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Chapter 4
I watched the gate every night for a while before falling asleep but I didn't see the flash of white again. I have to admit that I let my studies slack while I kept an eye on the house, in hopes of seeing something, anything again. It was to no avail.
Three weeks later, my family and I celebrated, sombrely, my twenty-third birthday. I had gained back some of the weight I had lost while ill. I had much more energy than I'd had in months. I no longer needed a helping hand for my walks although I still employed the stick, just in case. I wasn't one hundred percent just yet. My uncle guided me through all my investments and holdings the day after my birthday. It had been enough time for me to stomach the loss and concentrate, even as it pulled at my emotions. He had also made tentative arrangements with a few lawyers and another judge for my clerkship. However, none of them were nearby. I would have to board or move house to gain the hours I needed to approach the bar. It angered me that I could not clerk with my uncle, alas, even though we were not blood related he could not be my mentor for this. It was one of the more odd and personally annoying statutes I found.
One night, perhaps a week-and-a-half later, I was woken by a loud knocking on the back door. My uncle was still awake and he was able to answer it so I didn't bother to get my robe on or try to get downstairs to interfere. I knew Carlisle would find me if he needed me. I wasn't strong enough to be a real help, but I would have, if asked. I could hear him speaking to a man but I could not hear any substance of their conversation.
The next morning, over breakfast, my aunt informed me that there had been a death in the house next door. She and Charlotte would be lending a hand there, if they were welcome and I was to fend for myself for the day. I did and they were, so we met again at supper and I was given more information then. Mrs. Charles Swan, née Renee Higginbotham, had passed away peacefully after a troubling illness. She hadn't been seen about town in over a year, perhaps two. Esme could not remember the last time she had spoken to Mrs. Swan. The service would be in a few days with a memorial to be held at the county's lone Catholic church hall. Mrs. Swan was a lapsed Catholic, having converted when she married. The priest was kind enough to loan out the hall as the house wasn't fit for such a gathering.
The days following were dizzy with cooking and preparations. I took my walks alone but spent much time in the kitchen filching tastes and judging seasonings. Sad as I was over the loss of life, I enjoyed the making of the funeral feast.
The day of the funeral was overcast and dreary. The weather was befitting the occasion and my mood. I woke up angry and couldn't quite put my finger on why. I dressed in my best black suit and looked ridiculous. The last time I wore it, I didn't need either a belt or suspenders to keep my trousers up, now I needed both. My aunt had to pin my waistcoat at the back so I no longer looked like a gangly teen trying on his father's clothes. My hair had been neglected during my illness and no amount of pomade could tame it. It was too long and unruly for a funeral. My hat would only shield me out of doors and not at all during the service. There was nothing I could do but hope and pray that my dishevelment went unnoticed. I would sit in the back, as I wasn't close family or friend and pay my respects from there.
My aunt and uncle were agreeable to my plan. When we arrived at the church Carlisle led Esme to a pew closer to the front as I hung back, hat in hand. There wasn't the crowd I had expected for the wife of a pillar of the community but who was I to judge, for I hadn't even been to my own parents' funerals. My aunt and uncle had arranged a service back in Chicago and we held a private memorial here but I was feeling guilty just the same. As a dutiful son, I should have been there. It is a failing I will carry with me for the rest of my life.
I sat in the second-to-last pew on the very far end. I could watch all the mourners from there and pay my respects privately. I'd attended church occasionally in Chicago, whenever I couldn't avoid it and only at my mother's insistence. I don't espouse any religion particularly, they all seem to be similar shades of each other. I'm certain, like my father before me, if my wife wanted church in our life I'd go but left to my own devices, I prefer an extra cup of coffee and a good novel on a Sunday morning.
Sitting there in the church, my hat in hand and my hair a mess, in my ill-fitting suit is where I first saw her. She was wearing a wide-brimmed hat with a thin veil covering her entire head and shoulders. She was dressed all in black, of course, but her dress was not quite up to style like the other ladies at the service, for the collar seemed very high. What I noticed most was the way she carried herself. For most of the service I could only see the back of her head, the hat and her hair, sometimes her profile. But the way she held her head up with poise and grace, not bowed or humbled, caught my eye. At the end of the service she walked down the aisle after the coffin on the arm of an older man, presumably her father; she really caught my attention. She looked straight ahead, not looking at any of the mourners, the coffin or the pallbearers. She had a look of defiance in her dry eyes.
She was intriguing and though I didn't know it at the time, destined to be mine.
AN: beachcomberlc has graciously offered to edit and beta this story for me, yet again coming to my rescue. IpsitaC77 is my favourite cheerleader. Lunabev keeps my spirits up.
Thank you for reading.