I'm going to step in for just a moment not to redirect your attention, but just to take a small breather while we allow the previous events to properly settle within our minds. Quite a bit has transpired that we need to simply marinate on. All done? Then let us return to the events as they unfold for our entertainment.
Timothy remains frozen in place. The situation has not quite settled upon him, though it remains before him all the same. Slowly, he rises and leaves his place as he draws near to his mother's cooling body. He kneels down beside her and takes hold of her hand which grows colder the longer he holds it.
For how long the boy remains there he cannot tell as nothing is clear to him, and nothing seems right. All he has is uncertainty, but a knock upon the door interrupts his solemn vigil. He does not answer, he simply focuses on the closed entry and wonders if he's sliding into madness. It's the only aspect that makes any sense in this moment where reality and insanity are at odds with one another.
Another knock reverberates and the boy rises, but makes no motion forward. The door opens as it had not been properly latched and within it stands a stranger, not the stranger, just a stranger. His name is Hershel and he is just another human as far as the boy knows, whose face is unfamiliar. He was walking the path and came upon the homestead.
"'Scuse me, young master, I was hopin' that I might…" the visitor speaks as he removes his hat before his eyes behold the scene before him and he kneels down beside the boy. "What happened?"
That very question is all it takes and in a sudden moment the revelation hits home. The boy's mind begins to put the pieces together: this is his mother, she is dead, by his father's hand. The tears flow from his eyes and he seeks solace in the arms of the stranger as he buries his head in the man's coat making the stranger a trusted friend.
"There, there, young master," Herschel soothes Timothy as he holds him close. "Don't you worry. I'll do what needs doin'."
For a time the visitor remains with the boy in his arms, allowing him to express his sorrow for as long as he needs to. The tears continue to flow for several moments more before they run dry and the youth pulls away. The man gives a pat to the boy's head and rises to his full height before walking to the fireplace.
Herschel puts out the dying embers. "Don't want the place to burn down while we're gone," he remarks as he stirs the ash to make sure they're properly extinguished.
The visitor leaves the fireside, squats down, heaves the body onto his back and together, he and the boy exit the domicile. They walk past a large, open hole that has a stick with a trinket tied to it as they move through the woods and turn onto a solitary road as the night closes in around them and the animals call out to them.
At length they come upon an iron gate that sits between a high stone wall to either side. Herschel steps forward and pushes it open as it is not locked, since it serves more as border than obstacle. They close the gate behind them and carry on into the graveyard. It isn't long before they find a suitable place for the task at hand.
The visitor sets down the body. "This is a good place," he tells the boy before gesturing to a nearby stump. "Just sit yourself down and I'll handle the rest." He walks away from the spot and enters the looming shadow the night casts upon the outer recesses of the boy's sight.
Timothy sits himself down and starts to wonder what he's doing here. He had simply followed Herschel and not asked him of the purpose as it seemed to him that the man knows what he's doing. At least it seemed so. Still, he's been left on his own, standing near a corpse that had only recently been his mother. He's mostly alone in a graveyard with moonlight filtering through the barren tree benches, shining upon the headstones.
Though the boy is alone for far longer than he would have liked, especially given the circumstances, he's at length rejoined by the visitor who returns carrying a shovel and pick over his shoulder. Both of these tools he lays down before starting upon the dirt with the shovel. Scoop after scoop of earth he pulls from the spot and piles it onto a growing mound.
Timothy watches the matter unfold before him and feels a bit guilty for not helping out. He decides to remedy the situation by grabbing the pick and heading for the dig site. He spies a bit of dirt and starts hacking away, careful not to hit the other digger as he loosens the soil so it can be hauled away with little difficulty.
Herschel turns about once he's noticed his helper. "Now, now, young master," Herschel breaks in, as he puts a gentle hand to the digging implement. "You just rest. You've had enough of a shock this night, that you don't be needin' to doin' any diggin' as well."
Timothy remains motionless. "Why?" he suddenly asks, but is uncertain of what he asked and the one word question remains hanging in the air.
Herschel stops digging and rests the shovel upon the ground. "That's simple enough," he returns as he wipes the perspiration from his brow. "You see, things that die, don't necessarily stay dead." He takes hold of the pick and sets to breaking the harder clumps of soil. "So, you have to get them into the ground as soon as you can, and hope you're not too late."
All through the night and well into the rise of dawn, the visitor carries on the work till at last he has a hole deep enough. He stabs the shovel into dirt and rests the handle against the dirt wall before using it to hop up and stab the pick into the ground and use its handle to pull himself out. Now back on the ground, he walks over and sits upon the mound he had created before wiping his brow of the accumulated sweat.
There he remains, breathing heavy and letting the cool morning air fill his lungs. Timothy rises from his seat and walks to the edge of the gaping hole. He looks down into its depths not uttering a single word. He simply cannot fathom the finality of the activity that has drawn to a temporary halt as he gazes upon his mother's body.
The still air of the morning is suddenly broken by the crack of a whip and the grinding of wagon wheels. An old, rundown nag drags a well weathered wagon through the rising fog as it rattles its way over the uneven ground on its way to the two gravediggers. It comes to a halt near the newly dug grave.
"You be the one what be wanting to register a new body to be buried?" the man driving the wagon, whose name is Erstman, queries as he gives a wary eye to the situation.
"Indeed we are," Herschel starts in as he makes his way to the foot of the wagon, where he looks up into the other man's face. "An' we need to hurry before it has the chance of walkin' round."
"I see," Erstman returns as he fishes out an official looking parchment. "But you'll have to sign this paper. Else I'll have to tell you to move on."
"That's quite alright," Herschel replies, undeterred by the threat as he takes hold of the provided quill and makes his mark.
"Good," Erstman says as he rolls the document up and tucks it away. After which, he hops down from his seat and heads to the back of the wagon. "Now, if you'll help, we can do this good and proper." He uncovers a coffin.
Together, the two men heft the cumbersome, oblong box, which they lay down near the body. The newly arrived official removes the lid from the rest of the box and sets it on the ground. After which, he and Herschel lift the body and gingerly deposit it into the open container. There they all stand, both the men and the boy, looking down into the occupied coffin.
"Is there anythin' you'd like to say?," Herschel begins as he claps a hand on the boy's shoulder.
Timothy looks into the faces of the men who each give a reassuring nod. He gives a weak smile before kneeling near the coffin and laying his hands upon the side of the box. He wants to cry, but his tears are dry. Instead, he reaches into the large container and gently as he can, removes the trinket that hangs around his mother's neck.
He looks at the prize he has plucked and runs his finger along the etching in the wood. He remembers the day when his father was called to war and the gift he had given to each of them. He remembers these things as he holds his mother's trinket in one hand and his own in the other, which still hangs from his neck.
The memory leaves and he finds himself standing in a graveyard with two strangers and it leaves a hollow feeling that burrows deep inside. He watches as the two men lay the lid upon the coffin and nail it down tight. After which, they use a pair of ropes to lower the box down into the hole and remove them before they commence burying it.
The task of filling the hole is nowhere near as difficult as creating it especially since Erstman joins in with his own and so, it takes roughly half the time. With the last shovel of dirt patted down, the official retrieves a stone slab from his wagon. It's rectangular in shape and stands as high as one's knee at the top of which is a hole. The edifice is driven into the ground as it's carefully hammered into place.
Timothy waits till the professional gravedigger has finished before affixing his mother's trinket to the stone monument. The grave is complete and before it the three individuals stand in silence, observing the moment. Neither of them can be certain just how long they remain in quiet contemplation, but the only thing that can be heard are the birds cooing in a nearby tree.
"Sorry for your loss," Erstman breaks first and heads to the wagon. "Now, I must be about my tasks." He drives his cart back the way it came.
The vigil is held a moment longer before the two bid farewell to the corpse and the graveyard and return to the road as they head back to the cabin. Herschel stays with the boy the rest of the day, cooking for him and being a general companion, but with the setting of the sun comes the time he is to depart.
"Well," he starts, as he stands from his place. "I have to be gettin' back to my family now."
Timothy says nothing.
"You're welcome to join me," Herschel assures the boy with a welcoming smile. "I'm sure they'd love to have you."
Timothy simply shakes his head.
Herschel lowers his eyes some. "Well I can't say I approve," he speaks before raising his eyes. "But it's your decision to make. I just hope you're making the right one." He makes his way to the front door, before turning around. "Are you sure?"
Timothy nods his head.
"Alright then," Herschel concedes and shrugs his shoulders. "It's likely we'll not see each other again. So I wish you all the best." With that he closes the door behind him, leaving the boy all alone.