There was a ghost in the church.
Sarah did not turn to seek it out. Felt it only, a presence behind her. It could be . . . anyone. Her mother, who’d had the second sight far stronger than she did, always said that marriages and funerals brought the spirits out – and not just the unquiet dead. Conjured from the graves beyond the church’s doors or from the richer tombs within, some worthy burgher whose charity had so benefited the parish would return to gaze with satisfaction upon his works. Or his relic would sit again in her reserved pew to lady it over all others.
This feeling was not like that. She feared that she had brought this spirit with her.
It nearly made her look, the thought of him – John Chalker. But the image that came was not as she’d last seen him – in a coffin, a barely
