Maris showed Dinah some of the stories Sutty had written. “Read these,” she said, “and tell me what you think.”
Dinah read the stories and didn’t say anything for a few minutes. “Wow,” she said softly. “It’s all there.”
“That’s what I thought,” said Maris. “All of these stories seem to follow the same path, but they all end differently.”
“I don’t know the real ending,” said Dinah. “I’m not sure how my grandmother died, but I’m sure she died a long time ago. My father told me he never saw her again after he was taken to England.”
“It’s almost as if the writer, Sutty, was trying to find a better ending. Like he couldn’t accept the real one, whatever that was.”
“I wish Peter were here,” said Dinah. “He might have the answer. Maybe our father told him things he didn’t tell me.”
“Your father might not have known the real story either. Only Sutty knew and he chose to muddy the waters. He never wrote an autobiography, did he?”
“Not that I’m aware of. But there’s been a lot written about him. Some biographers even suggested he was homosexual because he never married and had such a close relationship with his mother.”
“Another possibility,” said Maris.
“All we know is that he never had a long relationship with anybody — except my grandparents.”
“Maybe he was in love with both of them,” said Maris.
Dinah smiled. “Maybe,” she said.
Later that evening, Dinah said, “I have an idea. Why don’t we look for their graves? There’s a cemetery adjacent to the church they were married in. Maybe they’re buried there.”
They decided to go to the cemetery on Monday when the gallery was closed. Again, Maris considered telling Axel and inviting him to join them, but then she thought better of it. Dinah might not appreciate an outsider tagging along.
As they rode the MRT to the City Hall stop, Dinah explained to Maris that there weren’t many old cemeteries left in Singapore. Because of the scarcity of land, most of them had been closed, cleared, or relocated.
“They actually exhumed over a hundred thousand graves,” she said. “The cemeteries board, or whatever it’s called, managed to cremate and relocate a lot of the remains to Choa Chu Kang Columbarium, in one of the few existing cemeteries today. Most of the old cemeteries were closed in the late 1800s or the early 1900s. Or, once they were full, they were not allowed to expand and had to close.”
“So the graves might not exist at all,” said Maris.
“They might not,” said Dinah. “At first, I thought they might be buried at the Fort Canning cemetery, but then I found out that it was closed in the 1860s. I think our best bet is the little graveyard next to St. Andrew’s chapel, where they were married. Not all the churches have graveyards, either. One of the few is the Armenian Church, and that’s not really a graveyard but a memorial garden. When one of the cemeteries, I think it was Bukit Timah, was closed in the late eighties, they sent the remains of some of the more famous Armenians there.”
Maris smiled. “Famous Armenians in Singapore?”
“You’d be surprised,” said Dinah. “Did you know that the four brothers who built Raffles, the E&O in Penang, and one other famous hotel — I think it was in Rangoon — were Armenian? The Sarkies brothers, but don’t ask me their first names.”
“I’m impressed you know that much,” said Maris.
“And,” said Dinah, “Agnes Joaquim, an Armenian who discovered the first hybrid orchid here, Vanda Miss Joaquim, which was named Singapore’s national flower, is also buried there.”
“Get out,” said Maris, “now you’re showing off.”
“Seriously. We learned all this in school,” said Dinah. “We even had a field trip to the church. It’s the first one built in Singapore. And there’s another famous Armenian, too. The guy who founded The Straits Times newspaper. He sold it after a year because he thought it wouldn’t be profitable.”
Maris laughed. “Good instincts, bad judgment,” she said.
The chapel that Francis and Annabelle were married in was part of St. Andrew’s Cathedral, designed in the early English Gothic architectural style and built by Indian convicts. The existing cathedral was actually the second structure built on the site. The first was erected in 1835 (during which time much jungle had to be cleared) and demolished in 1855 after being struck twice by lightning. The second building was begun in 1856 and consecrated in 1862. Dinah insisted on reading this information from the pamphlet provided at the entrance to the church.
“The spire rises 207 feet (63 metres),” she read. “Housed in the spire are the Cathedral’s eight bells, the largest being equal in weight to No. 8 in the peal of St. Paul’s Cathedral, London. Given in memory of Captain JSM Fraser, HEICS, they were cast by Taylor of Loughborough. After installation it was discovered that the foundation of the tower would not stand the strain of ringing. The bells were then permanently fixed, their clappers tied, and they were struck with hammers instead, so that they still ‘chimed.’”
“That’s lovely,” said Maris. “Now, can we get on with it?”
“In a minute,” said Dinah. “There’s more: ‘The small graveyard that lies adjacent to the chapel was originally a walled garden intended for meditation and prayer. But as cemeteries in Singapore began to close in the latter part of the nineteenth century due to the shortage of land, the Bishop of Singapore decreed in 1910 that the remains of church members and clergy could be buried on consecrated ground within the meditation garden. This practice continued until 1942 when the cathedral was used as an emergency hospital before the fall of Singapore.’
“So chances are good that they’re both here,” said Dinah. “Let’s have a look.”
The cemetery was still well maintained, even though it had effectively been closed for more than six decades. Many of the stones, however, had not held up well to time and climate. As they wandered among the graves looking for Francis and Annabelle, Maris and Dinah stopped to read a few of the gravestones.
“Some of them are so sad,” said Dinah. “Look at this one. ‘Here Lies Amy McCall, Age 19, Dearest Wife and Mother, With Her Beloved Infant Daughter, Mary, Age 3 Months. In Heaven with the Angels.’”
“Over here,” said Maris, pointing to a granite headstone. “Three little boys, brothers, age three, five, and six. How dreadful.”
Very few of the stones marked the graves of elderly people. Most were children or adults between twenty and forty-five years old. Many were “Beloved,” “Cherished,” or “Precious.”
Maris was two rows away reading the headstone of a “Dearly Loved Daughter Taken Too Soon” when she heard Dinah say, “I found them.” Maris turned and walked over to join her. They looked at the two stone markers set side by side:
Francis Adolphus Stone
1890–1924
Beloved Husband of Annabelle
and
Annabelle Sweet Stone
Dearly Loved Wife & Mother
1900–1931
She Died of a Broken Heart