Hide Me Among the Graves Read Online Free Page B

enough of mine.” Christina waved back toward the chapel without looking at it. “Would there be sacramental wine?”
    She heard Maria gasp. “That would be sacrilege!”
    â€œIt’s only wine, Maria—we’re not Catholics! But he was raised Catholic, he might believe it’s blood.” Their grandparents had raised their mother and aunts Anglican and their uncles Catholic, and Christina supposed that the beliefs would have been deeply implanted into her uncle John, even if he later rejected them.
    She looked up at the darkening sky. “I think he’s … not far off.” Her voice was unsteady.
    â€œI’ll hurry,” said Maria, stepping up into the saddle and settling her right leg over the fixed pommel. She deftly reined the horse around and set off at a trot back toward the Read house.
    THE SKY WAS MUCH darker by the time Maria came riding back less than ten minutes later, and the hill beyond the low wall was a patchwork of grays shifting in the chilling wind. Christina was standing in the road by the wall, facing the hill.
    â€œThis is a bad idea,” Maria said, lowering herself carefully from the saddle while clutching a screw-top glass jar in one hand. “‘If ’twere done, ’twere best done quickly.’”
    Christina nodded and touched the gold chalice that now stood on the rough top edge of the wall, but she didn’t take her eyes from the hillside.
    â€œI fetched this from across the road,” she said quietly. “And we’re all here.”
    She was staring at a hunched silhouette that stood halfway up the shadowed slope, and a moment later she heard Maria gasp and scuffle backward.
    â€œIs that … him ?” Maria whispered.
    Christina’s breath caught in her throat when she tried to answer, but she managed to nod.
    The ashy figure up on the slope seemed to sway and flutter in the breeze, but it didn’t shift its position.
    After a long, strained moment, “Back to the house!” said Maria breathlessly, grabbing Christina’s shoulder; “or no—into the chapel!”
    â€œHe’s blind,” said Christina, “no eyes. And he can’t hurt you without you inviting him.” She looked away from the distant figure to face her sister. “As I invited him, Maria! And he’s … our uncle.”
    â€œHe’s—he doesn’t look anything like—any of us!” Maria was still gripping her sister’s shoulder. “He looks like—some kind of shark!”
    â€œHe hasn’t been well. And he’s more Mouth Boy now than our uncle John.”
    Maria let go of her sister’s shoulder. “ Mouth Boy?” she said in a wailing whisper. “What, from your old nightmares?”
    Christina nodded. “I suppose I’ve always been waiting for him, and that’s the—the sketch I did in advance. He’s partly assumed it now, out of economy.”
    Maria took a deep breath and let it out shakily. “I said I’d do this, and I will. But God help us.”
    Christina reached a trembling hand into the pocket of her jacket and pulled out the little black stone figure. “Tell me what to do.”
    â€œI don’t want to get on the same side of the wall as him,” Maria said. “Stop looking at him! Yes, you invited him, and we’ve got to uninvite him, surely. Ach, but I think it should be in the grass, on that side. The road dirt’s packed too hard to dig anyway. And the milk and—and blood wouldn’t sink in. I should have fetched a trowel. Maybe the—”
    Christina was looking at her sister, and now reached out to touch her lips to stop her talking. “In the grass it is,” she said, and she turned away from the hill to hike herself up onto the wall, then swung her legs around and hopped down into the calf-high grass. “Thank you for doing this,” she said over her shoulder, trying to