Creeping closer, it was as if she’d been thrown back to that fateful night, when he’d appeared as if by magic and sowed the seed of longing in her. More than once she had wondered what had become of the handsome young man. But he had belonged to the world of the living, and since then she had learned the hard way that the people you cared about never stayed.
She was only a few yards away from him, so close that she could see the strong line of his jaw and his kind, expressive eyes that stared sightlessly into the crypt. As she was shifting her weight to get a clearer view, she accidentally stepped on a branch, snapping it and shattering the silence. The young man turned around, his gaze landing squarely on her.
“If you’ve come for the interment, I’m afraid you’ve missed it. He’s quite at rest now, and not likely to get up again.”
Swallowing, she stepped out fully from behind the tree and shook her head. “No, I just...” Just what? Was spying on him? Drinking in every detail of his face that had grown only more beautiful in the years since she’d seen him last? “My father is the caretaker, and he sent me to see if everything went well—if you needed anything.”
This wasn’t strictly true, but it wasn’t untrue, either. Eli hadn’t exactly asked Tabby to check on the young man, so much as he’d asked her to make sure that all the mourners were gone so that he could replace the stone over the mouth of the crypt. And he wasn’t her father by blood, either. But over the years, Tabby had come to see the old caretaker as a father. It had been only a few days after she’d come upon the young man that long-ago night, when she was so hungry and cold that she’d had no choice but to go to his doorstep and throw herself on his mercy. He had taken Tabby under his wing, and treated the foundling from the crypt like the child he had never had.
“The caretaker is your father? But isn’t he...” The young man trailed off, color rising in his cheeks.
Tabby was used to this reaction, though it didn’t make it any less hurtful. She jutted her chin out, challenging him to finish his sentence. “Eli might not be my father by blood, but he’s my family.”
“Of course, of course.” He cleared his throat, the flush of red on his cheeks gradually diminishing. “Everything went smoothly. Please give my thanks to your father.”
Tabby nodded mutely. She certainly hadn’t grown any more beautiful in the almost twelve years since she’d first met him. Her hair was still shockingly red, her eyes still cloudy on account of her cursed ability. In her worn, too-small brown calico dress, she could only imagine what she looked like in his eyes.
“You’ll forgive the impertinence, but have we met? You look familiar.”
She had thought about this moment often, half fantasizing about the romantic possibilities, half wondering if he would even remember her. But now, faced with his question and finally seeing him in the flesh after all these years, the words got stuck in her throat. It was foolishness, she knew that now. How could she think that a chance meeting over a decade ago as children would be as memorable to him as it was to her? Besides, her childish fancies were just that—fancies. She could enjoy the romance of the fantasy in her head, but it could never be played out in real life, not when she was an aberration, a curiosity.
He spared her the need to respond by giving a long, low whistle and snapping his fingers. “You’re the girl! The girl from this very cemetery! You helped me that night I found myself here.”
Crossing his arms, he leaned against an obliging stone and shook his head. “I always wondered about you.”
She gave him a skeptical look. “You did?”
“Of course! How could I not? I stumble into a cemetery and a little sprite creeps out from amongst the stones. I half thought you were a ghost! The more time passed the more I was sure I had imagined the entire incident.”
He hadn’t just remembered her, he had thought about her over the years. She glowed at the thought. But the mystery of what had brought him there that night had stayed with her, as well. She studied him out of the corner of her eye. “Did you ever settle your debt?”
“Hmm?”
“Your card debt. You said you were hiding from some men to whom you owed money for cards. And there was something about a kiss as well, I believe?”
He frowned, as if searching his memory. “Oh, right. Yes. I’d forgotten. I did settle it, in fact. How clever of you to remember.”
“But why the cemetery? Why did you come here of all places?”
“It’s been so long now, I’ll be damned if I can remember. I suppose I thought it would be the last place he—I mean, they—would look.”
When it became clear that he wasn’t going to elaborate, Tabby nodded toward the crypt. “I’m sorry for your loss,” she said.
“Hmm?” He looked as if he had almost forgotten why he was standing in a cemetery talking to her in the first place. “Oh yes. The old man had a bad heart,” was all he said. And then, “I’m being terribly rude, aren’t I? I haven’t even introduced myself.” He swept off his hat and gave a neat bow. “Caleb Bishop to my friends, Mr. Pope if I owe you money from cards,” he said with a devastating wink.
“Tabitha Cooke,” she said. “Tabby to my friends, and I don’t play cards.”
She had been in earnest, but he threw back his head and let out a pleased peal of laughter. Her legs wobbled in spite of herself, and she felt happy to have made such a fine man smile. She might not have been in the same class as him, or even the same world, but it felt good to be normal, just for a little while.
“So, tell me, Miss Cooke, how is it that you come to be in a cemetery every time I see you?”
“I live here.” She watched him carefully, gauging his reaction.
One golden brow shot up. “What, here in the cemetery?”
“Oh no, not anymore.” She pointed to the narrow town house across the street where Eli rented the attic rooms.
But instead of looking uncomfortable or turning on his heel to leave, he only broke into a slow smile. “Oh, you’re amusing. I like you.”
Before she could explain that she hadn’t been in jest, he was pulling out his watch and exclaiming at the time.
“Well, Tabby Cooke. I must be off. Business calls and all that. But I do hope it won’t be over ten years until we meet again.” He tipped his hat to her and, with a dazzling grin, was off, leaving her with a pounding heart and a flicker of happiness, the likes of which she hadn’t felt since the last time they’d parted.
3
IN WHICH A CALLOUSED HEART STILL BEATS.
THE DEAD WON’T bother you if you don’t give them permission.