Alice stood despondently in the great hall of the Ascot's home, the silence of the room around her a deafening reminder of how very still the day was, and how quiet it was going to be. Today was her mother's remembrance gathering and her funeral. It would be the final goodbye to their mother's earthly home, a final closing on the chapter of Helen Kingsleigh's life.
Alice's mind wandered back to another moment of tears and trial in a distance land. When she had come to her wit's end and hope seemed to be lost. That still small voice from that blue tinged caterpillar, wrapping himself away in a silky coffin. 'You're going to die?' she had asked with tears burning her already tired eyes. Not die, the warm deep voice had comforted her. Transform.
That is what mother is doing, Alice shifted across the room to look at her appearance in the one of the hall mirrors, trying to tell herself to compose herself for just a little while. Show the decorum her mother seemed to possess in leaps in bounds. She is transforming into her younger, happier, healthier self. And she is bounding through the fields of Paradise hand in hand with Father. She met the dull green eyes of her reflection, willing herself to believe it was true.
The shadow of the woman that looked back was one Alice would take pity on had she encountered her on the street. Her once round pink cheeks were long and pallid, the dark circles under her eyes outdid the ones she bore on the failed voyage. Her mouth was pink and chapped from hours spent crying over her mother's lifeless body for the first few days her family was left to grieve on their own. She had managed to dress today, but the entire process was a chore she had dreaded. She managed to secure herself in a long bleak ebony dress which covered black boots she had borrowed from her sister. Her sister's feet were smaller than her own and her toes were uncomfortably pinched against the ends. It only made the entire mourning attire fitting for such a painful event.
She tired of looking at her exhausted appearance in the mirror and reached behind her head to fold over a black veil which was pinned into her hair, which Margaret had pinned up that mourning when she entered her sister's room to find Alice slumped over on her bed, staring off into the space before her. She had picked her sister up under her arm and helped her shuffle over to the vanity to set her down and cover her sleep barren features with white powders and pull her tangled hair away from her face.
"You're going to have to pull yourself together, Alice," Margaret had said to her, though not unkindly. Just practically. Practically Margaret, as she always was.
"I did not realize how much she meant to me, not truly," Alice muttered as she caught her sister's glance in the looking glass. "I went all that way on a ship and took for granted that she would be here when I returned. I should have been more kind to her, obeyed her a bit more." Alice felt the pang of regret in her chest where it settled and ached.
"She would have not truly enjoyed that, Alice," Margaret pulled at her hair, pinching her scalp here and there by pulling to tight. Her hands are not like mother's. Alice tried to fight the thought from rising, knowing the comparison would do little good for either Margaret or her sanity. "She liked you in all your little rebellious ways. You could always say the things that Mother and I would find too improper to say. But it didn't mean we did not think them, and we were glad sometimes for someone to say something, Alice." Her sister confessed as she finished tucking a few of the wayward blonde strands of Alice's hair back onto her head.
Alice was shocked at the admission Margaret had paid her that morning, and she was glad for her sister's kindness. While the two did not see eye to eye on many topics of life, it was a comfort to know that her sister could be relied on for the hardest of situations.
It was her sister who placed her hand on Alice's shoulder now, pressing on it lightly to get her young sister's attention. Alice turned and smiled sadly at the older woman.
"Must we go?" Words she had said to her mother in a past life. Words that screamed Can't I just run away from all of this?
"We must, Alice. For other people's sakes as well as our own. We lost a mother, and while that is the greatest lost, other's lost a friend, an aunt, a confidence. We lost, but we aren't the only ones who have." Margaret sighed as she frowned lightly at Alice. "I know it's so very hard, Alice. I can remember the inconsolable child you were at Father's funeral, and I know now that you have a better understanding of what is happening now. I am glad that you are looking a little more reserved today," she noted.
Alice groaned, turning away from her sister again. "I know that I cannot run from this, but a part of me wants to turn and go out that front door, hoping that maybe if I don't come back and don't see that coffin and avoid the uncomfortable sharing of her life that she might not be gone. That she will always be here when I return, she will be waiting with a disdainful look as I traipse in with dirty boots and a muddied skirt for tea time, but she will welcome me to a seat and serve me as she always did. As a proper lady," Alice placed her hand over her eyes, trying to hide her tears. "Do you…do you think I made her life harder, really truly? Because I did not marry before she had passed? Do you think I worried her to this? Do you think I should have…"
"I think, Alice, that you are ascribing way too much thought to something that can be easily blamed on an illness and not your flamboyant character," Margaret replied to her sister earnestly. "She lived a good life, she was a wonderful person. And she was all of those qualities with two very different daughters that she loved very much. And whom she put her trust in, that they were making the right decision when it came to their lives." Margaret answered her. Alice could only nod her head in response.
Margaret stepped toward her sister and wrapped her long arms about her, pulling her close in a rare embrace between the two. She kissed Alice's cheek gently before letting her out of her arms, placing a hand on her cheek. "We should see if Hamish is ready to be on our way."
Hamish and Annabelle were going to escort the two sisters to the funeral where they would bury their mother out in the Kingsleigh's plot of land. They were currently holding the wake in their sitting room, graciously allowing Alice and Margaret to bow out as hosts. Alice was glad for the consideration, avoiding the room with portraits of her mother hung about and stories of her character and person floating above her head, told by family and friends and strangers alike. She had entered the room only a few hours prior and had nearly choked on her loss. She couldn't bear to see the reminders of what she had so recently had to let go. She couldn't bear the meaningless apologies and the failed attempts at comfort. She knew it was all done in earnest, none of the other grievers wished to do her harm, but this was an emotion she wasn't sure she could share outside of those she knew intimately. When Father had died, Alice had cried into the lap of her mother for days on end, refusing to eat or drink as she mourned the passing of her hero, her Adonis. And her mother had cradled her head and rocked her gently and hummed her lullabies from her days of childhood.
Margaret could not be expected to be Alice's mother in this moment; she was newly a mother to a little boy whom she was trying to get to know as she began to put away her own matriarch.
Poor Margaret, Alice thought to herself as she watched her sister turn to leave the room and fetch the newly founded couple from the sitting room. She has a new child and she has no mother to talk with, to ask advice, to commiserate over the hardships of caring for another life. Alice wondered in the moment how much Margaret suppressed so that she could calmly care for others. She was their mother, through and through, and she was good at managing other people. She must be crying as much as I am in the quiet dark.
Alice swallowed the burning ball of sadness in her throat and wiped away newly formed tears as she reflected on the poorly realized grief of her own sister. She should be kind to her today, as this must be hard for an Atlas to bear so many burdens on the shoulders and on the heart. She hadn't even considered Margaret's grief and pain in the passing of her own Father, she had been so wrapped up in her own. That was not fair to the older woman, then or now; Alice hoped that maybe she could allow her sister a few tears in the quiet at the funeral.
Margaret emerged from the room with Hamish and Annabelle's voices heard in the distance. The older woman's long face was as darkly colored as Alice's, her mouth wincing when she walked, and Alice truly recognized that not only had her sister been forced to grieve, but she had been forced to perform the ceremony of it all having given birth just a few short days ago. Upon further investigation, she was more disheveled than her normal Margaret self. Her light auburn hair was poorly pinned back, her loops not as neat or careful as she made them out to be. Her black dress was poorly pinned in the skirt, and one shoulder sagged while the other sat too high. She was a shadow of herself, failing apart in all the subtle ways that other people with tear filled eyes could miss, especially if they didn't know the particularly perfect fashion in which her sister styled herself up to be.
Alice recalled how her mother was very much the same way when they had been at their father's funeral. Her carefully put together appearance was marred by hurry and care for two other beings. A smile danced across Alice's mouth. Her mother was truly not gone; not in the least. She had left behind a legacy, and her particular legacy was Margaret, her practically perfect and punctual sister. Here her mother stood before her in her young glory, thriving and building her own version of happiness. Perhaps not as perfectly or particularly or proper in this incarnation, but her mother must have had her moments of weakness. And in them, her moments of triump.
Margaret was right, in what she had said earlier—Mother had lived such a grand life, she had loved fearlessly, in ways that kept Alice bound. She had raised two beautiful women. She had kept a dreamer's head on the ground. She had seen happiness come to both of her daughters; one in the form of a child, the other in the form of a dream come true.
Margaret looked at Alice with an inquisitive cock of her head, her eyebrows knitting, and Alice realized it was because a grin played across her face where before doubt and worry had been spilling forth.
"I know now," Alice replied, swallowing more of her grief.
"What is that?" Margaret asked, her boots clicking on the floor as she approached.
"She was happy. She had the life that I think was beyond her own imagination, and was so much better than she could have hoped. I am crying because I am in want of her, but I am not in need of her. She has helped create me into an independent woman," she reached out and grabbed hold of Margaret's hands. "And to your regret, you as well." Alice laughed.
"I know she would expect there to be tears, but she would not want us pining after her. Or thinking we did anything wrong to make it worse," she smiled knowingly back at her younger sister.
"She would have wanted us to move on,"
"She would have wanted us to live," Margaret agreed. "And you most of all—you have a life time of adventure yet to be had, Alice. Do not let her passing bind you back." Margaret instructed her softly.
Alice nodded her head, letting go of her sister's hands. She was right, all this grieving and wailing and wishing that she could change the present was not what her mother would have wanted. Her mother had lived a full and happy and wonderfilled life, she was content with her life, and they shouldn't be sad. Time was taking her someplace else for now and she was with the man she truly loved. After years of separation, her heart was made whole. How selfish to not want that for her mother at the end of all things. She is transforming, Alice, remember that! Alice knew this very well.
And she knew, even with the grief in her heart, that she needed to obey her mother for once. She needed to listen to the wise woman's last request for her. She knew that she was going to head back to Underland today. It was her Time. She would bid fairfarren to her mother and to her sister and her nephew at long last. She would take one last look at England and the estate she had grown up on, take a last final whiff of the garden where she had played in as a little girl, where she had built all her adventures and recalled her great Wonderland. She would bid farewell the gates that had bound her body but not her imagination. She would wave goodbye to the house that was no longer a home, empty and barren; wood and mortar put together, but no beating heart keeping it running, keeping it living.
Then she would return home just like everyone else would.
Margaret had left Alice's side, joining Hamish and Annabelle who had appeared in the hall. The three spoke to each other in hush whispers. Probably about the logistics of this whole event, seeing as it doesn't seem to involve me. Alice thought bitterly. She wished to bear some of the weight for Margaret's sake, but as she had asserted earlier, Margaret was Helen's daughter through and through.
Another man emerged from around the corner, his blonde hair pulled back into a neatly done ponytail, his brown eyes falling upon Alice with a look of pity.
"Alice, my condolences truly." Henry said as he approached her. When he came within arms width, he spread his hands and Alice accepted the hug he proffered warmly, and thanked him for his sorrow.
"Your mother was quite the plucky thing," He conceded with a laugh. "I love the spirit she had even when she was lying sick. She was not going to let go of this world until she knew that you would be alright."
"Speaking of lying, I wish you hadn't to me." Alice stated as she looked at him sternly, crossing her arms over her chest. "But it's not a day of bringing up past grievances. It's a day to say goodbye. And I wanted to say goodbye to you just in case I didn't see you later." She dropped her arms and instead held out her right hand, indicating she wished to shake his.
"Goodbye? What do you mean Alice?" He titled his head, his brown eyes narrowing as he tried to read her face, as if what she meant was written plainly there.
"It's time for me to go to my real home, Henry. You have been such a great friend and support. I can't thank you enough." Alice admitted as she pushed her hand toward him with more emphasis. Henry looked at her, but grabbed her hand all the same.
"You haven't forgotten my proposition have you?" He asked and pulled out a box. She smiled when she looked at it, admiring his dogged persistence and finding it a touch admirable, but shook her head.
"I'm sorry, Henry. I will not marry you. Go on with Hamish and teach him to be a proper business partner to his father, and make sure his digestion doesn't get to…undigestiony." She said with a smile.
"Ready to go, Alice?" Annabelle asked from the semi-circle she and Margaret and Hamish formed. Alice nodded her head and joined the small group, taking Annabelle's arm, allowing the woman to lead her out to the carriage.
"May I come as well?"
"Take my place," Margaret offered the doctor.
"But Margaret!" Alice interrupted.
"I need to check in on Robert and Lowell, Alice. I will join you at the funeral. I think it best that I be with my husband and child right now. And you with your peers. It will be good for you, I promise." She took her sister into a hug once more, before releasing her to Annabelle's care once more.
"Please," Alice didn't want to be separated from her sister quite yet. But the older woman shook her head.
"I will see you there, Alice. Go."
Ever so much like Mother.
Alice conceded and followed the two men down the hall and through the great door, leaning on Annabelle for stability the entire walk. The four piled in the car and Alice provided a weak smile.
She wanted to say it all at once, and she wished that Margaret was here, but it was Time to begin her farewells. With or without her sister present. "I guess this is my time to say goodbye to all of you. I am headed off to go my real home and I am afraid there may be a chance that you will never see me again."
"Don't be foolish, Alice!" Henry cried out, but Annabelle hushed him.
"Are you going to be with Tarrant?" She asked and Alice gave a quick nod. "Then that is where you belong. I truly wish there may be a way in which you could come back for Hammy and my wedding next spring."
"You all know we are going to a funeral, why is there so much happy talk?" Hamish asked and shot the conversation dead. Alice cursed him silently for ruining the moment. It was a funeral, yes, but it was her mother who had died. If she wished to speak merrily on this day, why would he be so pompous to stop her?
Because he is Hamish, even if Annabelle finds him palatable, Alice thought to herself, turning her head to look out the window instead.
The rest of the carriage ride to the burial plot was silent. They didn't speak another word to each other as they gathered around the mausoleum. Margaret arrived not long after the younger adults, Lowell at her side and Robert in her arms. Alice quickly went to her sister's side and looked down at her nephew. Her sister smiled at her and whispered
"I think he knows that this is a time for quiet. He is going to be such a smart person just like Father was." Her eyes were wet with tears now. "Lowell said he hasn't fussed the entire day, the nurse was quite shocked by his stillness."
Alice returned her sister's morose grin, knowing that she needed to tell her sister what she had observed all morning. "He will have a mother as kind and sweet and caring, as dutiful and proper and particular as Mother was. He is in good hands, Maggie; you will do him well." Margaret gave a quick nod of her head, a quiet tear slipping down her cheek at the compliment, and she sniffed, reaching up with her free hand to brush away the drops. The two fell silent as the priest began the ceremony.
It was short and bittersweet, just the way their mother would have like it. There was enough sadness to remind all that life was temporal and short, but joy was readily available, and Alice felt her confidence renewed in her decision to return to her home.
When the casket was placed at the side of the grave hole, grievers began to step forward and place flowers and mementos on the solid oak lid. Alice stepped forward and laid a rose on the coffin, not knowing what further to say to her mother. She had said all she needed to say when her mother was still breathing, and for that she was thankful. Besides, wherever Mother was, she would know exactly what Alice was thinking. The woman closed her eyes and took a deep breath, reminding herself that all was well.
Margaret placed her rose on the coffin, placing her unoccupied hand on Alice's shoulder, turning with her sister away from the grave that was being covered in beautiful petals and ribbons and pictures. The two walked away from the gathering throng, seeking some solace and privacy amidst the public grieving. As they walked through the grass, Alice looked up and smiled to the clouds knowing that she must have been looking down on the two of them.
"What are you doing this afternoon, Alice?" Margaret asked and pulled Robert close. "Come to our house, if you aren't too tired, and spend some time with Lowell, Robert, and me." She said. "You will be welcome to shed tears aplenty there, as well. If you wish, I can have a servant fetch your clothes from the Ascots and you can stay with us for a fortnight or so." Alice politely declined.
"Margaret, I need to go. And I have to admit to you that I may not see you for a while. But I will come to visit, if I get back." Alice worried her lip, a small part of her fearing that she just might not get back so easily.
"Where are you going, Alice?" Margaret asked, worry in her blue eyes as she searched Alice's face.
"It's complicated," Alice admitted. She looked past her sister as a movement in the grass caught her eye. It was perfect Timing, and Alice knew that it must have been more planned than she wished it to be as she spotted McTwisp leaping through the bushes. "But know that I love you." Alice looked back to her sister, reaching out to grab hold of her free hand.
Margaret sighed at her sister's peculiar behavior, but hugged her anyways, placing another kiss on her cheek. "I will always love you Alice." She smiled, pressing her forehead to her younger sister's. "Fairfarren…is that right?...Alice."
"Fairfarren, Margaret." Alice leaned down to kiss her nephew on the forehead, then she kissed her sister roughly on the cheek once more; three kisses in one day was a record for the two.
And then Alice flew past them both to follow McTwisp.
The woman ran hard and fast, not thinking of all that she left behind in the other world, but focused solely on her promise to her mother, until she spotted the rabbit hole. She knelt down, took a deep breath, and tumbled down.
Her fall down the hole sent her past the cacophony of household hangings and threatened her with the angry keys of a piano, but she tumbled successfully down to the chessboard checked floor. She appeared in the hall of doors and looked around, gathering her bearings before she pressed onward. Grabbing the key, she took the pilshelver and went to the smallest door in the corner, hidden behind the dusty crimson curtain. Alice took a deep breath, downing the pishelver and shrinking down to the appropriate size for the tiny door. She tied her undergarment around her, threw open the door and threw her hands up to the Underland sky.
"I'm home!" She laughed.
Then Alice took off running down the path to the tea party. She laughed and leaped the whole way there finally feeling free.
