The Unquiet Grave: Murder Ballads and Laments [Wattys Longlist 2018]

The Unquiet Grave

In the fading light, the bending boughs provided a canopy to shelter the cemetery from the fitful falling rain. A mournful wind blew; a few withered leaves, shaken loose by its pull, twirled down to rest on the shadowed lawn.

Jacob walked through the graveyard alone, the collar of his black coat turned up to ward off the chill. The paths were as familiar to him as the halls of his own home; he did not need to look up to know the way.

He reached the part of the cemetery where fresh-turned earth marked the newest graves. These he passed, until he came to one which had been covered with a single summer's grass and clover. Here, beneath her blanket of fading green, his true love lay sleeping. He knelt, heedless of the damp ground, to lay a bunch of asters tied with a black ribbon on the earth by her headstone.

"A year," he whispered. "A year and a day. Essie, I do not know how I have lived without you."

Jacob took a handkerchief from his pocket and brushed fallen leaves from the limestone grave marker jutting up from the earth. He saw it each and every day, but it never failed to give him an impression of unyielding finality, despite the hopeful words of affection he had chosen for it:

ESSIE CARVER

Beloved Wife

Died 2 October 1861

at the age of 25 years 6 months

Love Lives For Ever

He sat, leaning his back against the headstone as once his beloved had leaned against his shoulder, and looked out across the familiar view of the graveyard at eventide with a heavy heart. Reaching into his coat, he withdrew a small leather-bound book from his breast pocket.

"I wrote a new poem for you, sweetheart," he said, turning the pages. It was too dark now to read, and the drifting clouds had covered the glowing face of the moon, but it was as it had always been: the poems Essie inspired in him were graven in his memory, and he could recite them by heart.

"Beneath an earthen mantle sleeps

All virtue God did e'er impart,

For deep within a shrouded bow'r

Now lies my dear and only heart.

"I've sat a twelve-month and a day

Upon her grave to mourn,

And I will weep for my true love

'Til in death we are joined.

"Although her mortal flesh be cold

Her soul long flown away,

I crave one kiss from her sweet lips

For love cannot decay."

The ink on the pale page in his hand blurred as his tears fell to dampen the words, and Jacob thoughtlessly brushed the spots into smears. He leaned his cheek against the cool stone and drew a shaking breath. How could he go on for another year, and another, all without his true love? He had seen widows and widowers pass through the darkened valley of mourning, for Death was never far away from mortal men and women—but now, grieving for his own lost love, he could not fathom how they went on living a life that was forever changed.