Death be Not Proud by C F Dunn

Author:C F Dunn
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Lion Hudson
Published: 2013-08-28T04:00:00+00:00

Awake and alert, Nanna sat up in a high-backed chair by the window in her new room. She smiled with the good side of her face when she saw me, and I bent down to kiss her soft cheek. Although the sun had long since set, the garden onto which her window looked gleamed prettily in the remains of the snow lit by pools of light from nearby rooms. I had asked Matthew if I could see her for a few minutes alone before I introduced him, and I could see him now through the open door as he waited in the communal entrance hall, studying a reproduction eighteenth-century map of the area.

My grandmother put her hand over mine and looked surprised.

“It’s cold outside, Nanna. I know, I know, I should have worn gloves. Beth brought the children over this morning. The twins love the snow; they haven’t seen much of it in their short lives, have they?” I held her hand in mine as we looked out of the window together.

“Do you remember when we had snow on Boxing Day when I must have been about…” I wrinkled my nose, trying to think, “… about five, and Beth nearly fourteen – when Dad was stationed in Germany again. And we were in the car because I think we had been to see someone for a second Christmas Day – I can’t remember who – and we saw all those moths in the headlights – hundreds and hundreds of them, and I couldn’t understand why there were so many moths in winter. And everyone laughed at me except you, and you said, ‘These are no ordinary moths; these are the ghosts of the moths that fly under the summer moon, and they come back as snowflakes to fly again beneath a winter sun.’ And when we arrived home and I opened the car door, my feet sank into the snow and I cried for all the lives of the moths that lay there, but you said, ‘Don’t cry, Emma; the moths never really die, and next winter they will fly as snow again.’”

I sighed. “There aren’t so many moths now, are there, Nanna?” When I looked at her again, a single tear had fallen down the hollow of her cheek. “Nanna?” She crooked her head towards me and the corner of her mouth twitched as she patted my hand. I checked over my shoulder and, seeing Matthew still absorbed, from inside my coat I drew the leather bag containing the journal, removed the book, and placed it carefully on the rug covering her knees.

“You wanted to see the journal, Nanna; this is it. This is what Grandpa and I wanted. This is what it is all about.”

My grandmother made a strange noise in her throat, almost an excited gasp, followed by a grunt of frustration as she tried to open the diary. I raised it to her eye level and opened the first page, then slowly turned the pages for her to see.

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