Scott Nicholson - The Manor

Anna nodded at him and adjusted the saddle, then stroked the horse's ears. The Morgan snorted with pleasure.

He had to ask. "What was it like… you know?"

"To be dead?" Anna's cyan eyes fixed on a faraway point somewhere beyond the range of sight.

"Uh-huh."

"Somebody who loves me said it's the same as being alive, only worse."

Mason looked up at the thin pillar of smoke. The wind was carrying it away, and he caught the odor of apples. Now that the sun was out, the sky was a shade of winter-born blue.

December would come with its soft snows, then the nights would get shorter and spring would arrive. Grass would grow over the ruins, locust and blackberry vines would spring up from the burned-out spot. The granite would sleep under its skin of dirt. The sun would rise and fall, the seasons would turn, the clock's restless hands would spin in only one direction.

Forward.

"What are you going to do later?" Mason asked.

"I don't know. I think I'm cured of metaphysics, though. Let the dead rest. They've earned it." She put a foot in the stirrup and swung astride the horse. It was a natural fit. "What about you?"

"Depends. As soon as I get to back to Sawyer Creek, I'm going to tell Mama that dreams aren't the only thing we got in this world."

"Really. What else have we got?"

"Pain."

"Dreams and pain. Well, that's a lovely mix. Maybe you can add 'faith' to that list."

The kind of mix that maybe love was made of. Mason wondered if one day he might find out. He looked down at the ground and saw a bit of color amid a pile of loose hay. He kicked at the hay, and then saw the flowers. A bouquet of bluets, flame azalea, daisies, baby's breath, painted trillium. Spring mountain flowers, fresh-cut and sweet, the stems wrapped in clean lace. He carried them to Anna. "Somebody must have left these for you."

She took the bouquet and held it to her nose, eyes moist. "Dead stay dead," she whispered. "And rest in peace."

Anna tucked the bouquet into the bridle, eased back on the reins, and the Morgan raised its head.

"See you soon, Mason. Take care of yourself."

She twitched the reins and the horse started down the dirt road.

"Hey, Anna," he yelled after her. "Did you mean what you said up on the widow's walk?"

She didn't stop, but turned in the saddle and looked back. She shouted over the steady clop of the horse's hooves, "About trusting you? Maybe."

Anna gave him a half smile, then left him to wonder which half of it she meant.