Two Women, Opposites Sides of the Channel - Blog Tour and Book Excerpt for "Therein Lies the Pearl"

BOOK EXCERPT

She kept her mind on other things so that she did not become too consumed with the physical task she was performing. But no matter how many times she tried to distract herself by thinking about sewing or fishing or cooking, she could not liberate herself from her current labor. Her thoughts always returned to how awful it was to dig a grave.

A gravedigger suffered a double form of anguish. First, there was the spiritual upheaval and debilitating grief that ensued after having lost a loved one, and second, there was the physical misery of having to complete such an onerous task. In her case, she set aside her emotional connection to what she was doing and tried to simply

perform the job while commanding her mind to wander into regions far from this location. After intense effort, she was now about an arm’s length deep into the soil where, thankfully, the dirt had softened a bit and broke apart more easily than at first.

Just a few months ago, she had been at this same spot, only it was not her hand that grasped the handle but Simon’s. At the time, her father had shown no sign of understanding what was required of him, so it was her friend Simon who had come to dig the resting place that would house her mother’s body. Back then, Celia took no part in the digging. The hole stood empty and wide, fully completed by the time she, Papa, and Philippe had arrived with the cart trailing behind them. Only now with the sweat trickling down the back of her neck and

along the column of her spine did she realize just how exhausting an endeavor it was. Her arms ached with strain and fatigue. Her lower back pinched and tensed each time she tossed the next batch of dirt over her shoulder. Even switching her grip and alternating sides did nothing to alleviate the pain.

An arm’s length was not deep enough to keep the scavengers away. She needed to make certain that the hole went down far enough to be beyond the reach of hungry foragers. Some small measure of dignity had to be preserved, especially since there was no ceremony or funeral to commemorate her father’s passing. He deserved that at least.

Pausing to wipe her brow with the back of her grimy hand, Celia’s eyes rested on the cart she had pulled by herself to this newly sanctioned family cemetery. The wagon made her think of Simon and of how he was still helping her despite being miles and miles away. And after a deep intake of breath and an even longer exhalation, she pointed her shovel back toward the ground and continued to deepen the trench.

She recalled the strangeness of his house. She knew it would be spartan. After all, he was a serious minded man whose time was spent dealing only in practicality and necessity. She had expected that. What was odd though was that there was no trace, no touch, no evidence that a woman had ever shared that space with him. No

spindle, no comb, no brush, no clothing, no trinket, no craft, no indication at all that Giselle was once his wife. Perhaps Simon had gotten rid of all of her possessions so that no reminders of her were left behind to haunt him. Perhaps he had bartered them to find compensation for his loss. Whatever the manner with which he disposed of her belongings, it was clear he had chosen to wipe away Giselle’s entire history.

As Celia pulled more and more earth from the ground, she tried to recall Simon’s words when they had last spoken about her father’s impending death and Giselle’s prior passing. What was it that he said? Something about her wanting to leave this world because she could not abide being in it with him there too. Well, if a woman felt that way about her husband, is it any wonder then that he would want to erase everything about her from his mind? And what better place to begin than by removing all things associated with her presence? If

all the physical reminders disappear, then it is only a matter of time before the mental pictures fade as well. So did he do this out of grief because of her aversion to him, or did he do this out of rage because of her rejection of him?

Was it sorrow or was it fury that drove him? Even though her task was far from done, Celia paused. Deep inside the rectangular pit she stood, cold and unmoving. But why would a woman—one who was with child—set out upon a boat during a storm? Was she trying to escape to start a new life on her own, or had she been put there against her will for someone to end it...?

Was his house empty because he was heartbroken over her death, or was it empty because he was guilty of causing it?

There are some questions that are better left unanswered, just as there are some secrets that are better left buried. The dead find release, but life remains a filthy business for the ones who are left behind. Celia readjusted her grip and plunged her spade once again into the dirt, deepening and widening the plot with each thrust.