The Needle's Eye (novel preview)

Chapter One

The Needle's Eye

Chapter One

I

 Emily was the last one to depart, standing frozen to the spot until the first shovel of dirt made a thud against the coffin lid, freeing her from her trance. Suddenly aware of the warm liquid trickling down her chin, she wiped her tears with her dark sleeve. The cemetery was now complete with all the previous generations of her family. Now, only her own—she and her sisters—were left.

"Goodbye, grandfather," the girl of eighteen managed to whisper. "You will not be forgotten."

The old man had lived a long life—longer than most—and though the last few years had been nothing but a jumble of thoughts with few words, his three granddaughters had taken care of him to the extent of their ability. It was destined to end this way. Emily had been prepared for his passing, but that did not stop her from feeling this immense grief that made her ill at her stomach. Her grandfather's soul had been released from its mortal shell, and there was certainly no hope for more good memories with the old man.

Taking in a shuddering breath, Emily held out a cedar box in her trembling hands. She hadn't looked through its contents in years, remembering the neglected chest just after his death, but not having the courage to open it. Even so, she knew what rested inside. It contained writings she had done years ago when she was only a child. She'd written down her thoughts concerning stories that her grandfather had told her, and she couldn't be sure, but there were probably pictures as well—simple sketches of fantastic subjects.

Her intention had been to bury the box along with the old man, but now that the moment had come, she found herself hesitating. She stood in a trance at the grave site, contemplating the deed as the box sat on the edge of her fingers. As she lingered there, absent from herself, her arms drew the box up against her chest. The thought had entered her mind then that these treasures should not be buried. The act could be a tribute, but it would also be wrong.

These memories are mine to keep, she realized.

Emily nodded to herself, content with her choice. Seeing that the dirt was now piling high atop the pine coffin below, Emily sighed, sniffled, and left the shoveling men to their work.

Turning away, it struck her that the day was much too bright for such a concentration on death. The sun was high and there was hardly a cloud save a few wispy streaks painted across the sky. The wind blew gently, and the sea was calm all the way out until it touched the fog. Fishermen were out in small boats, casting their nets. It would have been a nice day for rowing—if she could stand to twist the oars before bursting out into more tears for her family's decay. How long had it been since she'd been out on the sea? As she thought on it, she found she could not recall.

Emily remained the quiet girl from her childhood. Her eyes were still dark and curious, a wide shape with curving lashes. Her hair, pulled back to restrain the curls, was a perfect imitation of her eye color. She was only five feet and one inch from her heel to her crown, and when it was her wish to slip through the village without being stopped for conversation, she was able without difficulty. She did this now, moving past those who were going from the cemetery gate back to their homes. Thankfully, there were few words on their lips for her.

The village was quiet as she passed from the grassy hill onto the street of dirt and stone, but somewhere amidst the houses, she could hear the laughter of children. Villagers were returning to the work of tending their gardens and cleaning their fish. Others had never left their shops. The sun was still shining, and in the distance, the fog remained. The world had not halted for one man's death, as it would not, in many years, halt for hers. This was a thought that chilled her, making her feel closer to death as the minutes passed.