NOTE: Where you see "...." inserted within a sentence or between sentences, the author has removed certain words from the excerpt that might give away key parts of the story.
… On Friday, March 28, 1913, the trolley stopped alongside the cemetery covering acres of landscaped ground about two miles from the cathedral. Mimi stepped down and waited for the car to pull away. After she secured the top button on her coat and fastened her scarf around her neck, she walked up the grassy hill to the spot she’d visited so many times over the past seven years. Today’s sun still traveled its low winter arc, delivering less warmth than one would think from looking out a window at the bright, clear day. She was glad she’d decided against wearing her shawl, and pulled the bottom of her coat snugly around her legs as she sat down to face the headstone. Classic early birds, who dared to trust in the apparent appearance of spring, hopped along the green and brown patches of ground and jumped on top of grave markers nearby. Their trilling and the flutter of their wings were the only sounds, and Mimi seemed to be the only living person in the cemetery. Looking at the granite marker rising from the earth like a biblical tablet, she slowly moved her fingers across Amelia’s name etched in the stone, and began speaking in a quiet voice.
“We’re leaving Albany tomorrow, although I’m certain you’re well aware of this. Frankly, I’m a little frightened, despite my insistence with Cinnamon that there is not a single thing to fear. All indications are that this is the appropriate move for us to make, and I must say that I’ve never seen Bradley happier with his work. His professional opportunity will, in turn, lead all of us to a grand new world filled with promise for the children, which I know you will appreciate. So, I can’t imagine why I have even an ounce of apprehension. And who could have ever guessed that Joseph and his family would come to play such a major role in plotting our life’s direction? I confess that his influence has taken me by surprise, but then my assessment of people has fallen far short of reality before. Still, I promised myself that today I would not give voice to any of those mistakes in judgment. Thankfully, I’m now blessed with two precious girls and a husband who loves me. That must be the happy place my thoughts return whenever I feel as if I’m sinking—a sensation I’ve been experiencing rather frequently of late. By the way, I’m so sorry we had to sell your old house. You and Nathaniel still had a presence there, you know. Yes, of course you know. Anyway, there was no sense in our keeping the place when we’ll be so far away. Again, I do hope the decision was a good one, and that you understand.”
Her need to speak ended and she sat in silence for nearly half an hour, her concentration drifting across the expanse of green and graves toward Albany’s jagged skyline of steeples, spires, domes, brick building tops and chimneys. She had never taken time to study this view before, and despite the bitter taste in her mouth, she conceded that the city was essentially quite beautiful, in design if not character. But none of this would be her concern any longer. Reluctantly pulling herself to her feet, she brushed the crushed leaves and thawing dirt from her coat. Then she leaned down and kissed the top of the headstone.
“I love you, Amelia.”
Tears began filling her eyes as she turned to walk away, when something made her look over her shoulder. Blinking to clear her vision, she felt the streams fall down her cheeks as the inscription came into focus.
My prayer and greatest wish is that not only will I be granted the power to forgive all things, but that the same power will be given to those I love.
Amelia Elizabeth McClinty
February 2, 1857—April 23, 1906
“Not as easy as it sounds, Amelia,” she said, turning again to walk toward the street as she noticed the trolley making its way in her direction. “But thanks for the reminder.”
On the ride home, she passed by the cathedral, then the trolley stop where she and Amelia first embarked on their walk to the Times Union offices. After a few more blocks, the car crossed Lark Street and proceeded up Madison Avenue. Behind her lay the axis of a town that once belonged to her, until she was no longer useful, along with the resting place of the most authentic woman she would know in her lifetime. She considered the breadth of those contrasts and wondered where, on that spectrum of darkness and light, her own existence would fall by the time she returned again to visit both places. As fate would ultimately dictate, she would never find her way back to either one.
