It was late afternoon before we found ourselves back at home. Nathan went to check his messages, and I decided to take a walk after being confined to the car for so long. My legs were tired from the car ride, and I knew some exercise would make me feel better. It wasn't so brutally hot, and the air had a feeling of late summer at last.

It seemed as if summer was finally dying, but it was not going to let go without a fight.

I set out in a new direction, on a path that I had long known about, but hadn't yet explored. I had found the path just beyond the tiny chapel. One of the many things I loved about Peacock Alley was that there was always something new to discover. Today's path wound through an extensive stand of towering pine trees, and many pine needles were covering my way, making it slippery and fragrant. Pinecones were starting to fall, and I was amazed at how large they were. I made a note to come back with a basket, and collect pinecones for the fireplace in our bedroom.

I didn't expect the path to take me so far, but I was enjoying my journey. The sunlight was beautiful, but not scorching for once. My enjoyable afternoon with my husband had left me relaxed and happy, and I could appreciate the beauty of the nature I found all around me. Fat squirrels jumped from tree to tree, busily preparing for the winter that still seemed so far away, and blackbirds cawed raucously, telling me summer was almost over.

Suddenly, the trees parted, and I reached a clearing. I paused and looked upon several rows of old tombstones.

It was an eerie site, surrounded by old fencing and sheltered from the sun by a few stately oak trees. At first, I almost turned around and went back to the house. Wandering around an old cemetery didn’t seem to fit my peaceful mood. The history of the place called to me, however, and I kept walking forward.

Intrigued, I opened the squeaky wrought iron gate and went inside. There were dozens of graves, rows upon rows lined up like decrepit soldiers, and many were very old. It was a tidy plot, despite its age. I imagined Maxwell and his crew made their way over here often, cutting the grass and pulling weeds around the headstones. Even the oldest graves were carefully tended. I saw one or two headstones that had broken in two, but someone had taken the time to use cement to bond the halves together.

Overall, the cemetery was a pleasant place. Despite the obvious overtones of death and separation, care had been taken to make this a comfortable place to remember dearly departed family and to grieve their loss.

Granite benches stood guard under ancient oaks that spread their branches to offer shade from the unrelenting sun. A few wind chimes hung from the overhead limbs, softly singing their discordant songs. Above-ground tombs scattered the landscape here and there, giving relief from the strict rows of graves.

A quick scan of the oldest looking stones confirmed my belief that this was the Randolph family cemetery, and it dated back to the beginnings of the estate. I walked up and down the rows, delighting in the old-fashioned names, and the quaint epitaphs carved in stone. I was thrilled to find an old marker with a gardenia blossom carved upon it; this must have been the ancestor who loved the gardenias so much. I traced the blossom with my finger, marveling at the old stone work.

Some of the headstones were so old they were hard to read. I frowned over the number of babies that had died in infancy, reminding myself that times before modern medicine had been painful even for the very wealthy. I reflected back to my earlier discussion with Nathan about having a baby, and I felt sad for these mothers who had lived before me and known such terrible loss.

I walked down row after row, and the graves became progressively newer as I went. I stopped in my tracks, surprised. I had reached the newest section of the cemetery, and in front of me was Savannah's grave. The stone was simple, just her name and birth and death dates, and one line: "What We Keep in Memory We Keep Forever."

Glancing down, I noticed a fresh red rose was lying on her grave. I was petty enough to be displeased at the find. Nathan's handiwork or Mother's? I suspected Mother was responsible because the rose didn't look as if it had been in the hot sun all day.

I realized that the stone marked an empty grave because her body still rested in the lake. The thought was sobering, and I regretted begrudging Savannah the rose. How sad was it that her body had never been found? Savannah had many admirers, and they all deserved closure. How difficult it must be to mourn at an empty grave.

A peacock screeched in the distance, and I jumped in fright at the unexpected noise. The hair stood up on the back of my neck. Suddenly, I had a strong feeling I wasn't alone. My heart pounded. Turning, I looked all around and didn't see anyone. Perhaps someone was standing just beyond the first trees, watching me? There was no way for me to know.

I walked away from Savannah’s grave, and made my way back to the gate. There was no reason for anyone to be watching me, but I couldn’t shake my uneasy feeling.