Trail of the Raven, Haiti

Trail of the Raven

There were few people at the cemetery, all looking as though they would rather be somewhere else.  As the pastor droned on, I read the faces of my relatives standing there. Cousin Andy stood back from the grave, scuffing his foot in the fresh dirt, while Uncle Mark kept glancing at his watch each time the pastor looked his way. I could read Aunt Carol’s face as her mousy hair slowly frizzed in the early morning fog. I knew she was thinking that this was the last indignity the old woman would ever make her endure.

Everyone in the town of Bonneau, South Carolina, knew of her. She had lived in her small house in the nearby forest for as long as anyone could remember. To them, she was just an eccentric old woman. None of them showed up for the funeral.

I stood silently, head bowed, annoyed at everyone. I had lived with my aunt and uncle for a couple of months after my mother had left. They hadn’t changed in the six years since that time. They could care less about the woman in the grave. My mother hadn’t bothered to come at all.

Trail of the Raven, Haiti on Amazon USir?t=lauobraut 20&l=as2&o=1&a=B00MFXXSE0 or Trail of the Raven, Haiti on Amazon UKir?t=lpcrwr 21&l=as2&o=2&a=B00MFXXSE0

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