"You dropped your glove," Ben told her, but the woman turned and walked on.

"Wait," he called. "Pa’s killing hogs tomorrow and he wants two people to help. He’ll pay cash."

The woman turned back and waited, staring at him as he limped toward her. Ben had long ago become accustomed to the stares of the curious, so he bore her inspection with indifference. He handed her the glove, and she bobbed her head once in acknowledgment. Then she motioned him to follow her.

"I’ve got to git back home," Ben said. She didn’t answer, so he followed her uphill to the back edge of the cemetery.

She stopped at last in front of a large tombstone topped with a carved angel. The angel held a book and lifted one hand heavenward.

When Ben reached the grave, the woman pointed to the writing on the stone. What did she want him to do?

"Abigail," he read aloud after just a moment of studying. He read pretty well for someone who’d only been in school now and then over the past two years. "Abigail Gusler. Eighteen forty-one to eighteen eight-nine. Is that your mother or something?" he asked to be mannerly.

The woman didn’t answer. She pointed again, this time to the writing below the name and date.

Moss crusted part of the words, so Ben had to lean close to make out the letters. Slowly, he sounded out the words once and then a second time. "And gladly would he learn, and gladly teach." The words didn’t have any meaning. He stood and found himself alone.

"Huh?" said Ben, swinging around quickly. He was the only person in the cemetery. Fog swirled in where the woman had been, and a low, moaning wind moved through the trees. The glove he had given the woman just minutes before lay on the grave now, one finger pointing toward Ben. A mournful train whistle echoed through the fog, and he recalled Matt’s story about the ghost train.