Part 4: The Widow’s Reflection
398 Words
*As night falls, Helena examines the ledger by candlelight. Thunder rumbles. She recognizes one of the names — it’s someone the town buried last year. The ink is fresh. She drops the book in shock.*
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The rain had thickened by evening. It tapped against the high windows like long fingers, impatient and rhythmic. Candles flickered in the sconces. The fire Helena lit in the hearth gave off more shadow than warmth.
She sat in the study, the ledger open before her on Charles’s desk. A decanter of brandy remained untouched at her elbow.
She turned the pages slowly now. No longer searching — studying.
Names. Dozens. Some local, some foreign. A few common, others oddly archaic. And then one that stopped her breath short in her chest.
C. Alder – 180 pounds – October 4
She stared at it, unblinking.
C. Alder.
Colin Alder had been the gravedigger’s son. He vanished last fall — just before his twelfth birthday. The town searched for days. Eventually, they said he’d fallen into the gorge during a storm. His coat had been found snagged on the rocks. The reverend gave a eulogy. A stone was placed beside his mother’s. No body.
Helena closed her eyes.
She remembered now: Charles had delivered food to the Alders that month. Claimed it was charity.
The ink on the page was dark. Too dark. It gleamed under the candlelight like it had only dried this week.
She touched the name with one gloved finger. It didn’t smudge. But it left something colder in its place.
A noise outside. The wind rattling the latch. Or not the wind?
She rose, crossing to the study window. Parted the curtain.
Nothing. Just the dark garden, tangled with frost and creeping ivy. The streetlamps glowed weakly through the fog.
She turned back to the desk.
The ledger’s cover was slightly ajar — though she hadn’t left it that way.
She leaned in again, flipping to the final filled page.
The bottom entry had not been there before.
H. Ward – 0 pounds – Undated
No sum. No date.
Just her name.
The pen slipped from her fingers and clattered onto the hardwood.
She stared down at the page — not breathing, not blinking — as thunder cracked across the sky and blew out one of the study candles in a hiss of smoke.
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**End of Part 4**
- Writer
