Falling Angels by Tracy Chevalier

longer.

Simon Field
    This is what happens. I see it all.
    When we slide the marble slab off the Waterhouse grave, we has to pry it loose from the base of the plinth where the angel stands. Joe and I are doing it, with our pa and Mr. Jackson watching. Mr. Jackson's giving advice the way he likes to do. I want to tell him we knows what we're doing, but he's the guvnor--he can say what he likes.
    Joe's working at the slab with a crowbar and he leans against the plinth to put his weight behind the bar. Now, Joe's a big strong man and his back's pushing that plinth, and before you know it the plinth starts moving. Them masons must've made a mess of the foundation when they put it in for that to happen. I been digging at the cemetery six years and never seen one shift so.
    Worse'n that, the mortar holding the angel to the base of the plinth ain't strong. I see the angel wobble back and forth.
    "Joe," I says, "stop."
    Joe stops with the crowbar but he's still leaning against the plinth, and the angel wobbles again. I can see the crack in the mortar now, but before I can say something the angel starts to topple. I hear a woman shout just as the angel falls sideways and hits the Coleman urn. The head cracks right off, and it falls one way and the body the other. In fact the body falls right where Mr. Jackson's standing, 'cept he ain't there now 'cause our pa's knocked him right out the way.
    It all happens slow and fast too. Then Kitty Coleman and the girls run up to us. Livy takes one look at the headless angel and shrieks and faints, which is nothing new. Mrs. C. helps up Mr. Jackson--his face is all pale and sweaty. He's breathing heavy and he takes out a kerchief and wipes his face. Then he looks at the base of the plinth and the cracked mortar, clears his throat, and says, "I'm going to strangle that mason with my bare hands."
    I know what he means.
    Then he says, "Thank you, Paul," real quiet and solemn to our pa. It sounds funny 'cause he never calls our pa by his name.
    Our pa just shrugs. "Dunno what they need an angel up there for anyways," he says. "Urns and angels and columns and whatnot. Bloody nonsense. When you're dead you're dead. You don't need an angel to tell you that. Give me a pauper's grave any day." Our pa taps one of the paupers' wood crosses. "My pa were buried in one and that'll suit me too."
    "Just as well," Mr. Jackson says, "for that's where you're likely to end up."
    You might think our pa would be offended, but something in the way Mr. Jackson says it makes our pa smile. The guvnor smiles, too, and it's a funny sight, given he's just almost been struck down dead. It's like they're mates sitting over a jar in the pub, laughing at a joke.
    "Anyhows, best see to the girlie," our pa says then, nodding at Livy. Maude's crouching by her, and Mrs. C. goes over to her too. Livy sits up. She's all right--she always is.
    Ivy May's standing next to me. "You should have marked that angel," she says.
    Takes me a minute to work out she means the skull'n' crossbones. "Can't," I say. "Livy won't let me."
    Ivy May shakes her head and I feel bad, like I let her down. No time to say more, though, 'cause Mr. Jackson says to me, "Simon, run to the mason's yard and tell Mr. Watson he's wanted here immediately. If he complains, give him this." He hands me the angel's head, whose nose is broke off. It's heavy and I almost drop it, which makes Livy shriek again. I tuck it under my arm and run.

Jenny Whitby
    I were in the garden beating carpets when he came tumbling over the fence and fell right at my feet. "Ow!" I shouted. "What's this boy doing here? You muddy little rascal, jumping the fence like you own the place. Don't you come tracking that mud from the grave into this garden!"
    Cheeky boy just grinned at me. "Why not?" he said. "You track enough of it here yourself on the bottom of your skirts. Though we ain't seen much of you these days up at the cemetery."
    "Shut your trap," I said. Oh, he were cheeky, all right. Simon,