(Yah-�u Nahkts)
Chapter 11
The bearded driver, waiting in his coach near the docks for a chance to earn a few extra coins from the newly arrived, hailed them, bringing them out of their nostalgic reveries into the slightly cold and misty British morning.
�Can I be of service to you two, folks?�
�Yes, please,� Annabelle cleared her throat, as they approached the coachman. �Could you drive us to the prison cemetery?�
The man bent over from his seat, shifting his bewildered gaze from one to the other. �The prison cemetery?� he did a double take, thinking that he must have misheard her. �Are you sure, folks, that you want to start your sightseeing from a dismal place like that?�
�We have not come to England for sightseeing, se�or,� Diego interjected with polite coldness, noticing the pale look on his wife�s face. �Will you, please, take us to where the se�ora requested, or shall we have to find another cochero?�
Se�ora, cochero � these foreign-sounding words completely confused the poor man who knew very little beyond simply driving the carriage. And the fact that these two travelers wanted to visit the prison cemetery � of all places � was more than strange. But, he, nevertheless, decided to comply and drive this peculiar couple to the destination they desired. Money, after all, was money.
***
The carriage stopped in front of the massive iron gates, always open, for there was no need to guard a place like that. The fence, surrounding the cemetery, seemed to serve more as a symbolic separation between the two worlds � that of the dead and that of the living.
Asking the coachman to wait for them, the husband and wife slowly approached the gloomy entrance. Annabelle stopped, hesitating, her determination suddenly abandoning her. Nervously, she tugged at the necklace that was given to her by Madame Voloshina for luck. It was a beautiful handiwork, created entirely from the tenderly yellow amber stones � those �tears of the pine�, as the Latvians lovingly called them � that washed in such abundance out on the shores of Latvia from the mysterious depths of the Baltic Sea.
Diego gently placed his hand on her tense shoulder. �Nervous?�
She looked up at him with a mixture of fear and entreaty in her brown-green eyes. �Diego, please, hold me close,� she whispered weakly. �I don�t think I�ll be able to make it on my own.�
�Of course, querida.�
***
The early morning fog had not yet lifted, and its misty, coiling clouds crept slowly between the graves of the cemetery ground, giving it that ghoulish dismal look that ghost storytellers have used for centuries to frighten the little children before bedtime.
Annabelle felt an unpleasant chill run through her body, and she clung even closer to Diego. Her eyes searched wildly amidst the rough simple gravestones. Finally, she saw it � her father�s name carved in the dark gray boulder. �James R. Milton. 1773-1822�.
Diego heard her draw a sharp breath, and he tightened his arm around her waist. �I am with you, querida,� he whispered in her ear. �If you wish to go on��
She nodded, trying to calm her wild heartbeat, and walked forward in unsteady but determined steps. She dropped to her knees next to the gravestone. �Hello, Father,� she whispered, as her fingers brushed the rough, rocky surface. She felt a lump in her throat, and she closed her eyes weakly. There was so much she wanted to say to her father at that moment, but her thoughts scrambled inside her head like a frightened herd of horses, and Annabelle found herself absolutely speechless. All she could do was cry, and the silent, bitter tears rolled slowly from under her long dark eyelashes.
A comforting hand lay on her shoulder, and Annabelle looked up, meeting the loving gaze of her husband. She rose, and Diego took her into his arms, gently wiping the traces of tears off her face, as he whispered soothing words in her hair.
Pressing herself tightly against his strong, wide chest, Annabelle listened to the even, comforting beating of his heart, and, somehow, the storm of emotions inside her began to slowly calm down, lulled by the heavenly sense of security and love.
�Do you see this man, Daddy? He is my life, my love, my everything. I am blessed to have found him, and I know � I know that you would have loved him as much as I do. I have found my happiness and my peace. �And I hope you have found yours.� She tore slightly away from her husband, and, bringing her hand to her lips, she placed a quick kiss on her fingertips and then laid them gently on top of the gravestone.
�Goodbye, Daddy. Rest in peace.�