The sun shined bright harsh and hot on the children's heads. A single bead of sweat gave itself permission to slide down the back of Martha Bessell's neck. She was sure that it was a manifestation of her fury, as screaming was decidedly impossible. It was simply revolting that the sun dared to blaze to blaze all the brighter on her sweet Moritz's funeral. It couldn't spare a moment of its glory to allow one cloud to shed a tear for the poor boy. Her fingers tightened on the single flower she held, and she stared determinedly at the ground, refusing to acknowledge the selfish sun. This wrath helped distract her from the boiling hot tears that threatened to spill onto her cheeks. The news had just been so sudden…
No. She couldn't allow herself to dwell seriously for one moment on why not only the children, but almost the entirety of the town was standing in the brutal August sun around a heartbreakingly small grave. It would be far too difficult to stop crying once she started.
She clenched her jaw and decided to permit her murky brown eyes examine those around her. Any distraction would do.
Looking up, her glance instantly and accidentally fell onto Herr Stiefel. Moritz's father. Not a hint of emotion showed on his features, a fact that strangely horrified Martha. A sudden, terrible thought struck her: what could he have done? He was just too stoic. She knew it was guilt. What could have Herr Stiefel possibly done to make Moritz… do such a thing? After all, she was still there…
That was it. The thought her painstakingly held back tears had been waiting for. She bit her lip so hard to hold back the sobs that the metallic taste of blood filled her mouth. Her shoulders heaved in near surrender, and the tears spilled unrelentingly down her cheeks. 'Oh, god, Moritz.' The thought flew by without censorship now. 'What could he have done to make you do something that I wouldn't even do?'
Her head swiveled to both sides, desperate to see if anyone was looking at her. She knew that it was a funeral and crying was fine, but tears were such a sign of weakness.
Next to her stood Anna, thankfully staring at the grass reverently. Her eyes flickered to Martha's for only a second. Truly alarmed, Martha turned back to the ground, her cheeks flushing red. How could she have been so careless for even one moment to let someone see her blubbering-
Something slight and gentle brushed Martha's hand, and she jumped in shock. Only daring to move her eyes, she peeked down at her hand. Five long, delicate fingers were lightly clasping hers. Eyes moving upwards, they met the soft, blue, unexpectedly sympathetic gaze. Anna's.
The flush in Martha's cheeks and ears deepened. She felt awful. Not daring to speak, she tried hopelessly to show Anna that she was alright, or that she at least would be alright. She had no right to take anything of Anna's, even her comfort.
How could she have allowed herself to cry in the first place? She could never cry. There was too much to cry over to begin at all. She'd never be able to stop now.
Obviously ignoring her silent pleading, Anna's thumb began to tenderly stroke Martha's palm. Suddenly, it was as though she could feel everything all at once. It was almost too much, having someone truly care, even a little bit.
It was too much. There was no more pretending. Unable to stop herself, Martha's shoulders pitched and a gentle sob broke from her lips. Anna didn't stop. If anything, her grip on Martha's hand became even tighter.
Hanging her head in sorrow, and now clutching Anna's fingers for strength, Martha wept. For this loss of innocence, of clarity. For sad, soulful Moritz, wherever he was. For her own nearly hopeless search for comfort. And, most of all, for every question that would now be left unanswered.