No More Sorrow

The rain beat down heavily on the grounds outside the large house as the occupants awaiting the arrival of the black limousines that would take them to the church for the funeral of one of the most respected elders of the small town of Morgan's Crossing. Margaret St James had been the granddaughter of Elliott Morgan, the founder of the town, and the townspeople had always looked to her and her family for guidance as they had developed over the years from a small cattle station to a prospering town that had continued to grow and thrive when others had stumbled and fallen.

Beth Kincaid stared out of the windows in the library and frowned as she watched the seemingly neverending fall of water from the leaden sky. The weather forecast the previous day had said light showers to start with, clearing later. This did not look like light showers, and certainly showed no signs of lifting for a clearer day later.

The old grandfather clock sounded the passing hour, its deep chime seeming to echo the sadness of the day - the emptiness that lay ahead. Not wanting to dwell on that emptiness Beth turned from the window and crossed the polished wooden floor to where her long black coat lay draped across the back of sofa. The cars would be arriving shortly and it was her job to organise who would sit where and with whom on the short journey to the church.

"There you are! I've been looking everywhere for you. The cars are starting to come down the drive and everyone is wondering which one they're supposed to be travelling in. Personally, I don't see why they all can't make their own way to the church without us having to provide them with transport there."

Beth shook her head as she pulled her coat on. "This is what your grandmother wanted, Colin. She wanted to thank people who had been her friends and stood by her over the years. This is her way of doing it." Ever since Colin had discovered that her grandmother had arranged for a fleet of limousines to take people to the church he had been complaining non stop about it. A pointless exercise and a waste of money was how he described it. A waste of his inheritance was how he saw it although he refrained from voicing that comment in Beth's presence, knowing that she would take him to task over it.

Beth sighed but said nothing, knowing that words would be wasted on Colin. He thought only of himself, the St James name and money and their position in the town unlike ... Her blue eyes clouded with remembered pain as she forced herself not to go down that route. That memory path could stay hidden and buried for eternity!

"We'd better go or else we'll be late," she said. Without a glance at Colin she opened the library door and went out into the hall, ready to begin the task of organising the mourners into the fleet of limousines that would take them to where they could say their farewells to Margaret St James.

************************************************** **********

The man stood under the shelter of the trees overlooking the graveside, his cold grey eyes slowly travelling over the small crowd that stood by the open grave. Most of the townsfolk had made their way back to the limousines to travel into town to the buffet that Margaret had requested follow her funeral. Those that still remained included members of the household staff, a couple of town dignitries, close friends, Beth Kincaid and Colin St James.

The stranger's firm jaw tightened as he stared at those two figures. He lingered for second on Beth's slender frame, memories of secret smiles and shared moments threatening to break through the steel wall that he had erected around that part of his life.

His eyes moved on to Colin's slightly stocky build. The years had obviously been kind to him, he thought to himself, his grey eyes like angry storm clouds. More memories pressed against the barriers of his mind like a tidal river pressing against a dam. He closed his eyes, trying to contain them so that they did not overwhelm him. Now was not the time to dwell on that part of his past. For now he would pay his respects to Margaret St James and await the reaction his reappearance was bound to evoke.

A laugh carried over the silent graveyard returning his self control and bringing an awareness of his surroundings. "Enjoy your last days of freedom, Colin St James," he muttered to himself. "The time is coming for you to pay for your mistakes. Mistakes you will pay for, that I promise."

With a final glance down at the gravesite he turned and disappeared into the trees. His presence noted only by the silent birds in the trees who watched him pass.