Katherine
As fathers coffin was lowered to the ground, the wailing increased. Most sounded practiced, like the only reason they had to cry for my father funeral was to prove to others that they knew him better than most. That they had formed a personal connection with my very prideful and ever aloft father so that others could accord them a certain respect.
As my eyesight doubled and hot tears rolled down my cheeks I found myself asking no one in Paris why he had died too soon. I wiped away my tears hastily remembering the few times I had cried while dressing my fathers wounds he had gotten from sword practices.
He was always swift to reprimand me for acting like a sissy.
"I raised you better than to cry over flimsy issues. Afterall, I am the one hurt," he would always say and urge me to look beyond the current situation. Emotions were a sign of weakness and they needed to be put aside for logic to rule.
My eyes moved to his lowered casket where mother had bent to scoop a handful of the white sand and toss over him with an air of indifference. I mentally willed him to wake up and defy death as he had often seemed larger than life itself.
Tucking away my thoughts, I decided it was time to look beyond his death and into the possibilities it offered- me having my future in my hands being free to decide how long to wait for my beloved childhood crush.
I almost sighed in relief that my life was now my own to do with as I pleased. Catching myself from my thoughts , I decided to join my mother, Lady Aurelia and my stepsister, Shirley to pay our last respects.
"Oh father, I would miss you dearly," I said tossing my own handful in. Mother and Shirley stood quietly watching my affectionate display.
I couldn't blame them for their indifference , father had withheld his attention and affections from them and showered it on me. I had the kind of relationship neither of them had with him, a connection he had kept with me only.
"Come now girls, we must get ready to receive our relatives," mother said grabbing my sandy hand and tugging gently.
Both maternal and paternal relatives had dropped by to extend their condolences. Heeding to mother, I peeled my eyes away from the coffin and looked up to find a stranger on the other end of the six foot grave staring at me intently. My back straightened like a rod. I turned away immediately wondering what had possessed him to stand in a spot reserved for members of the family only. Was he another member of the ton desperate to prove he knew my family on a familial level?
Brushing the stranger from my mind, I followed behind my mother watching her gait, he shoulders were hung high and her arms delicately crossed in front of her. Shirley couldn't care less about appearances and trotted forward without a care in the world.
Like a curious cat, I gave into the nagging in my mind and turned back to look for the stranger. He still stood at fathers grave his eyes on me and gave me a quick nod. My stomach felt queasy and I turn around to focus on where I am headed– home to see the rest of my family.
The drawing room is filled with chatters from my distant relatives, most of which are my aunts who are perched on the chairs as if afraid to ruin the pleats of the skirt if they sat on it.
"Aurelia," Ophelia, as my father of then called her, waved my mother over.
Ophelia was the only lady making proper use of the chair. No one sat close to her for the fear of being infected with the disease that the wife of a merchant carried. An absurd reason if I've ever heard one.
As mother walked towards her, I turn around to fetch a maid to fetch some more biscuits to entertain the guest before settling on the chair which the rest of my cousins sat.
"I wonder which of the girls would inherit all of this," Lady Claire mused loudly.
"I doubt it would be Shirley, despite being Lord WestCliffs oldest daughter, he barely paid her any attentions."
I hadn't caught the joke in her statement, but half of the room erupted in laughter.
I looked over at Shirley who glared daggers at the elderly woman while helping herself to a serving of tea. I longed to walk up to her and give her a hug while reassuring her that even after inheriting all that father had left behind, I wouldn't be too proud to send her away from her home.
Another of my aunt, whose name constantly eluded me, walked into the drawing room and fished me out with her eyes before making her way over to me.
"Kat dear, you look horrible. Oh how you must miss your father," she said as she lowered herself into the space next to me. I frowned at her outfit, she had worn a bright blue dress in the style that was current amongst ladies of the ton and had thought it wise to pretend to grieve my father? She hadn't even made it in time to watch my father get lowered when she lived only a mile away.
"I do miss my father. If he was here, he would have told you how ridiculous it is to wear a brightly colored dress to an occasion one ought to wear black or something very dull."
"Oh." She cocked her brows. "As drab and shabby as your dress? I'd rather not my dear child, now quit being rude. I know grief has your tongue loose, but it's no excuse to talk to your elders in such a manner."
"Excuse me."
I stood up and straightened my drab skirt and walked out on her, pretending to not have heard a thing she said.
As the sun slowly made its way out of the sky, our relatives began to leave, some trying to find out when the will reading was to be so they could set their alarm clocks for when the make mockery about my mother. Through the jab, mother remained polite telling her that the solicitor said he was on his way as father had demanded his will be read immediately he was lowered to the ground.
Once the house was empty, I retreated to my room and pulled out a fresh paper and my writing ink. I desperately wanted to inform Everett of the new possibilities.
You see, Everett was a young man I had met one summer ten years ago. He had been brooding and very reserved at first but once I had gotten to know him, I had fallen in love with him.
I was ten and he was thirteen. He was just like me, following father everywhere father went. He was very intelligent and followed fathers conversations with ease and always explained what father meant when he sensed I was lost. He was like father, except the younger and much kinder version who looked at me with stars in his eyes and though it had been a short holiday, he was impossible to forget.
After that summer, we had turned to writing letters. Our love gently blooming until he had to leave for the army and sent his last letter.
I had faith enough for the two of us that even after five years of him going ghost on me, I waxed stronger in both love for him and admiration for the man I knew he would become.
I dipped the pen in the ink and began.
'Dear Everett,
Father was buried today…'
A loud knock interrupted the rest of my writing and I dropped the pen in exasperation.
"What is the matter?"
"Mother has asked that I fetch you. The solicitor is downstairs."
Everett and my letter forgotten, I fled my room almost knocking down my stepsister as I rushed down the stairs.