|digital sketch by Jinksy|
Incredibly, some living family members deny his existence because no one ever told them the story. Nevertheless, the records are there and speak for themselves. Two years of looking for him in England, in the mines of Wales and the mills of Providence, in the draft registers and the lighthouses has awakened him. His name has been called by the ghosts of legions marching the moonlit Roman Road of antiquity through Arthur’s Kingdom of Wessex. It has echoed across the Atlantic from the hollow quarries of Wiltshire County to the dangerous shoals of Lake Champlain, and he has come. He has come to watch me, not to tell the truth or to justify, but to watch with that distant and amused hint of a smile that so intrigued and haunted others back then. Perhaps he mocks me---I don't know yet. Why come at all though unless he still harbors a spark of hope for an illusive forgiveness from the family.*
© Ann Grenier
*An excerpt from chapter two of
Written in Stone
a novel in progress.