Chapter 57

Once, when one of her visits to her aunt happened on Memorial Day, she had gone to Stephen’s grave. She went, because her aunt so obviously felt that it was the proper thing to do. The cemetery on the hillside outside the city was a pleasant, well-cared-for place, fresh with the scents of Springtime. Over Stephen’s tombstone, the wistaria was flourishing. It almost covered the small stone beside it where Stephen junior lay to wait the year two thousand or the Judgment Day. Half a dozen times a year she went to visi…