Apologies for the delay in updating... my game is being, ahem, rather slow, so it's taken me a while to get these screenshots, and I'm still not entirely happy with them... Anyway, on with the show
Chapter Nine
"What did you say," Connie repeated, her face lined with shock.
Patience looked unsure of herself. "I... I don't know why I said that... I think I heard it somewhere."
"Who told you that there was 'treasure in the graveyard for them as'd seek it', Patience?" Connie's voice sounded dry.
"I... I had a dream. A man came to me... he was dripping, and blue, but he was kind, I think..." Pattie was now really worried at the grey tone of her mother's face.
Connie suddenly sank to her knees. Pattie rushed to her, fearing that her mother was ill, but Connie looked up at her, and Pattie saw no anger in her eyes, just a pale determination.
"Then... I must go to the graveyard. Pattie, you look after Justin."
"Take Papa too," Pattie blurted.
"Dearheart, it's sweet of you to be concerned, but I am not afraid of the graveyard," Connie smiled weakly.
"No! No, I mean... I think Papa will find something too... He said... the man said something about vegetables, and about fishing, and that you were halfway there..." Pattie trailed off.
Connie put her hands on her daughter's shoulders. "Thank you for telling me. And you are right. He was a kind man."
Connie strode off purposefully, and Pattie sighed, and picked up Justin. She did not know what she had done. She hoped it was the right thing. She looked lovingly at her little brother, as he reached out to her face, smiling, his eyes focussed far away.
******
Connie and Peter walked into the graveyard, hand in hand. It was as deserted as always. The Islanders, a superstitious folk, mostly left their dead alone once they had been buried, and there were few flowers. A statue of a weeping angel in front of the pond, and the two grey mausoleums standing to the rear of the graveyard, looking down stonily over the tombstones, surrounded by scrub.
"I don't see anything," Peter whispered loudly.
Despite herself, Connie giggled. She whispered back, "Why are you whispering?"
Peter just looked at her, before breaking into his wide grin. "Aren't we looking for treasure?"
Connie steeled herself. "Yes. And treasure traditionally lives... underground. I think we had better enter one of those mausoleums."
In silence, they both walked up the path, towards the greystone building on the right. Peter pushed gently on the door, and it swung open. There were steps in front of them, and Connie unconsciously squeezed Peter's hand as they descended into the earth.
Five minutes later, they both ran out into the sunshine, gasping for air.
"There was no treasure down there," puffed Peter.
"Absolutely none," agreed Connie breathlessly.
They stood and looked at each other, unsure as to their next move.
"Well, I'm not digging, at any rate," said Connie decisively.
Peter smiled at her fondly. "I think that would be unwise, yes." He reached down, plucked a flower from the bush growing next to the mausoleum, and handed it to his wife. "Not as beautiful as you, sweetheart, but this will do for the moment."
As her fingers grasped the flower, a strange feeling went through Connie. It was as if the flower were made of cold metal, containing strength beyond any normal plant. She nearly dropped it in shock, but her hand closed tight around the stem without any conscious thought. She stared at it in fascinated horror.
"I'm glad you think I'm prettier than this... death's head," she said shakily. A thought struck her. "Peter! I think... I think this is my treasure. It feels... I cannot explain, but I think I must keep this flower, and try and plant it."
"If you plant it, it will grow," Peter shrugged. "That flower looks like a death's head fritillary. They say it protects the holder from mortal harm. An old wives' tale, of course."
Connie remembered her father's words from years ago. "Eight generations..." she said softly. "Don't forget Peter, it was an old wife that brought our children into the world."
Peter looked at her, his face unreadable. Then he smiled. "If plants are your treasure my sweet, perhaps this pond holds mine." He wandered over to the pond, and looked into its murky depths. "I think you should go home, darling. I have a mind to stay and fish for a while."
Connie agreed, her heart beating wildly. She felt that she should not hold onto this flower, that it was not hers yet. She felt that she had not yet
earned the right to hold it. She left Peter whistling and baiting his hook.
When she got home, she was cheered to see the sight of a clean kitchen, a pot on the fire, and Patience sitting down with Justin, attempting to teach him a word or two, with little success.
"Can you say... Pattie? Pat-tee."
Justing gurgled, looking up at her adoringly.
Connie felt her heart contract with love for the two of them. "At that age, Pattie, you were babbling broken sentences to me. Such a bright child you were!"
Pattie scowled. "Justin is not foolish, Mama. Well, perhaps a little foolish. But I have seen him watch Papa paint. I have seen his eyes follow the colours. It is the only time his eyes seem to focus at all, truth be told."
Connie smiled gently at her protective daughter. "All children are not alike, dearheart, and I have no doubt that Justin will find his own strengths in time, whether he turns out as other children, or as his dearest self alone, as you yourself did."
Mollified, Pattie picked up Justin to put him to bed.
"Where's Papa," she asked as she carried Justin over to the crib.
"He... he is fishing, sweetheart," said Connie, feeling the half-truth.
The two of them changed into their night gowns, then Connie ladled out stew from the pot into two bowls, and set it on the table.
"Oh, by the way Mama..." Pattie said this so casually that Connie's maternal instincts were alerted. "I have... taken a job at the local tavern, as a kitchen scullion. I have learned all I will from school, and I am handier with a pot and spoon than the wench they have serving there now."
Connie smiled inwardly. "Isn't that where that handsome Romeril lad supplies fish? And takes his Friday night sup?"
Pattie's cheeks burned.
"If it is, I hadn't noticed," she fibbed firmly, trying to suppress the memory of their meeting, his twinkling eyes, and broad shoulders.
Connie grinned to herself, and ate her stew without another word.
******
Two miles away, Peter felt a twitch on his line, and momentarily forgot the feeling of pervading dread that seemed to surround him. The inky water splashed, and he reeled in a heavy dark fish with swirling fins.
"My treasure," he said exultantly. He looked around him, and realised how long he had been standing and waiting. The cold night air hit his bones, and he decided that, while his bravery was undisputed, he should leave this place swiftly, and return home with his catch to warm himself.
