The Girl in the Scrapbook by Carolyn Ruffles (reading women TXT) 📕

‘I expect he’s a little bit tired,’ Emily murmured apologetically. ‘I am sorry.’

Grace put her arm around her crestfallen daughter. ‘No worries. He’ll get used to me. It was a bit much to expect he’d want to cuddle someone he doesn’t know just because she’s his grandmother. It will take a bit of time. I’m just thankful that I didn’t get the same reaction from you when I made my dramatic appearance!’

‘Why don’t you put Alex down for a nap while we have some lunch – a very late one?’ Jennifer suggested as she glanced at her watch. ‘Then maybe we could go back to the graveyard later this afternoon. Iris’ letter did suggest that Norah and her son were buried there when she wrote that she had returned to Chalkham to bury him in the churchyard. I feel we still need to find their final resting place to bring the search full circle, back to its beginning.’

Emily nodded solemnly. ‘Good idea.’ Then she looked across at Alex, still having a tantrum on the living room floor and ignoring Grace’s efforts to engage him in a Lego building session. ‘But I’m not sure Alex will succumb quietly to being put to bed!’

◆◆◆

It was a dark, overcast afternoon when they arrived once more at the church. Alex, dressed warmly in woollen hat and padded jacket skipped along happily beside them, his mood much improved for a short sleep. As Emily had predicted, he did not settle willingly but she and Grace had combined forces and sung lullabies until he had finally closed his eyes.

‘You have a wonderful voice,’ Emily had whispered as they tiptoed out of the bedroom. ‘I’m not surprised you were a professional singer.’

‘Thank you but not a very successful one. I’ve never regretted becoming a social worker though. In the beginning, it felt a bit like reparation for losing you, trying to help other families having troubles. It was a way of coming to terms with myself and what I'd done.’

‘You shouldn’t feel guilty for doing what you thought was best at the time.’

‘I know but anyone who has given a child up for adoption must feel like a part of them is missing. Iris obviously felt exactly the same.’

Grace had read Iris’ letter with tears in her eyes. ‘History really does repeat itself,’ she'd said quietly, ‘except that my story has had a happier ending. That, too, is thanks to Iris. Without her letter, we may never have found each other.’

Emily had reached forward to squeeze her hand. ‘I would never have given up until I found you,’ she muttered, her voice husky with emotion.

They stood silently beside Arthur’s grave. ‘My great, great grandfather,’ Emily said solemnly, ‘and husband of Norah, where it all started.’

My great grandfather and yours too.’ Grace smiled at Jennifer. ‘I’m sure he must have been a wonderful man.’

‘Definitely if his ancestors are anything to go by!’ she answered. ‘I’ll head this way to look for Norah and her son, James.’

They split up and headed in three different directions, carefully scanning every headstone they passed. Many were so old it was difficult to read the names engraved there and Jennifer was beginning to wonder if they would ever find them when she saw Molly, standing patiently at the furthest edge of the graveyard. She smiled and her shoulders relaxed. Of course, Molly would help them find her resting place. She should not have expected anything else. She picked her way between the stones and made a beeline for the silent figure in black. By the time she got there, Molly had disappeared but she was right. The worn headstone bore the legend:

In loving memory

James Arthur Fletcher (Jimmy).

Born 7 April, 1928. Died 22August,1930.

Our angel.

Also Norah Grace Fletcher.

Born June 1, 1910. Died September 15, 1930.

Beloved wife and mother.

Rest in peace.

Somehow, it seemed wrong to shout across a burial ground so Jennifer walked briskly to where the other women were still searching and led them solemnly to the grave.

‘Molly, or Norah, was standing right there,’ she said quietly after they had spent a period of silent contemplation. ‘She’s still with us, still watching. I wonder if she always will be.’

‘Poor Norah. She was only twenty when she died,’ Grace murmured, her eyes downcast.

‘And poor Arthur. He’d lost his son and then his wife. It’s heart-breaking.’ Emily laid a small bouquet of flowers against the weather-beaten stone. She'd called in at the florist’s shop on the high street as they made their pilgrimage back to the church.

The sombre mood lasted as they stood, united, three descendants around the grave. Then Jennifer forced a smile. ‘It was tragic,’ she agreed, ‘but today is not a day for feeling sad. The spirit of Norah has brought us all together at last and I’m sure she wouldn’t want us to spend that time moping by her headstone. We owe it to her to make the absolute most of every moment we spend together. It was her gift to us. We mustn’t waste it.’

‘You’re right.’ Emily took a step back from the grave and grasped Alex by the hand as he made a bid for escape. ‘Life goes on. It’s time to leave.’

The three women and the small child made their way slowly back to the path and out of the churchyard, unaware of the slight, ephemeral figure in black still watching anxiously.

◆◆◆

It was a quarter to seven when the doorbell rang. Jennifer had just put on her coat ready to leave and when she opened the door, she found David standing there, tall and broad shouldered, in a dark overcoat.

‘Oh hi.’ Jennifer immediately felt flustered. ‘I was just about to walk up the road to yours. Has there been a change of plan?’

‘No change.’ His deep, gravelly voice made her heart skip erratically. ‘I’ve come to escort you.’

‘Don’t be daft. It’s only a few hundred yards and I’m a big girl. I’m more than capable of walking myself.’ The old