Chapter 2
Hetty King February 1873, aged 13
I never saw a day as dark and foggy as the day of my mothers funeral. The beginning of February it was, and though the service took place in the early afternoon, the sky looked as if it were near dusk. Mama looked like an angel laying in her casket at the front of the church. Even with such a dark sky outside, some light came thru the big red stained glass windows, casting a heavenly glow on her.
As I led Olivia and Ruth up to the casket the red light shone on us as well, causing Ruth to laugh. At only two, of course she was forgiven, but as much as I wanted to smile or laugh back, I knew I couldn't. With mama gone all the aunts had swarmed our house, each wanting to take away one of my siblings, splitting us up, and getting some sort of free labor in the process. Like mama had said, as the oldest it was my job to take care of the children. Any small mistake and I knew an aunt would swoop even closer, possibly taking one of my siblings. I was no longer child, I could no longer afford to be a sibling. Now, instead I was mother, or as close to mother as I could get myself to be. Everything had to be perfect, if it wasn't we would be split up, and I would be letting mama down.
That day marked what could only be summed up as the end to the worst week of my life. Despite their promises, and their best efforts to do otherwise, the children (combined with the aunts) were running me ragged. All of us had been excused from school, on account of the circumstances, but I still made my two brothers go regardless, a decision that got me as close to a smile as old Aunt Jean had ever come to making one. However, while the decision seemed popular with the aunts, neither of the boys much liked it, and made that fact known, very loudly, when they arrived home after the first day. Thankfully, after that first day, my insistence that they go continued, and little fuss was made, at least to my face little fuss was made.
During that week I stayed home with Ruth and Olivia. Neither of them were particularly troublesome, at least that I can remember, but the whole process was so new to me. Of course I realized that mother did many different things, but I, until then, had never realized how dependent both the children and the house were on her love and affection. Olivia had just barely learned to crawl, so I had to carry her everywhere, and Ruth wouldn't sit still for a moment. So, to say chores were near impossible would be an understatement, but somehow I got them all done. Every night a different Aunt, sometimes with an Uncle, sometimes without, came to dinner, silently inspecting myself and the children. And, whilst it nearly killed me, we had gotten through everything so far with no pertinent threats of aunts trying to split us up.
Befitting mothers status and position in the community, nearly the whole town turned out for the funeral, even those people who did not go to our church, or any church regularly. I sat up in the left front pew with the girls and Roger. Alec, father, and Aunts Millicent and Gertrude sat in the center front pew. While other assorted person's, both family and friends sat elsewhere. As we sat there baby Olivia cried only once, and I was quickly able to silence her with a soft toy I had brought. Ruth fell asleep halfway through the service while Roger read not only the whole of the funeral program, but also began reading the bible as well. However, they were all quiet and well behaved, so the aunts stayed at bay.
I don't think for that whole time we were in the church I am ever felt at peace, or calmed, as I had always felt before in church. Instead I felt like all eyes were on me. For the first time in my life I felt like a grown-up. And, like the past week, I did not like it one bit. In fact I would have given up anything, including my collection of books just to have mama back. I told that to God during the funeral, when the reverend was talking, I simply closed my eyes and prayed. No, praying isn't the right word. Begging was more of what I actually did. I begged God to bring mama back. I told him he could have anything or anyone, even me, just to bring mama back to us. I kept my eyes closed long after I finished begging to God. As long as my eyes were closed I could pretend everything was normal, and that we were simply at the funeral of someone else, a distant cousin. Opening my eyes would make me have to face the truth, that nothing had changed, mama was still dead, and I was now raising four children and running a house, things I never wanted to do, at least not so soon in life.