The Art of Inheriting Secrets

by Barbara O'Neal

People had lived and died in this little village for hundreds and hundreds of years. I felt them suddenly, long lines of them reaching back through time, and let my hand capture that emotion in an easy sketch, figures in all manner of dress moving through and around each other, their feet crisscrossing the same paths. The quiet square seemed busy with their ghosts, their stories, and it made me feel peaceful in some arcane way.

“This . . . thing between us feels so important, and I didn’t want anyone else in it until we solidified it.”