Chapter 2
The graveyard was a nice one. Not too old and not too young. It had a good feel to it too – not too cheerful and not too gloomy. Walter and Faith walked on for a while before coming to a huge tombstone standing in a corner of the graveyard. Curious as to why it was so huge, I followed and saw, to my amazement, that it was a double tombstone, with two names instead of one.
FAITH MEREDITH BLYTHE
DEPARTED ON JULY 23rd, 1926
JAMES MATTHEW BLYTHE
DEPARTED ON JULY 22nd, 1926
YOU'LL NEVER WALK ALONE
You'll never walk alone? I was puzzled. There was certainly a story somewhere. Why had Walter allowed his wife to be placed with another man in the graveyard, and why had they printed that inscription that sounded suspiciously like the one in a recent musical or something?
Faith Jr. bent and put the flowers that she had picked up on the way at her mother's grave.
1926, I thought. Walter had left the company in 1924, and he had certainly not been married then. That left two years for him to marry and for his wife to give birth and die. Quite a short period of time for such a string of important events to occur! I ventured to ask a question even though I knew it was best not to. "James Matthew Blythe – was he one of your relations, Walt?"
Walter looked at me from the depths of his gray eyes and before God and man I swear I shivered at that moment. There was such stark sadness in them. He spoke very quietly. "He was my brother."
Brother! My mischievous mind was beginning to piece bits together. Faith Meredith had married Walter, had died and had been buried along with Walter's brother. They had died within a day of each other. Something must have had happened; and from the inscription I guessed that they must have been romantically involved; James Blythe and Faith Meredith. But this was...scandalous! If Faith Meredith had an affair with her brother-in-law, why would the two sinful people be granted a double tombstone and a combined grave? And why would Walter still take the trouble to visit a cheating wife? I was full of questions that I dared not ask.
I realised then that I had been so engrossed in the inscriptions that I had not looked at the photos. I looked now at them, and had a start. That face looking out above Faith Meredith's inscription...surely I had seen it somewhere. That near perfect beauty, the loose curls, the big eyes...swiftly, I turned to glance at Faith Jr., who was staring solemnly at her mother's picture as well. Yes, that was her, with a few modifications.
Then I looked at James Blythe's photograph. Nothing at all like Walter, even in youth. Walter had been a great-eyed, dreamy lad. James Blythe had life in his face; even the photograph had captured it. He looked fresh, young, eager, energetic. Ready to take on the world. A good-looking young man – had probably broken a few hearts before.
"You look very much like your mother," I said to Faith Jr.
She smiled rather sadly. "I know I do; I jump every time I come here and see her photo. I don't think I'm as pretty as she was, though – isn't she beautiful?" She sighed. "I wish I had known her."
"You didn't?" despite myself, the nosy old man was showing.
"No. She died when I was a baby. The only things that I have that binds me to her are a few of the letters that she wrote to Uncle Jem, and some lockets. Everything else was thrown away."
Walter sighed and turned away. "God bless both of them," he said in a low voice. "Come, let's go."
Faith left us half an hour later to visit her 'Uncle Jerry', while Walter and I took a walk through the quiet little village. I could tell that his heart and mind was still at the graveyard, and I became a little uncomfortable. After spending more than three decades not seeing him, a man does forget how to handle Walter Blythe when he sinks into his reveries.
"So, she was a good wife, eh?" I blundered. The moment I said that I kicked myself mentally. But it was said.
A look of pain flashed so quickly over Walter's face that I thought I must have imagined it. "Yes," he said quietly. "A very good wife."
I dared not say anything else.