Broken Bones. Gina McMurchy-Barber

      “It is an honour to meet the young maid of whom I have heard so much,” he added.

      Now that was a completely weird-the-kid-out thing to say. I turned to look out the rear window so he couldn’t see how my face was turning into a ripe tomato.

      Eddy chuckled. “Sam … I mean, Tristan has a flare for the dramatic.”

      “Ah, ’tis true, madam,” he said in a phony British accent. “All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players.”

      Somebody get me a barf bag. What was Eddy thinking bringing this guy along?

      “Shakespeare,” Eddy said, smiling. “That line’s from As You Like It, act 2.”

      “Dear lady,” the kid said, “you render me nearly speechless — but not to fear, for I shall quickly recover.”

      Eddy slapped her leg and hooted like an owl.

      “It pleases me that the lady is so familiar with the works of William Shakespeare. M’thinks we shall be fast friends indeed.”

      “M’thinks so, too, young sir,” Eddy said, still laughing. “Nothing could be better than mixing a little Shakespeare in with your archaeology.” Eddy turned to me as if she’d just remembered I was sitting in the back listening to them. “We’re fortunate to have Tristan along today. He lives in Golden and is one of the few who knows exactly where the old Pioneer Cemetery is. He’s going to lead us to the disturbed burial site, and that’s going to save us time searching for it ourselves.”

      I was glad she’d finally shared her reason for bringing the Goth geek along. I was beginning to think she’d split her beam … or cracked her noggin … or flipped her lid. No matter what her excuse, I got the distinct feeling this wasn’t going to be the kind of morning I’d been looking forward to.

      Fortunately, the drive to the Pioneer Cemetery was short. After the underpass, we motored along a narrow road that ran between the railway and a steep hill.

      “Stop the carriage here,” Tristan suddenly directed.

      When we got out, I glanced around, expecting to see something that looked like a cemetery. Besides the train tracks and the dirt road, there was nothing — well, like I said, nothing except a steep hill covered in trees, fallen rocks, and brush. I was beginning to wonder if the Shakespeare wannabe was on a mental vacation.

      “Ah, Eddy, there’s nothing here,” I blurted with a sense of satisfaction and irritation.

      “How poor are they who have not patience! Follow me, ladies.”

      Double ugh. Somebody get me that barf bag quick.

      Tristan started up the steep slope, which was covered in scrawny pine trees and shrubs, with loose rocks that must have rolled down from the highway at the top of the hill. As Eddy and I followed him, a few bits of shattered and weathered wood caught my eye. They looked like part of an old picket fence. I couldn’t think of any reason why there would be a picket fence on a steep hillside — they must have been dumped by someone too lazy to make the trip to the landfill.

      When I noticed Eddy puffing like a whale, I almost laughed. She needed to come to the conclusion on her own that this Tristan guy was a git. Finally, we came to a stop.

      Tristan turned and grinned. “It is here, dear ladies.”

      “Phew, thank goodness,” Eddy said, gasping for air. “I didn’t think I’d be able to go any higher.” She plopped onto the ground to catch her breath.

      As I looked around, I couldn’t see anything that looked like a cemetery or a burial — just the same shrubs, tall grass, and scruffy trees. Well, that and a few mounds that were probably home to some pretty big rabbits. Then Tristan pulled back some tall tufts of grass to reveal a freshly dug hole about the size of a spare tire. I peered into the hole that was about forty-five centimetres deep and saw a tiny bit of flat surface peeking out that could have been wood.

      “This is it? This is the burial we’re here to see? How could this hillside be a cemetery?” For a split second I heard my Aunt Margaret’s grating voice whining like a screeching skill saw — the way she did if she figured something was absurd. Then I realized it was just me.

      “It might be strange nowadays,” Eddy began, “but a century ago it took a lot of back-breaking work to clear land with only a few hand tools and the help of some horsepower. Pioneers couldn’t afford to use the flat fertile land you see down there for anything but farms and ranches. But this here slope was perfect for a cemetery. It was close to the original townsite, wasn’t useful for anything else … and besides that, it offered a beautiful view of the valley and mountains beyond. What better location could there be for a final resting place for the dearly departed?”

      Tristan pulled down more grass and weeds so I could see a neat formation of rocks in the shape of an elliptical ring. That was when I remembered the bits of broken wood I’d seen down the hill and realized they were once part of the white picket fence that would have surrounded the cemetery — just like the fancy little fences I’d noticed around every little cemetery in every little town from Hope to Golden. It took less than a nanosecond for the heat to spread across my face again like soupy ketchup.

      “Well, it looks just like any other hillside around here to me,” I mumbled, somehow thinking that was an excuse for being so thick.

      “That’s right, which is good in a way,” Eddy said. “The fact this looks like any old hillside has protected the burials in this cemetery for a long time.”

      “Well, it didn’t protect it completely. Obviously, the creep responsible for disturbing this burial knows all about —” I stopped in mid-sentence with a disturbing question in mind for Tristan when Eddy suddenly took out her orange marking tape and wrapped a piece around a small tree.

      “Peggy, I need you to find me a sturdy stick about sixty centimetres long,” she ordered before I had a chance to say more. “I want to make a flag marker so we’ll be able to do a survey of the site and locate it easily when we come back tomorrow.”

      Being cut off and ignored felt as if a bucket of cold water had been thrown into my face. If I hadn’t had manners, I would have told her to get Prince Charming to fetch the stick.

      Once Eddy had marked the site, she insisted I be quiet as she walked down the slope and counted off the number of paces. At the bottom of the hill she marked the bearings with her compass and then left another orange marker.

      “Thanks for your help, Tristan,” Eddy said. “Now we won’t have any trouble finding our way to the burial tomorrow.”

      What? Thanks for your help … Tristan?

      Before I had a chance to say anything, Eddy marched off to the truck. “Okay, let’s get going, you two. I’ve got to get over to the Canadian National Railway office. Since they’re the owners of the land, I need to work out an agreement with them on the conditions for the excavation and historical resource assessment.”

      Soon we dropped the teenage mutant off at some old house. The grass was seriously overgrown and brown, and the paint looked as if it must have started peeling off a century ago.

      Before Tristan closed the truck door he hesitated. “May I ask — when shall we three meet again. In thunder, lightning, or in rain?”

      Eddy snorted so loudly I jumped off the seat. “You’re good. Macbeth, scene 1. How about coming to help us tomorrow? We could use an extra pair of hands. I’ll come for you in the morning.”

      Tristan gave a sweeping bow. “As you wish, madam.” Then he paused, probably waiting for the curtain to lower and the audience to applaud. “Parting is such sweet sorrow that I shall say good night till it be morrow.”

      Eddy hooted like an owl again. “Romeo and Juliet, act 2.”

      “My compliments. The lady’s vast memory is my match indeed.”

      All