His Cemetery Doll Read Online Free

all.
    They were alike. She needed a father; he, finally, found someone to care for. He wasn't ready to give it up.
    Perhaps he could be called overprotective. Conall never shook the feeling Shyla's true family fell victim to something terrible, and probably in his woods. He searched, of course, and asked around the town if anyone had been seen. If her mother returned and discovered Shyla missing from her hiding place, she could have asked any of his neighbors and learned who'd taken the baby in. Still, no one came for her.
    Conall could not imagine what, beyond death, could keep a mother from her child. So he had always been especially careful with Shyla. Protective, watchful. At the heart of it, Conall believed he owed it to her missing family to keep her safe. Always.
    Letting her go to live at the church...what if something happened to her there?
    When his meeting with Frederick came to an end, Conall sullenly stood to retrieve his daughter from the Trask's connected kitchen, without bothering to say anything to the alderman or his wife. Shyla made her thank-yous, and his as well—she always looked out for him—and she gave Toby and Ora cheerful goodbyes. Then she fell in at his side for the trip home.
    The night had grown cool at last. The moon shone down, bright in the darkness. He and his daughter walked for quite some ways in silence.
    Then Shyla spoke up.
    "Dad? Did Father Frederick come to take me up to the church?"
    "How did you hear that?" he asked.
    "Toby."
    Conall's grimace tightened. "Toby shouldn't be spreading around other people's business. But yes, baby. Frederick asked me if I would like you to go to the convent, to learn from the sisters there."
    She fell silent for some time. Then she asked, "Are you going to send me away?"
    He considered it.
    "I hadn't decided," he muttered. "It...might not be a bad idea. Proper schooling, for a girl your age."
    She remained quiet. Her expression pensive but unreadable. Whatever she said next would matter greatly. What if she wanted to go?
    In the typical manner of children, though, she changed the subject.
    "Do you think our graveyard is haunted?"
    "What?" he asked. "Really, Shyla, why would you ask such a ridiculous question?"
    She lifted her skinny shoulders in a shrug and avoided his gaze. "Toby believes it is."
    "Toby's an unruly layabout with a fool's imagination. He doesn't want you to think he's a coward for never entering the place. You've lived there all your life; you should know better."
    "But it could be," she mused. "What if there's always been a ghost...or maybe lots of ghosts? What if they've only been asleep until recently?"
    "Shyla..."
    "Maybe something's happened to wake them up."
    "Shyla!" he scolded. "Stop. It's nonsense, and I don't want to hear you mentioning it again."
    She glanced up at him, and hurt and guilt washed over him. He hadn't meant it to come out quite so harsh. He'd never become so frustrated by her storytelling before. With talk like this, though, no wonder the community doubted he could raise her right.
    "No more talk of ghosts," he repeated.
    "Yes, Dad."
    They walked the rest of the way home without another word. As they approached the house and the cemetery gates, he caught Shyla glancing furtively toward Maya's circle. The angel stood bright in the glow of the full moon. As he noticed his daughter's curious searching eyes, his irritation flared again.
    "Go on," he urged. "Up to the house, and ready for bed."
    "Yes, Dad."
    She continued up the hill. He remained, now searching Maya's circle himself, exasperated by whatever troublesome notions his daughter might be entertaining.
    Wondering why he'd ever carved the angel in the first place.

Chapter Six
    "D ad...she's back."
    Conall awoke to Shyla's careful nudge for the second night in a row. He ran his hand over his mouth and shifted, aching from falling asleep once more in his hard wooden chair.
    "Shyla," he grated. "What did I tell you not two hours ago about—"
    He blinked.