and the team of gleaming black horses drawing it was too captivating to watch from afar. She let the ratty lace curtain fall from her fingers, then threw on a light shawl and her straw bonnet and went outside to take a closer look.
The scent of hothouse funeral roses mingled with damp earth, and cheery sparrows, heedless of the somber occasion, dipped and chased each other among the stones. With the mild spring air on her neck, Tabby let her fingers trail along the worn tops of the headstones as she made her way toward the funeral party.
The minister had just finished his prayer and the crowd was beginning to disperse when Tabby caught sight of a young man standing by the crypt with his back toward her. His hair had lightened from chestnut brown to a warm honey blond, and he was taller now—though still on the slight, lean side—but she would have recognized him anywhere.
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