November 7, Thursday

THE LATE autumn sun warmed my back as I scribbled in my notebook. Lady Kate's latest adventure flowed easily from my pen. The concrete bench had become my favorite writing spot, despite—or perhaps because of—its slightly macabre setting.

The crunch of footsteps on gravel made me look up. Reverend Abernathy approached, carrying what looked like a gallon jug of water. His clerical collar stood out stark white against his black shirt.

"Good morning, Ms. Vanguard," he called cheerfully.

"More holy water?" I asked, eyeing the large container.

He smiled. "Can't be too careful these days." He began his rounds, sprinkling the blessed water with methodical precision. "How's the writing coming along?"

"Better than expected, actually. Something about this place..." I gestured to the peaceful graveyard. "It inspires me."

"Graveyards often do," he said thoughtfully. "They remind us that every life is a story worth telling."

I watched him work for a moment, gathering my courage. "Reverend Abernathy? Can I ask you something about Rose?"

His hand stilled mid-sprinkle. "You can ask."

"How well did you know her? When she came to you for guidance—what troubled her?"

He shook his head slowly. "I'm sorry, but I can't break pastoral confidentiality."

"Even though she's..." I hesitated. "Even though she's gone?"

"Especially then," he said firmly. "Death doesn't release us from our sacred trusts. Whatever Rose shared with me, she shared in confidence. That confidence extends beyond the grave."

I nodded, respecting his principles even as frustration bubbled inside me.

"You know," he said, resuming his sprinkling, "you'd be welcome at our services. We're a small congregation, but friendly."

I shifted uncomfortably on the bench. "That's kind of you, but religion isn't really my thing. I came to Irving looking for peace and quiet, not... spiritual guidance."

Reverend Abernathy's smile was gentle. "Perhaps you came seeking peace, and Irving is simply offering it in unexpected ways."

"Through Christianity?"

"Through community," he corrected. "Through connection. Through learning to see beyond the surface of things."

I thought about the connections I'd made here—with Kelly, with Sawyer, even with the cantankerous chickens. "Maybe," I conceded. "But I'm not ready for church."

"The door is always open," he said simply. "Both literally and figuratively."

He finished his circuit of the graveyard, the empty jug swinging at his side. As he passed my bench again, he paused.

"Ms. Vanguard, may I offer one piece of unsolicited advice?"

I nodded, curious.

"Sometimes the answers we seek aren't in the questions we ask, but in the silence between them." He glanced meaningfully at Rose's empty grave. "Learn to listen to the silence."

With that cryptic observation, he strode away, leaving me to ponder his words. I looked down at my notebook, where Lady Kate was in the midst of questioning a priest about her mysterious stonemason's past.

I drew a line through the scene. Sometimes, I realized, the most interesting stories weren't about finding answers, but about learning to live with the questions.

The autumn breeze rustled through the leaves, and for a moment, I could've sworn I heard whispers in the silence. But maybe that was just my imagination.

Or maybe Reverend Abernathy was right about Irving offering peace in unexpected ways.