Then her eyes filled with tears. “I’m sorry I’ve been away for so long, but it couldn’t be helped.”
She felt him stroke her arm again and smiled sadly. “I’m so sorry, Samuel, but I have some very sad news. I’ve been caring for your mother. She cried out for you, and I was the only one who could soothe her. She was very ill, Samuel,” she said, pausing to swipe at her tears with her fingertips. Clarice took a deep breath and sniffled. “She passed last night. She had tuberculosis, Samuel. There was nothing to be done. Not her own medications, nor the doctor’s made any difference.”
Samuel cried out, letting go of Clarice’s arm to fall upon the ground.
“I’m so sorry, Samuel. I tried to take care of her the best I could. I tried so hard. But nothing made her better.”
Clarice let her arm drop knowing that he no longer touched her. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. She sat down and leaned against the gate, resting the side of her face against one of the bars of the wrought iron fence, gazing into the small plot of ground that made up her family’s crypt. While she knew he was there, unless it was misty or foggy, she couldn’t see him. And she’d never be able to talk to him again now that Maman ‘Vangeline was gone. So, she just sat there, knowing that he knew she was with him, even if she couldn’t hear him or see him at the moment.
Samuel collapsed when he’d heard of his mother’s death. He lay there, sobbing and raging at fate and the cruelness of what had become his life. And now the stress of it all had weakened his mother to the point that she’d become ill and died. He cursed anything and anyone he could think of to curse. Except Clarice. Because each time he threw his gaze in the direction of the gate at the front of the crypt, she was still there, sitting quietly, being there for him, despite the fact she couldn’t see him.
Once Samuel had cried and raged himself to a point of acceptance, he moved closer to Clarice. He sat on the ground right beside her, and leaned against the gate just opposite her. He needed to find a way to let her know he was there. He tried to pick up leaves and twigs to toss her way, but it didn’t work. He tried to pluck at the black fabric of her habit where it poked through the wrought iron bars, but that didn’t work anyway.
He huffed out a breath in frustration, and happened to see the single strand of hair that had fallen from her habit, jostle in response. Samuel focused on that strand of hair, and blew at it again. The strand of hair moved again. Excited that he was able to make her hair move, he sat there, blowing and blowing and blowing, until finally Clarice reached up to the side of her face to swat away whatever was tickling her face.
Samuel seized that moment to blow on her hand.
Clarice froze and looked into the small bit of ground surrounding the crypt, but of course she saw nothing.
Samuel blew on her hand and her hair again and Clarice sat up straight, then glanced around the trees and shrubbery along the perimeter of the cemetery itself. There was no breeze blowing the trees this day.
“That was you, wasn't it?” she asked, holding her hand out again.
Samuel blew against her hand, then blew at the stray wisp of hair, causing it to tickle her cheek again.
Clarice smiled. “There you are,” she said, still somewhat subdued, but very happy that he’d managed to communicate with her.
“I’ll always be here for you, Samuel. Never doubt that,” she promised.
Samuel blew a warm breeze of air across her face in answer and she smiled.
“I have a letter for you, from your mother. I promised her I’d read it to you if she wasn’t able to recover.” Clarice sat beside the crypt, her eyes staring off into the distance. “I never believed she wouldn’t survive,” she said.
After a little while, Clarice finally reached into her pocket and pulled out a letter. “Your mother wrote this letter for you when she began to believe that she’d not recover. I’ll read it for you. Blow on my face if it’s too much and you want me to stop, alright?” she asked.
Clarice opened the letter and began to read aloud,
“My dearest, Samuel.
I