accept. He could have stayed in Florida, far away in the sun and heat. He chose to come home, and would build his life here.
In order to change the subject from past to present, Nathan told his parents of the twenty-three hour bus ride the day before, leaving out details of his night terrors. When he finally stood and said goodbye, the mood in the Dinneck kitchen was decidedly lighter. For that, at least, he was grateful.
He’d worry about Elizabeth, and his father’s sudden lack of faith, later.
Chapter Eight
Greenwood Street was a long, tree-lined avenue on the far western edge of town, one block from the church. Nathan walked with a forced casualness, keeping pace beside Ralph Hayden who stepped with strong, but achingly slow, confidence. The church’s property abutted a small section of woods separating it from the older town cemetery. It was a warm day for mid-September, almost eighty, and he enjoyed the green tree shadows as they flashed over them. Cooler weather would be coming soon, thankfully. A refreshing change from Florida’s year-round heat. For now, Nathan walked to the entrance of the cemetery with his sport coat draped over his shoulder, hooked by the two fingers of his right hand. Hayden was good company, not offering unnecessary small talk and expecting none in return.
The cemetery looked ancient. The surrounding wall, most likely the original laid down as pasture demarcations in the late eighteen-hundreds, consisted of moss-laden stones, interspersed with a dangerous mix of blueberry bushes and poison ivy vines. The stones themselves were chipped and darkened with age. Hayden muttered, “Here we are,” as they entered through a narrow break in the wall leading to a gravel drive.
Like the wall, the nearest headstones were stained with time, chipped in corners. Some leaned precariously to one side. Many of the graves in this area bore the name “Dreyfus.” A hundred years ago, when the family owned most of this land, they likely had exclusive use of this place for their own interment.
Considering its age, Nathan was impressed with the cemetery’s upkeep. He made a mental note to comment on this when they met Tarretti. According to Hayden, the groundskeeper had worked here for over a quarter century, almost as long as his own tenure. The man lived, and spent most of his time, at the newer property near the center of town. On Wednesdays and Fridays he did the rounds at the older graveyards and so asked them to meet him here.
“He’s a stickler for routine,” Hayden had said this morning before leaving. “You’ll find it easier to work around his schedule than the other way around.”
A rusting white Chevy Blazer was parked near the entrance in a small shady lot tucked fifty yards from the road. Vincent Tarretti ambled toward them.
“Reverend Hayden.” The groundskeeper was probably in his early- to mid-fifties, Nathan guessed. His long blonde hair had slight gray tinting around the temples and a peppering in his thin beard. He had the tanned, weather-worn skin of someone who spent most of his time outdoors.
“Vincent, always a pleasure.” Hayden gestured to Nathan. “May I introduce my able young protege, Nathan Dinneck.”
Vincent made a point of shaking Hayden’s hand briefly before looking at Nathan. He said, “Your name sounds familiar. Do you have family here?”
“My mom and dad,” Nathan said, shaking hands. “Unless you mean
Vincent offered a noncommittal nod and turned to walk between the two men. Having no real destination, they simply followed along.
“Could be,” he said. “I think I’ve met your mother once or twice around town over the years.” He held a clear plastic bag in his hand, partly filled with various flotsam—papers, wrappers, a couple of cans, dead flowers and sticks. As they walked, Tarretti occasionally snatched up some driftwood litter or an aged pot of flowers.
Since the gist of the meeting was mostly to get the two men acquainted, Nathan gave him a quick synopsis of his time in Florida. Vincent spoke solely of his life here in town. The only reference to his past was one mention of “back in California” when comparing the weather.
Though this cemetery was smaller than the newer one across town, it was deceivingly large compared with the view from the road. They walked downhill, moving between headstones in what Vincent explained was a random pattern of travel to avoid marring the grass. Nathan thought that might be going a bit beyond whatever mysterious Rules of Grounds-Keeping might exist.
At the base of the hill, the property opened up. The bordering stone wall broke away to their right. Between two trees, far ahead, Nathan saw the far border. Past that was more woodland. He commented on the size. Vincent nodded.
“Five and a half acres, all told. There’re two older, much smaller lots across town. All of them are dwarfed by the new one, though.” He looked around. “This place was the primary cemetery in town for seventy years. It’s pretty big. The Dreyfus family donated most of it, with the stipulation they get exclusive use of the section closest to the road.”
They turned right and were now walking north, toward the deepest part of the property. Ornate statues loomed over some of the gravesites. Weeping angels, mischievous cherubs, a great many depictions of the Virgin Mary.
They were a hundred yards from the farthest corner when Nathan stopped. Vincent and Reverend Hayden continued on, the caretaker asking the pastor what his plans were after he left the church. They didn’t notice the younger man staring transfixed over the tops of the tombstones.
Two stone angels knelt upon a raised pedestal, wings spread in a glorious and time-stained image of prepared flight. The tips of one merged with the other to form a stone canopy over the gravesite. They were bathed in soft shade from the trees looming over the wall from the woods behind, but he recognized them as the ones from his dream. Had he been here before, maybe as a child? He didn’t think so. Nathan had never been a boy who found graveyards fun places to visit.
When he realized the other men had turned and were regarding him, Nathan forced himself to look away and catch up.
“Everything all right, Reverend?” Ralph Hayden asked.
Vincent Tarretti followed Nathan’s earlier gaze, then looked intently back at him.
“Fine,” Nathan said. “Just admiring the statues in this section. Some are very elaborate.” Try as he might, he found his gaze returning to the far corner, to the twin angels. “Who—I mean, how old are the graves in this area?”
Tarretti continued staring a heartbeat longer before answering. “Oh, quite old,” he said at last. “Most around the turn of the century... the twentieth century, I mean.” He nodded toward the back of the grounds. “Any statue strike you in particular, Reverend?”
The question was unexpected. Nathan was unable to answer at first, feeling like someone caught stealing candy. Tarretti’s eyes locked on him. But he hadn’t done anything. No one knew about his dreams; they
Vincent sighed and looked at Hayden. “Well, if you two will excuse me, I have a few more things I need to do here before heading back. It was very nice meeting you, Pastor.” He extended his hand, and Nathan took it only after realizing he’d been addressing him, not Hayden.
“You, too.”
“I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other again.”
Nathan figured he must be tired. Not sleeping enough, with the nightmares. He nodded and lowered his hand. “I’m sure.”
The three men walked back to Tarretti’s Blazer in silence. After a final round of goodbyes, the two ministers continued on, leaving the cemetery and turning right along Greenwood, heading for Dreyfus Road.
Vincent watched them disappear around the corner then walked back among the tombstones, deciding to do a perfunctory inspection of the grave to assure there were no signs of tampering. The young minister took too much of an interest for his liking. He had no reason to think Dinneck knew anything more about this place than he’d been told today. Still, the unquestionable fact remained that his secret, revealed to the wrong person, risked that knowledge finding its way to his enemies.
