Killing Down the Roman Line by Tim McGregor Page B

afraid I wouldn’t find it.”
    “Find what?” Travis watched the toes of his shoes turn green.
    “Come see.”
    The pathway snaked around the trunks of apple trees, the orchard barely recognizable in the undergrowth. Corrigan’s scythe trailed along the wet grass into a copse of ancient weeping willows. The hanging branches rustled and swayed around them where a larger clearing had been cut through.
    Corrigan stopped and tapped the scythe blade against a squared stone on the ground. Granite, no larger than a cinderblock. “This,” he said.
    Travis knelt and brushed the dirt from the stone. Jim right behind him. The stone held an inscription chiselled into the top-face. A single word.
    James
    Travis went wide-eyed. “Is that a grave?”
    “Yes it is.” Corrigan swept back stalks of unmowed weeds to reveal another stone, also inscribed. Bridgette. “There’s four others here hidden under the weeds.”
    Travis’s eyes were saucers as Corrigan swung the long scythe and cut low the weeds, revealing one stone after another.
    Unlike his son, Jim did not register or shock or horror.
    Corrigan noted that. “You’ve seen these before, Jim?”
    “Not since I was a kid.”
    Travis spun to his dad, more shock in his eyes. “You knew about this?” He turned back to Corrigan, a million questions tripping out of his mouth at once. “Who are they?”
    “Corrigans all. My family.”
    “Why are they buried here and not in the cemetery?” The boy kept blinking and blinking.
    “Come to the tour, son, and find out.”
    “Tour?” Jim chinned the house, where the sign was. “Is that for real?”
    “Very much.”
    “What’s it about?”
    Corrigan didn’t answer. He turned to the boy and put a hand on his shoulder. “Travis, do you have a job?”
    “He has chores round the farm.”
    Corrigan smiled at the boy. “Of course. But do you have a job outside of that? Part-time, after school?”
    “No sir.”
    “Do you want one? There’s plenty of work here. Demolition, smashing things up and whatnot. I’ll pay you for your time.” He nodded in deference to the father. “After your chores of course.”
    Travis looked to his dad. Eager and willing. “Can I?”
    “We’ll talk about it. We better get back.” Jim waved at his son to come along, then reached out to shake the man’s hand. “Good luck.”
    “Thank you, Jim. And thank your wife for the invite. I’ll be around soon.”
    Jim put a hand on Travis’s shoulder and led him around the side of the house to their truck. He glanced back once before turning the corner. Will Corrigan stood in the weeds, one arm propped on the scythe, watching them leave.

6
    “A GRAVEYARD?” Emma held the bowl of mashed potatoes in the air, forgetting who had asked for it.
    “For real.” Travis grinned, pleased that he had shocked her. “There’s like six of them buried up there. We saw it. Pass the bread.”
    “Six?” Emma lowered the bowl.
    “You didn’t know?”
    “We used to tell ghost stories about that old place when we were kids. I always thought it was just tall tales.” Emma looked at Jim. “Did you know about the graves?”
    Jim took the bowl from her. “I saw them once. Went out there exploring when I was Travis’s age and came running back. My old man gave me a whalloping for it. We weren’t supposed to go near the place. Pass the gravy, please.”
    Travis perked up to hear that his dad had been forbidden from the old place too. Family tradition. He watched the bowls being passed around. His dad just tucked into his food like there was no more to be said. Unbelievable. “So what happened to them? The family?”
    “Not sure.” Emma looked to Jim. “They were all killed, weren’t they?”
    Jim shrugged but said nothing.
    “By who?” Travis’s eyes darted from his mom to his dad and back. There was a hidden graveyard less than a quarter mile from their house and neither of them seemed to care. How could they be so lame? “Dad?”
    “Convicts, I