“What are you doing up this way?” Tabby asked her friend when she’d reached the cemetery. “I haven’t heard of any recent passings.”
Mary-Ruth linked her arm through Tabby’s as they passed through the gate together. “Old Mr. Drew,” she said, shaking her head. “The gin finally got the better of him. Just came from the house and thought I would see what you were doing.”
Wherever there was death, there was Mary-Ruth. A layer, Mary-Ruth was summoned whenever someone had died and the family needed them dressed and laid out for burial. Almost all of the bodies that came through the cemetery gates first passed under Mary-Ruth’s capable hands. Her blithesome, sunny demeanor may have seemed anathema to the somber nature of her vocation, but like Tabby, she was something of an outsider, and Tabby had gradually lowered her guard and let Mary-Ruth into her heart. Like Eli, Mary-Ruth was no stranger to the world of the dead, and so Tabby could trust her—to an extent. They talked about everything, from Mary-Ruth’s patients to Tabby’s embroidery projects, to the influx of Irish coming over on coffin ships just as Mary-Ruth had nine years ago. Everything, except the secret of Tabby’s ability, which she guarded like a starving dog with a bone.
“Oh, nothing interesting.” Tabby lifted her empty basket to show her. “Just out to pick up the old bouquets. I don’t suppose you would want to join me?”
“Of course! It’s a lovely spring day and I’ve been cooped up inside with naught but the dead to keep me company. Did you know,” she said, throwing Tabby a sidelong look, “that Gracie Peck has stopped watching? Her back is too bad now to sit up long nights anymore.”
Gracie Peck was a watcher, or “watch woman,” the counterpart to Mary-Ruth. She would sit up with the sick and dying until they exhaled their last breath, and then would watch them for hours to make certain that they were not like to draw a breath again. There was no greater fear for the dying than to wake up very much alive in a coffin. When their charge was well and truly dead, the watcher would send for Mary-Ruth.
Tabby shook her head, not liking the look in her friend’s silver eyes. “I hadn’t heard.”
“Yes,” said Mary-Ruth. She was quiet for a beat before adding, “I don’t suppose you would consider taking up for her? There’s good money in it, and I think you have just the sort of quiet, steady disposition that favors watching.”
Tabby winced. She would be a good watcher, but not for the reasons Mary-Ruth gave. She would only have to open her mind the slightest bit and she would know if the person had passed. But Mary-Ruth didn’t know about Tabby’s ability. No one knew, not even Eli. To divulge the secret that she had carried all these years somehow felt like a betrayal to Alice, and Tabby had so little of her sister left. Besides, as soon as people learned of her abilities, she would become a curiosity, a novelty. Something to be exploited. She had only to think of Beth Bunn and the other children in the churchyard. Tabby could not jeopardize the fragile bonds she had worked so hard to forge and treasured so dearly with Mary-Ruth and Eli over the years.
Sidestepping the question, Tabby gave her friend a bright smile. “Come,” she said. “Whoever picks up the most bouquets gets a licorice twist from Mr. Greene’s.”
Hitching up their skirts, they took off in opposite directions. Despite the lovely day and the good company, as Tabby darted between the graves looking for old bouquets, she felt a familiar sense of melancholy prick at her. If Alice had not abandoned her, could it have been Tabby and her sister running through the warm June air, laughing and enjoying themselves? Though she loved Mary-Ruth dearly, it was tiring to never be able to completely let down her guard. With Alice, she had been able to just be herself.
Tabby spotted a large bouquet of roses, once bright red, now browned and wilted, propped up against a headstone. No sooner had she set her eyes on it, than Mary-Ruth came from the other direction and saw it at the same time.
“Don’t you dare, Tabby Cooke!” she squealed as she dashed to grab it.
Tabby had no intention of letting Mary-Ruth win, and lunged to scoop it up first.
“Aha!” Triumphant, Tabby waved the bouquet over her head, sending brown petals cascading down her shoulders.
But her achievement went unnoticed by Mary-Ruth, who had suddenly stopped in her tracks and was looking down toward the wall of crypts. “I say, Tabs, would you look at that?”
Tabby followed her gaze and sucked in her breath when it landed on Mr. Bishop.
“What’s a coxcomb like him doing here?”
Protective, territorial feelings flared up in Tabby’s chest. He was standing by his family crypt, looking pensive and absurdly handsome in his beaver hat and a well-cut green frock coat. “The rich have to mourn, too. Come on,” Tabby said, stuffing the bouquet into her basket and tugging at Mary-Ruth’s sleeve. “We shouldn’t intrude.”
When Mary-Ruth didn’t budge, Tabby looked back to find she was staring at her with a little smile. “You know him, don’t you? You little minx!”
Tabby’s cheeks burned. “Yes. I mean, no. His father was interred yesterday and he introduced himself. That’s all.”
She could feel Mary-Ruth’s keen eyes on her. “All right, if you say so.”
“I do,” Tabby said firmly. She was just about to pull Mary-Ruth away, when Mr. Bishop must have heard their whispers and turned around.
He looked surprised for only a moment, but then he broke into an easy smile and waved. “Miss Cooke, was it? Out enjoying this fine day?”
Pushing aside the burst of happiness she felt that he had remembered her name, Tabby returned the wave. “Sorry to bother you, Mr. Bishop. We didn’t mean to intrude.”
“It’s no bother,” he said amicably, and indeed he didn’t look bothered in the least. In fact, if Tabby wasn’t mistaken, he looked almost relieved to see them as he drew closer.
Mary-Ruth elbowed her in the ribs, hard, and Tabby finally remembered her manners. “Er, Mr. Bishop, may I present Miss O’Reilly?”
“Mr. Bishop,” Mary-Ruth said with an unnecessary curtsy.
This was torture. For all that Tabby would have been content to just bask in Mr. Bishop’s presence, she felt awkward and plain next to Mary-Ruth, and suddenly wanted to get far, far away. “Well, we’ll leave you to enjoy your afternoon,” she said, nudging Mary-Ruth to continue up the path.
As soon as the words left her mouth, Tabby wanted to kick herself. Enjoy his afternoon, indeed! He had come to mourn his father, and here she was acting as if he were out for a stroll in the park.
But to her surprise, Mr. Bishop only gave her a genuine smile. “No, please,” he said, “don’t leave on my account.”
Mary-Ruth glanced between them, her eyes narrowing. “Do you know, I just remembered a previous engagement. You’ll both excuse me?”