The sky was a fittingly dark, somber gray, the air cold and damp and close, as Gerald Granger's coffin was lowered into the ground and covered with a neat level of clean dirt. Daisy and her sisters, with mutual expressions of pained grief, said a few last words over their father's grave. Each left a bouquet by the headstone, respective to their namesakes—hyacinths, daisies, violets, roses—and left, pausing to thank the vicar for doing the burial ceremony.

"Not a problem at all," Michael Evans said sympathetically.

"He was such a wonderful father, Vicar," Hyacinth wept, with an absence of her usual bragging tone. "I hope—I hope he didn't think I did too badly when I had to take Mummy's place after she died."

Michael had never imagined ever voluntarily hugging Hyacinth Bucket, but he did now, moved with pity for her and her sisters' grief.

"I'm sure you did very well, Mrs. Bouquet, bringing up your sisters when you were so young," the vicar said gently. Hyacinth mumbled her appreciation for his kind words through a fresh wave of tears; then, holding Richard's arm tightly, she followed her family to the parking lot. It was over, their parting with their father, and a great hole had opened up in their hearts.

It was a somber group returning to the Buckets' house. The gathering too was solemn—Hyacinth had put out some tea and biscuits, but nobody felt like eating anything—or even speaking. For the first time in months, Hyacinth was silent, no longer monopolizing a conversation. There didn't seem to be anything left to say, but they took comfort in each other's presence. Richard, Emmett and Liz of course did not have the kind of connection Hyacinth and her sisters did with Gerald, but they, too, shared in the sympathy.

Eventually, however, a trembling voice broke the grieving silence.

"I remember," Rose said, "when Father got the Navy Cross during the war…we were so…proud…even though I was too young to really understand how he had earned it."

Rose couldn't finish her sentence. With a broken sob, she buried herself in Emmett's embrace. Daisy gently stroked her sister's tousled blonde hair, as she had when Rose was just a little girl who had often expressed fear that 'Father' would never return from that dark, bitter war.

"Daisy? Will Daddy ever come back? We'll beat the bad people soon, won't we?"

"Daddy's a very brave man and he's fighting for the right side."

"You didn't answer my question! I knew it! Daddy's going to die and you won't tell me! You think I'm too little to understand!"

"Now, Rosie. I didn't say that. God will watch over Daddy…"

Daisy's reverie was interrupted when a weary-sounding Hyacinth politely cued the others to leave. Daisy could hardly tear herself away from Rose, her youngest baby sister, the one she and Hyacinth and Violet had always spoiled. Rose had always been a very emotional soul, even as a child. Gerald's going off to war and their mother's death ten years later had affected her the most.

"Go along, Daisy," Rose sniffled. "Emmett and I are going home. You just take care of yourself…I think I'll try to get some sleep."

The sun had broken through the clouds by that time, but even the warmth in the light could not pierce Daisy's heavy sorrow. It was worse, for a moment, she and Onslow were standing at the door of the council house. At that moment, for just a moment, Daisy forgot the parting that had just taken place hours ago.

I hope I'm not late giving Daddy his pills, she thought worriedly, stepping into the front hall, but all at once a sharp pang of reality hit her. There was no need to give her father his pills. Daddy was…dead. Dead. Daisy forced herself to face that hard word.

"Oh, Daddy…" Daisy cried brokenly; she stumbled forward, but two supporting arms went around her.

"Pull yourself together, my Dais'," Onslow said soothingly, closing the door behind them. Daisy glanced back at him and smiled wanly. It had been a long time since her husband had been so sympathetic and perceptive of her feelings. She felt immensely grateful as he led her to the sofa and helped her sit down, as her legs were still trembling.

"Can I get anything for you, Dais'?" Onslow asked.

"If you could just sit here with me," was Daisy's weary reply.

"Of course." Onslow sat close beside her and softly kissed her cheek. "I'm sorry, Dais'. I know I wasn't too keen on your father—but if he could raise as wonderful a woman as you—he was doing something right."

Something between a laugh and a hysterical sob came from Daisy's throat.

"Are you sure you're still Onslow?" she queried, attempting a jovial tone and failing miserably. "Oh, never mind my ramblings. Thank you for being so supportive."

"Anytime," Onslow said, putting an arm around her. "I love you, my pet."

The next few weeks were the most difficult for the sisters. Each of them sometimes lapsed into thinking their father was still alive. More than once Hyacinth would ring the council house and ask how 'Daddy' was doing—only to be reminded by an emotional Daisy that their father had passed. On a few occasions, Daisy herself would report to Onslow that Daddy had just wandered out—until Onslow gently reminded her of the reality. He had 'wandered out', but would not return. Not on this side of things, at least.

It was Rose who made the first effort to break out of the grief that was keeping down their spirits.

"Come to my house, Daisy," she urged over the telephone one day. "Hyacinth and Violet are coming, too. I have an idea."

Daisy and the others arrived and the first thing they saw, when Rose beckoned them into the kitchen, was a table laden with photographs of their father. Too soon, Daisy thought, looking away from their father's smiling face, but Rose, who seemed to know Daisy she was thinking, shook her head subtly.

"I brought these out for a positive reason," she said more cheerfully than she had for the last five weeks. "I thought we might make a scrapbook about Father, and write some things about him on the pages."

"That's a wonderful idea," Violet said softly, and the four sisters immediately got to work, pasting photographs with an eager fervor. When that had been completed, each jotted a memory or a quip pertaining to their father in the margins of the pages.

"This is lovely," Daisy said she looked at the finished 'product' with the others. Her voice was emotional, but there was no trace of grief.

"We'd like you to have it, Hyacinth," Rose said after a quick, whispered conference with Daisy and Violet. "You kept our family going during the war.—you were such a help to Mummy, and after she died…we couldn't have held up without you."

"Now, don't exaggerate," Hyacinth gently chided. "Daisy and Violet were a great help. I couldn't have managed without their assistance."

"Well, take the scrapbook, anyway," Rose insisted, and the other sisters nodded. Hyacinth hesitated for a moment, but accepted the offer.

"Very gracious of you, dears," she said gratefully. "It'll always be here for any of you to peruse."

Two months passed, and the grief slowly lessened its tight grip on the sisters' hearts, and each vowed pluckily to keep going on. Gerald, they agreed over a sisters-only candlelight supper, would not have wanted them to stay in a morass of grief over his death. Hyacinth continued her attempts to climb the social ladder, and Violet struck out on her own (opening up a candy shop near the town hall), despite Hyacinth's desperate attempts to stop her. Violet had divorced Bruce—with remarkably amiable spirit on both sides—and had been awarded the house, though not the Mercedes. Rose helped Emmett in coaching his music students in a musical version of A Wrinkle in Time.

As for Daisy? One afternoon, while cleaning out the bedroom, she had found some diaries from five years before. Settling on the bed, she began to read them with great amusement. Halfway through the first diary, she suddenly burst into a peal of laughter that startled Onslow, whom was still asleep.

"Aye, Dais'! Have you gone batty?" he said drowsily, sitting up in bed and staring at her.

"Oh, listen to this, Onslow, listen!" Daisy exclaimed, and she began to read:

June 26th

Got to witness another of Hyacinth's attempts at social approval go wrong. Onslow and I were at Stoneborough Racetrack*, and there, at the rails—but in front of the better seats— were Hyacinth, Richard and a rather smartly dressed couple.

"Yes, I met the Queen at the Grand National last year," Hyacinth said in that airy voice of hers. Richard started to say that she'd only waved to the Queen, but Hyacinth stomped on his foot without much subtlety.

"It was quite an honor to meet her," Hyacinth said again, and the couple looked rather bemused. They could tell that Hyacinth was polishing the truth. The woman, who was probably the man's wife, spoke up, saying something about the Queen's Grand National entry, Mercy in Darkness.

"Grand little mare, wasn't she?" the woman asked, and poor naïve Hyacinth agreed. "The best mare in the Queen's stable."

Onslow started to laugh, but I stopped him just in time. Hyacinth would just die if she saw us just feet from the better spot at the rail. Besides, this was turning into an amusing conversation.

"I was so hoping that 'Mercy' would make it to this race," the woman commented, referring to the upcoming race, the Silver Night Handicap. It was only a 'grade three' race, and 'Mercy' was much more talented than that.

"Oh, yes," Hyacinth said grandly. "I hear that the Drummonds have a horse in this race. Very fine people, you know. From the Grange. I've met Mrs. Drummond. She helped me clean the church hall, very gracious for someone of her status to do."

"You're a funny woman, ma'am," the man said, and Hyacinth looked startled.

"Funny?"

"Pretending you met the Queen, when she stayed in the best seats, carefully guarded. Pretending that you think Mercy is a mare. Trying to make us think that you think the Silver Night is a top stakes race. Even saying that the Drummonds are at the heart of society and horse racing, when they haven't had a winner in any race for three years, and scandalized the upper class by—as you say—volunteering in rather…common causes, as worthy as they might be."

I suppose I shouldn't have been so amused at my sister's humiliation, but her expression was just so funny! And she pretended that she thought the couple was joking, even though she knew then that they'd been leading her on! Oh, Hyacinth, when will you learn?

"I remember that!" Onslow roared. "Oh, the look on her face! Even Richard was trying not to laugh!"

"Oh, sometimes Hyacinth is 'too good to be true', as the adage goes!" I exclaimed. "I mean, the things that happen to her when she tries to impress people! It doesn't seem possible! It sounds like something from a sitcom!" Daisy paused. "Hey-ey, Onslow! I have a brilliant idea!"

"Like making a bacon butty?" Onslow jested. "I think I wore off several calories just laughing at your Hyacinth's expense—again!"

"No, silly," Daisy said, grinning. "You're pretty good with words, and I'm much too familiar with our Hyacinth! We could write a novel inspired by all her social events that have gone wrong!"

….

*Stoneborough Racetrack is fictional, made for this story because there are no tracks near Hyacinth's town.

There you have it! I hope to have a new chapter up by New Year's Eve. Feliz Navidad!