The Embankment

The note told her where the flower had come from. Faith was sixty-one years old and she had not climbed the quarry embankment since she was a girl, but she went, on her own, on a Sunday. The flowers still grew there, a whole bank of them, exactly as the note said. And among them, set into the ground and gone green with moss, was a small flat stone that someone had placed there deliberately, with care, a long time ago.