Maine was so different. It was almost unbelievable. There it was so dark. Gloomy. Dead, almost. It wasn't very sunny in Maine, but the refreshing sea wind enlivened the scenery.
The waves shyly licked her toes, not daring to caress her entire foot. Winnifred gazed into the tense horizon, clouds condensing both at the sea and in her eyes. Somehow, this beautiful ocean side aroused suppressed caution and immense loneliness. She desperately wanted to share this beauty with someone. For once, she breached out of the tight circle her life has placed her in, and now she extremely wanted to crawl back in. This is not how she wanted to walk out. Not alone.
Winnifred turned around and started walking back to her deceased uncle's villa, foam kicking around her ankles. The pebbles rocked back and forth by her feet, rolled around by the wave. It was a stony, grainy beach, not at all sandy as they drew in magazines, and not at all welcoming.
The villa also did not match stereotypical expectations. First of all, it was not white, instead painted in some grayish color. The rooms were small, stacked with old, creaking furniture that smelled of wood, the entire furnishing itself was like in the 70s. Winnifred walked in, brushing her feet on the mat, and leaned against the door.
"Where's auntie?" She asked Margaret, who was sorting a stack of DVDs on the floor next to the fireplace.
"In town for some document business. I didn't really pay attention, honestly."
Winnifred chuckled, watching how Margaret exasperatedly threw down the DVD she was holding and shove the stack towards the wall with her heel.
"It's just as boring as it was there!" Margaret complained. Her cousin looked away, staring into the window. The waves quietly lulled in the background.
"Not...not exactly," Winnifred slowly said, eyes aimlessly searching for something.
"It's just very calm here." She felt her fingers ache under her back, and she pulled her hands out. Her back banged flat on the door as the support disappeared. Winnifred examined her numb fingers with a perverted interest. Her eyelids jerked up, eyes raising up on Margaret. Her fingers clasped and unclasped in an abrupt movement, hand occasionally turning around on its axis.
"Did the mailman come today?" Winnifred quietly asked, eyes boring into Margaret.
"No," her cousin shook her head. "Are you expecting a letter? You've asked the same thing yesterday."
Winnifred frustratingly clicked her tongue.
"Never mind." She walked past Margaret, shortly stopped in the kitchen, and, with a chocolate chip in her hand, ran up the stairs. Jerking the door back behind her, Winnifred flopped on her bed. Sitting in this dark room, her entire figure slouching and feet loosely swinging down, Winnifred closed her eyes. The sound of the ocean soothed and irritated at the same. Winnifred sighed and opened her eyes, sending the cookie into her mouth. The dough was mushed, the chocolate was tasteless, the entire thing probably of a prehistoric date of use. Winnifred winced, not really caring about the food and fell down on her back. The ceiling grimaced back on her. She did not like this house. It was unpleasant and haunted, making her constantly look around and pass her hands over herself as if in an attempt to not stain herself.
The front door creaked open, and Winnifred heard her aunt's cheerful voice.
"Oh, Margie, dear, help me take these groceries and call Winnifred, I have important news to tell her..."
Winnifred did not wait to be called, so she dashed down the stairs, skidding right up to her aunt.
"Aunt Martha? How was your trip?" Winnifred took her bags from her at the same time.
"Oh, lovely, my dear, I was just at Mr. Baer's house, he's the local jurist, we were inspecting late Mr. Horner's will. It appears that he leaves this entire house to you."
"Oh joy," Winnifred sighed. "When can we announce that it's for sale?" Margaret stifled a laugh behind her.
"You are not selling this house, Winnifred," Aunt Martha scolded, setting her purse on the counter top.
"Not until I see you well off in life." Winnifred broadly grinned and, tiptoeing up to her aunt, wrapped her arms around her.
"Yes, ma'am. Understood, ma'am."
"Alright, alright, you little flatter-brat, stop fawning," Aunt Martha feigned displeasure. Winnifred innocently kissed her on the cheek and slyly glanced on Margaret. Her sister instantly got the hint, and soon her old lady was hugged by both of her nieces on both sides.
"You little brutes..." Aunt Martha couldn't hide her smile, stroking them on the arms. Margaret snuggled her head closer on her aunt's shoulder. Winnifred's eyes shone with a happy light. They stood like that for a few minutes.
"Alright, caressed a little and done with," Aunt Martha shooed the two girls off, freeing her shoulder and hands. The two young women, hopelessly chuckling, began taking out the contents of the bags and placing in their places.
"By the way, Winnie, your uncle's funeral is tomorrow," Aunt Martha reminded, lifting her eyeglasses to read the tag on the milk bottle. Winnifred glanced up from the refrigerator's door. She wanted to say something, but thought otherwise, instead sharing a tense look with Margaret.
"You have anything black to wear?" Aunt Martha continued, handing the fish over to Margaret. The latter gave it to Winnifred, who thoughtfully tapped her fingers on the fridge door.
"I...think," she wasn't very certain when she shoved the fish on the first shelf. Aunt Martha cast her a reprimanding look.
"And don't forget to look very chagrined, my dear..." Margaret couldn't hold a snorted chortle. Aunt Martha angrily slapped her on the arm.
"Margaret! We're talking about Mr. Horner, god rest his soul!"
"Sorry," Margaret mumbled out, not at all sorry. Winnifred cast her a merry look, quickly pretending to look remorseful under her aunt's glare. Aunt Martha suspiciously scanned the two women over, then heavily sighed.
"No use with you two...Fine. Do how you think is right."
Winnifred waited till she walked out of the room, then turned to Margaret.
"Guess I'm wearing pink tomorrow!"
It was slightly drizzling. The morning was overcast, with no signs of clearing up. Suppressed, sophisticated grief hovered above the cemetery. Black hair wavering in front of her eyes, Winnifred glanced to her sides. Her aunt stood next to her, wrinkled fingers gripping the handkerchief. Winnifred carefully took her by the hand. Her aunt jolted, then looked at her, trying to make out a smile from the despaired grimace. Winnifred slightly smiled, just with the corner of her lips, and turned her graves back to the gravediggers. The grave was almost complete.
Many people attended to her uncle's funeral. The blue eyes observingly jumped from one person to another. Most of them were elite officials or businessmen, all individuals who Horner had professional interactions with. Winnifred lowered her gaze. She felt that she was also examined. After all, she was the only heiress, an unknown too. The crowd rippled, heads turning to the left. Winnifred glanced there as well. The coffin was being carried. Solemnly, it was lowered down into the grave, gravediggers standing by its side like vigilantes. Watching it disappear beyond the ground's edges, Winnifred felt the remorse, late and guilty, clutch her throat. It was her uncle. It was her relative. Winnifred closed her eyes. The sound of the preacher made them open. His words did not reach her mind, stifled by the unwilling tears, dripping down from her eye lashes. No matter how she tried to tell herself that she didn't care, she did. Winnifred was sorry for the man. Her uncle.
She felt her aunt squeeze her hand. Winnifred blinked, sending another cascade of tears down her cheeks. Hastily rubbing her nose with the black glove, she raised her eyes up. Her hand, still near her face, froze.
A man, right across the grave, was watching her in straight out astonishment. He was a bit taller than her, had a slightly angular face, hair neatly combed on his head. His eyes, small and brown, were widely opened. Winnifred felt a shiver run her spine. She recognized that face. She would recognize it anywhere. Jack. Jack Browning.
A/N YESSS! Finally, time for the plot and characters to start twisting! Any thoughts on who this Jack Browning is ;) ? (Ok, I know my naming isn't the best, at least it's not Bobby Joe or something ;)
As always, thank you very much for reading