This time Miranda knew what brought her back to Cold Creek. It was time to say good-bye. She went for one last walk to Ira and Maddy’s house, Montgomery bounding ahead through the meadow. The yard was full of cars and trucks, and people sat on chairs and blankets under the trees. Women went in and out of the house carrying trays of food and pitchers and glasses. Most of the people were strangers, but she recognized the tall gray-haired woman who had taken Asia away in the red car. Did that mean that Asia was back at Cold Creek too? The woman was talking to the man who reminded her of the little boy called Harry. It was like a party, she thought, only there was so much sadness in the air it almost choked her.
She was about to go back to the Old Farm when she spotted Asia sitting beside Maddy on the porch. She was crying.
What had happened to make her so sad? She wished that she could help her, but already she was fading. She knew she had only a little time left.
There was so much that she wanted to tell Asia, but it was too late. She remembered her excitement at the old dog’s grave when she first realized that Asia had heard her speak. She smiled wistfully. She had been too impatient, she hadn’t thought things through, and she had scared her away that day at the Old Farm.
Miranda’s attention was drawn back to the house. People were moving to their trucks and cars. The gathering was breaking up. Montgomery rubbed against her skirt, and she reached down and picked him up. Precious Monty, always so faithful. She looked at Asia one last time. Her face was pressed against Maddy, who was softly stroking her long black hair. Miranda turned away and walked back to the Old Farm to finish tidying Daisy’s grave.
Miranda cleared away the last of the ugly thistles. The grass was soft and golden over Daisy’s grave. The wooden cross was in perfect shape, the lettering as freshly painted as when George made it almost a hundred years ago. Daisy Sarah Williams 1911-1914. Rest in peace with God. She walked down to the creek and picked a bouquet of late purple asters, and then carried them back to the grave and laid them at the foot of the cross.
She glanced up at Daisy’s bedroom window. She had opened the window wide to let in the fresh air, and the pink curtains blew gently over the sill. She was ready to leave Cold Creek for the last time. She sat on the grass beside the cross. There had been fog and frost in the morning, but now the sky was deep blue.
All of her senses were awakened as she waited on the bank above the creek. The water sparkled like blue jewels and the grass gleamed like gold. A meadowlark burst into song. The heat of the sun warmed her back for the first time in forty years. She looked at the neat wooden cross and the bouquet of purple asters, and a feeling of profound peace filled her heart. It was time to go. She only wished she had been able to thank Asia. She sat very still, and the suffering and pain of the last forty years floated away. She was free.