacGregor, I don’t want to sound like a slacker, but would you mind if we put off seeing the slave cemetery until later? I need to make some notes while this is fresh in my mind.”
    â€œFine, fine.” MacGregor peered at her. “You’re looking a little peaked, girl. You really should have eaten some breakfast. It’s the most important meal of the day, and you aren’t running to fat yet.”
    Chloe opened her mouth to retort and then thought better of it.
    â€œYou’re right. I should have,” she agreed meekly. “And I will tomorrow. But perhaps Morag will take pity on me and let me have some lunch.”
    â€œMorag hasn’t got any pity. But Cook’ll see you right. Oleander is one beautiful woman.”
    Chloe said a silent prayer of thanks for the beautiful cook. She was suddenly ravenous.

We understand death for the first time
when he puts his hands on someone we love.
—Madame de Stael
Chapter Three
    Chloe took half of MacGregor’s advice and ate a splendid lunch, but after a sumptuous meal that left her feeling a bit like the fattened goose destined for the Christmas table, she decided that a solitary stroll through the gardens would be in order. It seemed an especially wise thing to do, as MacGregor could be heard bellowing from the library. His curses hadn’t been in wide use since Charles II had been on the throne, but they were still effective. As no one answered, she had to assume that it was either a cowering employee who had aroused his wrath, or he was on the telephone. Chloe didn’t envy whoever was on the receiving end of such a tongue-lashing. Even from a distance, it raised gooseflesh on her arms. She happily fled the house.
    Even having been through the mysterioushedge before, it still took her a while of pacing up and down to find the gap where they had entered that morning. The break was hidden by some optical illusion caused by the overlapping vines. There simply was no marker that she could see that differentiated one bit of hedge from another. She was finally aided in her quest by the sound of men’s curses—modern ones this time—and the clopping and the hacking of pruning shears and shovels. As she got closer to the voices, she noticed some slightly downtrodden grass only just recovered from a wheelbarrow’s passage. That wouldn’t last long, though, so she marked the gap with some fallen twigs before entering the maze.
    The “boys” proved to be two brothers, Dave and Bob Munson, one of whom was a senior in high school and the other a college student. She hoped uneasily that Bob, the younger of the two towheads, was on some sort of work program and that MacGregor hadn’t encouraged him to go AWOL for the day so that she could have immediate access to the cemetery. Then she remembered Rory had made the arrangements and dismissed her worry. Rory Patrick, the stiff stick, would never encourage carelessness or illegality among his employees. Also, for all she knew, maybe school had already let out for the summer.
    â€œSo, guys,” she called out. She didn’t offer to relieve them of the loppers and gauntlets, which were covered in bits of thorny bramble and poison ivy. “How goes the war against the flora?”
    â€œWe’re winnin’ the battle,” Dave answered with a charming smile. Apparently his parents were reasonably well off and this job was just for pocket money, or else Rory paid dental benefits. “It’s just slow going against these brambles. I’m gonna have to