Lynx and I had agreed on visiting the cemetery the following Saturday. As the train was due to leave York station at 10 o’clock, I had time for a second mug of coffee before getting on the way. Walking briskly, Bud and I arrived at the station with nearly twenty minutes to spare; heading into the café I ordered a coffee and a cinnamon roll to go. Both were long gone when Lynx arrived at the platform – right as the train entered the station.
We boarded the train and found our seats; I let Bud to the window, knowing how much he enjoyed watching the world go by.
It was cloudy when we left the train, meeting none of the villagers on our way to the small cemetery where only the ravens greeted us. Bud led us to Lynx father’s grave. Lynx was pale as she took a minuscule plant from her bag. Carefully, she planted the arbor vitae in a corner.
Bud gently nudged her and she got up. I could see her tears despite the heavy shower that soaked us through within seconds.
“Do you think they let the tree there?”
“I’m confident – they’ll think it was the gardener.”