A deafening crash echoed in Elliot's mind, leaving him utterly stunned.
His thoughts scattered, his legs gave way beneath him, and he stumbled to the ground.
"Are you alright there?" The villager reached out, helping him up.
As he peered at Elliot's face, a flicker of recognition dawned. "Hold on... you're that young man who used to be sweet on Margaret, aren't you? I remember you. Came by and helped us dig potatoes once, five years back. Strong as an ox, you were."
Elliot's voice was a choked, broken thing. "Sir... you said 'after the mourning period'? Please... what was the exact day she left? Tell me."
"February 9th. It was snowing something fierce that day," the man said, his tone softening.
'February 9th.'
The date slammed into Elliot's consciousness. That was three days after
