July, 18th
Margaret:
Imagine someone pulls the rug from under your feet. Imagine you didn't know there was a rug. Imagine there was nothing under the rug.
Then, what would it be like?
It's like you're free falling, your heart in your mouth, anticipating a crash against the ground that you can't possibly survive. But for now, it's just free falling.
It will take me some time, days or maybe months, to put into words how I feel now. This blow was so unexpected that I just can't take it and I detach myself from it. Like a spectator who arrives late to a show and only gets a seat behind the last line, I only hear muffled voices and see blurry lines. Food is inconsequential. I think I should cry but I can't. My brother, my aunt and Mr. West have taken care of all the necessary arrangements. I should be the helping but I'm just not here.
This is the last time I'll see my father's face, the lovely lines, the soft, long eyelashes. I mutter a goodbye and take a seat in the funeral parlor's room assigned to us. A lot of people come to pay their respects, Edith, Ian, Dolores, Dixie. Sylvia is in Japan but Mel is here; she squeezes my arm but I just nod while I utter a little nonsense.
Even if we're in Oxford, John Thornton shows up too. He sits and gazes at me like that first time in Milton when I was so irked by his manner. How judgemental I was then! His eyes, normally grey with a tinge of blue, are emerald green today. Only once did I see that particular hue in his eyes before and I wish that day had never happened. He says his condolences and I give him mine, after all he's lost a friend. I tell him I'm leaving Milton soon and he wishes me luck. I repress the urge to hug him, to burrow my face in his chest and have his arms around me like that night in that parking lot but that can't possibly be done here and now, not with my father's dead body in a box before us so I just leave out a sigh.
I don't know what else to say and apparently neither does he. He stands up and leaves, and the feelings of loss and loneliness become overwhelming.
Bertha:
I'm sad but I'm not devastated. Richard could not live without Maria. Simple as that.
Several acquaintances, friends and family swarm the funeral parlor. They chat quietly or walk around the room either figuring themselves in Margaret or Frederick's place, in Richard's place, or avoiding such thoughts altogether.
Frederick's arm is over Margaret's shoulders and I find comfort the fact that in spite of them being gone, they were able to create and nurture a loving family. I pause to remember the man that my friend loved and sometimes hated so much, and a lump comes to my throat and my eyes well.
I am decidedly in awe of how everyone under the age of forty here looks as if they came for a state funeral instead of a retired college professor's. Most of them, I'm sure, never met Richard. They are here for Frederick and Margaret, to support them in their bereavement. That's comforting, too.
Mr. Thornton, Richard's student, is here and he comes over to express his sympathies. Frederick receives him warmly and we chat quietly. I notice he's genuinely grieved for Richard's death, and my heart goes to this young friend of Richard's who made the last year of his and Maria's lives so much better.
This is, I believe, the second time we meet and the first we speak, and I study him discreetly. He is physically imposing and carries himself with authority and I'm sure he can be truly intimidating with little or no effort. He is not the only one here being young and athletic, but his grief and his unaffected manner - his speech straightforward and with a slight Northern accent, set him apart from the others.
The longer we talk, and we don't talk long, the more I notice female eyes darting furtive glances our way, attention to which Mr. Thornton seems unwaveringly oblivious. It's when his eyes find Margaret that I detect a sparkle that wasn't there before, and I think his features soften - almost imperceptibly. It then strikes me that Mr. Thornton, powerful and intimidating as he might be, is also a little shy around women.
Of course this might be just my imagination but the thought brings a smile to my face I disguise as gratitude. His restraint might be due not to shyness but related to things I ignore... Maria mentioned once that Margaret never took him seriously, being downright rude to him sometimes, but to this Mr. Thornton is philosophical or maybe just resigned.
He approaches her and waits for her to look up to sit by her side. They talk quietly for about five minutes, after which he stands up, says goodbye to Mr. West, Frederick and I, and leaves.
Margaret now sits with Henry, her old boyfriend. Edith says they might get back together and I hope that is right. Having someone will do Margaret good.
Frederick:
I am making sure Edith and Dolores are comfortable and have enough to drink when I hear Mr. West clearing his throat. I look up to meet his eyes and he points, with his head, to the newcomer.
I'm glad to find that Mr. Thornton came because I really like that man. It's a pity we should meet in such a sad situation... you can't pick them all, can you? I am pleasantly surprised to find he seems truly sad for my father, even more so than I am, it seems.
He offers his assistance with anything we might need in Milton and I save his number in my phone just in case. He then apologizes for having to return to work so soon but I guess he must have business to attend, shakes hands and leaves.
Dolores glances me curiously after Mr. Thornton left but I'm called by someone else, and when I talk to her again I've forgotten about it.