“Anna’s Wish”

The following excerpt is from the book’s prologue. It is 1906. William and Emma Denny have survived the San Francisco Earthquake and made the long journey home to their birthplace in Missouri. They have been reunited with their lifelong friend Estill, who has lived in and kept watch over the Denny home for 44 years. The following scene takes place the morning following the siblings’ arrival…

Both William and Emma slept late, having been completely exhausted. When they finally arose and made their way downstairs they found Estill looking and feeling better. He offered to make them breakfast, but Emma would have none of that. She made him sit and set about preparing the meal while William helped her find what was needed. The pots, pans and dishes were the same ones they had watched Vodra cook and serve from in their youth and both siblings were aware of how much they missed her warm presence.

Estill looked nervous but he ate well. His hands shook slightly as he handled the silverware. William asked about his blacksmith shop and Estill shook his head. “I gave that up a long time ago,” he said. “The smoke from the forge ruined my breathing as you’ve probably noticed. I let Toby run it after I gave it up, but it burned down one night and Toby built a new one over in Roanoke. Do you remember Toby?”

“Barely,” William said. “I remember folks saying he wanted to fight in the war, but was too young. Whatever happened to him?”

“He became an outlaw believe or not,” Estill said with a smile. “Took to riding with the James-Younger gang. Had a price on his head, well, in Missouri anyway. I hear tell he is in Texas somewhere, working cattle now.”

Emma laughed. “I never figured Toby for an outlaw!”

“Neither did I,” Estill replied, “but the war made lots of men do things during and after that no one believed possible. Missouri was a bad place to live, especially after the war. Folks got treated mean, good folks, and some of them fought back.”

When they had finished breakfast, Emma asked Estill, “What did you want to show us?” The huge man lowered his head and said with soft reverence, “First, I would like for you to see your mother’s grave.” A cloud of dread instantly fell over the room and Emma thought first of refusing, but Estill added, “Look at her headstone….”

William rose and said, “Alright, let me help you up.”

Estill shook his long mane and replied, “No, you two must go alone. I will wait here. When you get back, I will tell you more.”

Emma wrung her hands and hesitated. William put his arm around her and said, “It will be alright, sis.” She stared at Estill, who continued to look down at the table. An ache formed in her stomach. She had dreaded this moment ever since their Aunt Ophelia had mentioned the contents of Estill’s letter. With stiff movements she let William lead her through the house and out the front door.

The cemetery was just across the road, fully visible from all the windows on the west side of the house. It was a small graveyard and from what they could see, it had been meticulously kept. As they entered through the small gate into the grave enclosure, they noticed their father’s grave with its simple marker. Their memories immediately went back to that cold, frigid New Yearís Eve in 1861, when they had stood shivering, watching their father being laid to rest. Their mother had held them both against her in the gusty winds as they wept.

It was much warmer this day and the sun was casting its rays on the faces of the gravestones. William looked about and found the headstone of their mother, which to his surprise, was not next to their father’s.

“Here it is,” he called to Emma and they walked over gingerly, not wanting to step on the grave proper. They looked down at the weathered stone, which stood about two feet high and expected a wave of mournful sadness to envelope them, but instead, Emma felt a sudden surge of resentment and anger.

“That bastard!!” she seethed. ìHow dare he soil Mother’s stone with his evil name!!!” She drew back her foot to kick the offending sight, but William grabbed her and pulled her back. He wasn’t seeing the offending name, but something else, something astounding.

“Look, sis!” he cried, pointing to the stone. “Look! Don’t you see! Oh my God! Oh my God!!!” He released her and fell to his knees before the headstone, his mouth open in total astonishment.

“What? What?î Emma shouted, still fuming and unable to see what William was pointing at.

“It’s Mother,” William announced with tears in his eyes. “It’s Mother, look, it’s her — here.” Emma slowly knelt beside her brother and in an instant she clearly saw the images he was pointing to. Her hands covered her mouth and she felt as if she would faint. William steadied her and together they lightly touched the images they beheld, their fingers lovingly tracing each one. For all these years, the headstone had faced the west, exposed to approaching weather fronts, enduring four decades of wind, rain, snow, ice and dust. Over time moss and lichens grew on the weathered stone, attaching to the small pits in the rock. What astounded William and Emma were the incredible images formed by the lichens and moss covering their mother’s headstone, clear distinct depictions of Anna as she appeared during her last year on earth. Not only were there images of their mother, but other people as well. As they stared at the stone more images came to their attention. Whole scenes seemed to be enacted, with Anna a central part of each scene, her body positioned in profile, kneeling, hovering over a bed, entering a garden.

Emma pointed at one prominent scene and said softly in absolute awe, “There’s Nana on her deathbed. Mother is beside her.”

“I see it,” William replied, staring hard at the stone. Nana was Lucretia Walden, Anna’s grandmother, who had died a few months after Charles in 1862. There had been an estrangement between Anna and Nana in the weeks prior to her passing, William recalled.

While the lichens displayed bright clear images on the right side of the headstone, the left side had turned dark, almost black. Here the pictures were murky, shadowed and frightening. Distorted faces in agony, figures with deformed features, all staring intently out from shadowy niches as if from some cavern of evil.

“What do they all mean?” Emma asked, averting her eyes from the left side of the stone. “There are so many and they all seem to merge together.” It was like a multitude of voices all speaking at once. William shook his head, confused as she was. He then glanced at his sister and said, “Maybe Estill knows.”