Glasgow Grace by Marion Ueckermann Page A

Da.
    Overshooting the small road to the right, she slowed and turned the car around. The indicator clicked as she veered to the left and drove through the open entrance.
    The cemetery was larger than she remembered, gravestones now filling the open piece of land as she entered. Travelling way below the speed limit, Skye inched her way toward the trees bordering the burial grounds, her mind a whirlwind of painful memories. At sixteen, mourning the loss of her beloved father, the drive down that narrow road had seemed to go on forever, too.
    The trees had turned into giants over the years. Heavyset trunks now obliterated most of the view of Portree Bay, their thick branches dressed in winter’s bare, the twigs at their ends raised to the sky—scrawny fingers clawing and grasping at nothing but air. They looked monstrous, menacing…an impenetrable force to be reckoned with.
    Something akin to her mother the day of Da’s funeral. Mother was furious when she’d spotted Skye and Callum heading through the trees toward the cold shores of the bay. Overcome with grief after the coffin was lowered into the grave, Callum had taken Skye aside to console her, seeking privacy for them on the other side of the copse. But they never made it through the trees. Mother had followed.
    Skye pushed the bleak memory aside as she parked the car. Braving the cold, she stepped outside and pulled on her coat, gloves, hat, earmuffs, and scarf. If not for the overwhelming desire to visit her father’s grave for the very first time since his funeral, she would’ve succumbed to the temptation of the warm vehicle.
    Certain the grave was on the left of the cemetery near the back, Skye made her way to the last row of gravestones. Her footprints, imprinted deep into the snow, followed her path. She came to an abrupt halt halfway along the second row, the sight before her, although new, ingrained in her mind.
    Friends of Mother’s had sent photos by mail of the headstone above Da’s grave. Skye had stared at them many times over the years, trying to accept that it was all true.
    Dr. Lewis Hunter
    Absent in the body, present with the Lord.
    Always in the hearts of your wife and daughter.
    His birth and death dates were carved below in flowing script. Mother only wanted to engrave the last sentence of the epitaph onto the stone. Skye insisted she add the first. Da had always made sure that Skye went to Sunday school and church. Mother came with them most Sundays, although Skye often wondered if she’d ever really listened. Church for Mother always seemed more of a social encounter than a spiritual one.
    Callum had always gone with them, too. There was no way Mother could object to a child being taken to Sunday school. And Callum had always listened to both preacher and teacher.
    Leaning forward, Skye dusted the snow from the headstone with her gloved hands. Her fingers trailed its stark front and the engraved indentations. Tears mimicked the downward trend of her fingers, traversing her skin before they fell into the snow below. She hugged the headstone. “Oh, Da. I miss you so much.”
    Skye spent as long as she could out in the cold, talking to her Lord and Savior, and her Da in heaven. It had been a long time since she’d really communicated with either.
    The skies around her eventually darkened. She’d have to return to the car. It had been a good decision to stay and visit her father’s grave. If she’d gone into the village first to find accommodation, she would have been out here in the dark and her visit would’ve been brief. Tomorrow she’d return, with flowers.
    By the time Skye drove into Portree village, she could barely make out the colorful buildings that lined the quay. Streetlights washed the area in an amber hue, fading out the buildings’ colors and casting their reflections across the waters of the bay.
    The first place she tried was The Royal Hotel. She had stayed there with Mother the night of Da’s funeral, returning to