The van pulled to a slow stop, and quietly everyone stepped out. They walked a few yards across the deep green grass, to a large black marble stone. Large letters were cut into its face.
In front of the stone were several flat markers, each engraved with names, and dates. While the others stood back, Amy led a reluctant Face up to the markers.
"Barbara, aged five years, one month."
As she read softly, Amy placed a photocopy of a picture on the marker.
"Linda, aged six years."
"Mary..." Amy swallowed, "aged seven years, three months."
She straightened, and looked at Face. He looked much as Amy thought she had, back at the historical society.
"I don't understand. They..." He faltered, shaking his head.
"It wasn't you, Face. We were just players in a...a puppet show. I don't fully understand it myself, but believe me, it wasn't you that killed them."
"She would've killed Tovey's children, Face. One way or another, she had to be stopped. Unfortunately, Fate chose this way."
Fate, or something else...
Amy nodded to the others, and they stepped up to see for themselves, and offer their collective support. She had done what she could; armed with the facts, hopefully Face would eventually be able to come to terms. She moved off, looking half-interested at the other markers. She stopped when she came to one that looked like the newest, set off just a bit from the others.
"Ada Merringer, born 1911, died 1947."
Amy carefully took out the last photo, of a tall, thin woman, and placed it gently on the marker. She hoped Ada, at least, was finally at peace.