Chapter three.
The white rose, was placed gently against the pine lid, the dew drops glistening of the satin leaves, Rowan stepped back, and looking over his craftsmanship, with the wreath of roses was lying gracefully, in its final resting place. The coffin, covered in roses, held the remains of both my parents', all that could be salvaged from the bloody mess beside the fire. The crafted wooden coffin was made by Rowan, delicate roses inscribed in the wood, weaving into each other, painting pictures within the roses. Many wreaths lay in the grave, as my parents bodies was gently lowered into the ground, it was a saddening sight, my eyes were watery, but I could not break down now, I have to be strong.
It is tradition in district seven, one that I would up hold, that when someone dies, no matter how, you plant a fruit tree over the grave. So that each year, it will bare fruit to your family, keeping the memory alive, keeping your family strong. I smile sadly, as shovel, after shovel of dirt, falls onto the lid, placing a seal on their lives, forever gone.
Rowan has his strong arm around my waist, supporting my weight, as I stare silently, as the tree is placed in a newly dug hole, on either side of my parent's bodies. My mother has a greengage tree, a combination all things good, made into one sweet fruit, a tasteful tree to her life. My father gets an apple tree, fresh, crisp and good for you, everything he ever was to me. I smile silently, turning my head to look at who remains here, in the graveyard. The white chairs are in rows, in a place that looks like an orchard. The photo of my parents lies to my left, they are holding hands and kissing, it is sitting on the desk, where our chaplain sits quietly, his handkerchief well used, tears staining the front of his suit. He was a dear friend to my parents. Jasper, wearing a graceful black suit, sits at the back, on the left, holding Willow, who is crying gently into his chest, her little white dress pulled down over her legs, protecting her from the cold. My brother Ogden sits at the back, on the right, , wearing his formal clothes, tears streaming quietly down his face, His fiancée, Alyssa, sits next to him, holding his hand, her eyes are a subtly shade of red, her white dress plays host to Blossom. Blossom is lying across them, crying into Alyssa's lap, her own outfit, dirtied, having appeared to have fallen over today. We are all just one big mourning family, my parents were parents to Rowans family also; his parents relied on mine often. Rowans parents left a while ago, they seemed distraught.
I look back at Rowan, his brown eyes, deep; I can tell my family will never be the same. The pained look coming from him is knowledge enough to the fact I will have to do a lot. Ogden's house, is just upon completion, Blossom will have to go to school, with books, and clothes. We will have to feed ourselves. My fathers shop will need running, there are so many things to do, and my parents left us with little money, all out possessions gone in a puff of smoke.
I walk hand in hand with Rowan, towards his house. Blossom has been living in with Willow, at Rowans house. His parents, work hard, and have a large home, but I can feel it bursting at the seams with seven of us staying there. Ogden is living with his fiancée Alyssa, building their house during the day, so they will have somewhere to call their own. Each afternoon, I can feel it straining, as Rowans parent come home to try and make dinner. They smile, but I can tell it hurts, their family is struggling.
I walk hand in hand with my mother, her gentle eyes meeting mine. "If ever I die Cassie, Take care of the others." She says, stroking my hand softly with her thumb. "You do everything in your power to keep others safe, especially those you love." She whispers, letting go of my hand, as she slips away into the kitchen, my memory fades. My eyes are no longer filled with the lace covered table, the dusty furniture. But a workshop, covered in sawdust, my father places his hand on my shoulder. "Cassie, If I ever go away, I want you to come here, just to think of me, make a box in my memory, and put things in it, so you know that when you are down, there will always be a place to put your thoughts." He whispers soulfully, before taking his hand off and continuing his work.
It feels, almost as if they knew that the end was near, telling me everything I needed to know before departing. I shudder; their words sink me into my own mind, where I spend my next few days.
"Rowan?" I call into the bathroom, knocking sharply with my knuckles against the door, the sound rapping loudly. A few seconds later, his head is peering out, looking at me curiously, his dark, wet hair falling into his face, a puzzled expression quickly hidden. "I want to go and do something." I say, opening the door more, peering inside at him. His brown eyes, look pained, I know he has been expecting this. "I want to go to my fathers shop, make it into a home, and work there." I see the look in his eyes does not change. He places an arm around my waist. "Are you sure you're ready?" he asks curiously, knowing that the last time I saw my house I broke down. Ogden had to go and check the rubble for any remaining personal items, and it was just as hard for him.
My voice is weak, "Yes, I'm ready." With these words, Rowan takes my hand, and we start walking. The way to the shop is easy, follow Rowans street, work your way towards the centre of town, and so we do. Our feet patting quietly against the gravel road of district seven.
I reach the shop, our hands falling apart, his rough skin brushing my neck, comforting me. I look forward to the shop, blushing furiously, I see the shops front, the window is a little dusty, and a blind closed, so no-one can see what is inside. I examine the front, no paint is falling off, and everything looks pristine. I walk around to the back of the shop, my hand reaching into a small flowery bush, for the hidden key, finding it in its strange hiding place. I turn the lock, feeling the bolts shudder in the door; the rustic door locks clunk loudly as it springs open. I take a few cautious steps inside, hearing the door click shut behind me, as Rowan closes it. He flicks the light switch.
The room is basked in light, my dad's staff room, where he sits with mum and enjoys his time away from home. The room is only about 4 meters square; it has a table with two chairs next to it, both made by my father, flowers and trees are carved into the wooden backs. I walk through the door, into the next room; it is my dad's workshop, with a bench, separating it from the shop. It's a small thin room about 4X8 metres, and filled with wooden furniture. I can smell my father in his shop; it's calming, yet makes a shiver run over me, knowing that he is gone.
I move my father's table, into his workshop, placing it next to the assortment of benches. I struggle with the bed, Rowan watching helplessly from behind a desk, in which he is stuck. He lifts himself up, out of the crevice, with his arms, sitting on the desk, swinging his legs around the desk, so he is sitting behind me, watching. I try lifting the bed again, showing him how helpless I am, with a large piece of wooden furniture. He laughs gently, seeing through my weak façade, poking me in the back, as I try again. This time I pick up the heavy wooden bed, he stands, helping me manoeuvre it to the staff room. I place it where the desk used to be, sitting it in the dusting silhouette that was left.
I run my fingers over the linen on the bed; it was used for the window display, there is a pull out mattress underneath this one. Almost as if Dad wanted us to have it, because both beds are made, with pillows and linen that matches our old family sets.
The thought of dad doing this for Blossom and I, makes me cry, I suddenly can steady myself, letting my legs fall out from under me, I fall lightly onto the bed. Rowan sits beside me, pulling me to be leaning against his shoulder, warmth from his chest leaking into my face. I cry quietly for a few minutes, silent tears streaming down my face. Rowan pulled his gentle arms around me, holding me for an embrace, kissing my forehead gently. I look up, my teary eyes, reflecting out of Rowans big eyes, "I'm going to have to live here." I say gently, blinking a few times. His eyes are sorry, "Was I that bad in bed?" he asked quietly joking, I laughed lightly. "No, but I can tell your parents are worried. " I mutter, pressing a kiss to his chin, I work my way up until I am kissing his nose. "They might get the wrong idea," I whisper, kissing his neck. I feel his chest move as he laughs gently, looking down at me with his eyes, that shine only with love. "You mean, they would think, the exact same thing that is happening?" he asks innocently, kissing the tip of my nose, the tip of his tongue, touching my nose playfully. I wrap my arms around him, knowing that whenever I am sad, he will be here for me, it makes me feel complete, even with a gaping hole, left by my parents, in my heart. I hold him closer, willing him to stay forever.
Rowan mutters something that I quickly silence with a passionate kiss, entwining my fingers with his. He raises his other arm, shifting his body slightly, keeping our lips locked; he pulls my legs onto the bed, running his hand gently up my thigh.
It all feels hot and passionate. Like a fire, burning away the troubles of life, like it did for my parents, taking every trouble away.
