Page 34 of The Ghost and the Graveyard (Knight Games 1)
I guess he didn't know about the shape. Why were the pyramids pyramid shaped? Who knew?
"Absolutely." For a place where people were buried, Monk's Hill was surprisingly homey. As we walked toward the chapel, full-sized maple and elm trees shaded us from the late summer sun. The wide spacing resembled a park or forest preserve.
When we reached the chapel, Rick opened the painted black door for me. Two rows of wooden pews stretched toward an altar. Rick explained that the iron bins at the foot of the pews were where churchgoers would place their coals in the winter. The sconces on the walls and at the ends of the pews were for candles. Women used to sit on the left and men on the right.
"So, no one uses the church anymore?"
"No. Not regularly. There was a wedding here a few years back, but not many people want to drive all the way out here for a ceremony. Not to mention the road from the gate wasn't designed for modern automobiles."
"It's a shame, really. This place is exquisite." For a moment, I pictured the aisle lined with sprays of white flowers, candles lit and flickering in the sconces, a handsome groom waiting with a priest at the altar. This church was grossly underutilized.
The oil paintings hanging on the walls caught my interest. "Do you mind if I look at the art?"
"Go ahead. They're paintings of the parishioners."
I wandered up a row toward the closest one while Rick hung back by the altar. The portrait was labeled 1692. Stoic-faced men and women with gaunt cheeks and dark clothes were lined up in the churchyard.
"These people look like pilgrims."
"Technically, Puritans, but the terms are used interchangeably these days."
I squinted at the details in the portrait. They each had a large book in their hands, probably a Bible. I scanned the hollow faces, looking for some hint of emotion. "Why didn't people smile in old pictures?" I turned toward Rick, who was watching me, motionless, and with an unreadable expression.
"Life was harder then," he said. "People here were desperate. Starving."
"Starving?"
"In sixteen eighty-nine there was a war north of here, King William's War. Refugees from Canada and upstate New York settled here in Red Grove. The people who were here first, Monk's parishioners, welcomed the refugees in because that's what Puritans did. Hospitality was part of their religion. But they were farmers, and that year there was a drought. Food was scarce and the refugees made the situation worse."
"How awful. What did they do?"
"Some of them died. The old ones. The weak ones. Some others were able to feed themselves by hunting in the woods. All of them asked Reverend Monk for help."
"You mean, like, to pray? To ask for rain?"
"Yes. But more. Word from Salem was there had been a confession of witchcraft. Salem was starving too, but they were doing something about it. They were finding the witches who caused the problem and burning them."
"Wait, are you talking about the Salem witch trials?"
"Yes."
"But obviously, there are no such things as witches. I think I read somewhere that the whole thing in Salem was caused by mass hysteria. Did Monk really believe the drought was caused by a witch?"
"Oh, yes. The hysteria had made it all the way to Red Grove, and his parishioners insisted he weed out the witch. They got more than they bargained for from Monk though, as legend has it." Rick smiled and shook his head. "I'm boring you with my stories. Let's enjoy our lunch and this beautiful afternoon."
"I'm not bored," I said. "The Salem witch trials are super creepy. I had no idea they extended all the way to New Hampshire. But I'm hungry and more than curious about what's in the picnic basket. Save the story for later?"
"Of course."
The spot we chose for lunch was under the shade of an elm tree. Rick spread out a gigantic burgundy blanket made of plush velvet. We removed our shoes and sat cross-legged in the middle. From the picnic basket, he pulled two wine glasses and a bottle of Shiraz.
"Your favorite, if I remember correctly."
I nodded. "But I don't think I should have any."
"Why not?"
"It's just...I'm coming out of a complicated relationship." I cleared my throat and twisted my fingers in front of me. So embarrassing. I had to give it to him straight though. "Ah, I'm out, actually. Completely, out of the relationship. But I've found I have a pattern of rushing into things and then suffering the consequences of losing control. And, well, I think, last time we were together, I moved too fast."
