The man wore a simple frock coat and walked with an uneven gait. His face was downcast, his shoulders slumped. His rough leather hands were shoved into his coat pockets. A dirty downcast man walking down the lane.
Beside him walked a young woman in a soft dress. The beige fabric hung down below her knees where it used to cover her ankles. Her beautiful dark brown hair matched the sandals onn her dusty feet. A plain young common woman walking down the lane.
Without any word, the young man became overwhelmed with emotion, and he brought his hand up to cover his face from some unseen terror. “Ho!”; and he was silent. His cry silenced the wild-life as it brought him down to a knee. His beloved moved to him quickly and tried to pull him back up, but his weighted sobs kept him down.
He pulled himself to a nearby tree, an ancient oak whose leaves had seen greener days. His beloved hesitantly set herself down at his side. Her hand found it’s way to his, but he showed no new emotion. It traveled to his shoulder, and he breathed deeply. A slight touch of his cheek, and she felt the quiver, but he still did not look at her. She set her head in his lap, and it eased his tension.
He began to stroke her hair. “I saw hell.”
She looked him in horror. “See you the devil?”
He shook his head, distant. “No; nor the flames and coals that the reverend spoke of.”
“Then what saw you?”
He paused, hesitant.
“I saw your gravestone. It stood high, with the little statues and angels. Flowers were laid across the grass, fresh flowers. You died in 1721.”
She gasped. “But that is next year!”
Tears began to flow freely from his cheeks. “Yes”, he sobbed.
She embraced him tightly. “Don’t fret. It’s too early for me to die.”
“It was not just that. There was an inscription on your gravestone. I-i-i-i-i-t read, ‘To our beloved wife, the Countess.’”
“Countess!” She looked away.
A fell look rose in his eyes. “Countess. You forget about me dear. There’s nothing I can. . .” He broke off, overcome with emotion. “Your gravestone was not all I saw. Next to your grave was another, a small unmarked grave. It was half dug, with a simple coffin seen among the patches of dirt.” A pause. “It was my grave.”
Tears flowed freely from her eyes. “It cannot be! I am common, and we are young. We have many years left.” They cried together for awhile. She tried to ease his sorrow, but he refused to be comforted.
TO BE CONTINUED
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