Her mother's grave

I threw on my wool overcoat and grabbed a tin cup that sat on top of the wooden chest before making my way towards the brook outside. The wind was freezing cold, and the last remnants of the previous snowfall could still be seen on the ground. There were a couple torches burning by the infirmary, but otherwise it was very dark. The moon could barely be seen as it played hide and seek behind the gliding clouds. I could hear the waves of the bay crashing onto shore in the distance.

          I stepped through the grass and snow wearing my thickest wool stockings. I found the brook and dipped my cup into the running water. Delicious! And freezing! I looked inland away from the village and thought about how I was on the edge of a wide open forest where wild bears and wolves lived. There was no wildlife control and no modern cities west of us. At that particular moment I had no real protection at all. A gust of wind hit me that sent chills down my neck and shoulders. I quickly turned around to make my way back to the Brewster cabin.

As I passed the graveyard I heard a whimpering sound and I nearly screamed in panic. Ghosts in the graveyard! I knew it! The Pilgrims did their best to hide how many of them had died, but they did make some subtle markings in an area next to the village where they buried their dead. While the Indians may not have known where our dead were kept or how many there were, we certainly did. I did my best to avoid the grave site during the day. At night it was even creepier. It was filled with the emaciated bodies of men, women, and children I had known, some of whom had passed away before my eyes. The wind-blown clouds created shifting moon shadows through the trees. I heard an owl hooting in the darkness. If there were any ghosts roaming about, this would be the ideal spot for them.

I had almost made it back to the Brewster cabin when I heard the whimpering again. This time I stopped because there was something about it that didn’t sit right with me. Could it have been a restless spirit walking amongst the graves? I had another feeling what it may have been.

I took one of the burning torches that were hanging by the door of the infirmary. I gathered my courage and walked down the small hill towards the grounds where the graves were made. There were a couple small crosses sticking out of the ground that some of the families had used as markers. The outlines of freshly dug pits could still be seen from where two more people had been buried the day before. 

The whimpering grew louder as I approached. I knew for sure now that it wasn’t just my imagination. Cautiously, I stepped over and around the places where I knew people had been buried until I found where the sobbing had been coming from. I lifted the torch above my head to spread the light and I saw the cowering outline of a person kneeling on the ground. I walked closer until I recognized who it was.

          “Elizabeth?”

          She wiped her eyes and looked up at me.

          “Kyla?”

          “Why are you out here? You’ll freeze.”

          “I don’t care.” She began to sob again. I then realized that she was knelt down on the grave of her mother.

-- from Time Trip #3: 

Witness to the First Thanksgiving

TIME TRIP ADVENTURE 4

KILLING FOR COUNTRY  

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TIME TRIP ADVENTURE 1

THE JOURNEY TO ANCIENT GREECE 

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TIME TRIP ADVENTURE 2

A RIDE ON THE UNDERGROUND RAILROAD

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TIME TRIP ADVENTURE 3

WITNESS TO THE FIRST THANKSGIVING 

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