Chapter Nine

Keep it. It looked so good on you I can't stand the sight of myself in it anymore… nor the thought of the context in which I shall have to get to know you better.

-HS

With no appetite, I barely ate my breakfast. I pushed the eggs around with my fork and left my coffee untouched. After that dream had woken me up just before dawn, I couldn't fall back asleep. I felt wired awake.

"Are you alright, Diana?" Edith asked, eyeing my fork and then me again.

I set my fork down with a clang and pushed away my food. "I'm not hungry," I answered.

I couldn't shake the image of Henry in that casket. His cheeks and eyes were so sunken, he already looked decomposed. I had to see him; I know I did, if only just to put my mind at ease to see him healthy. I told myself early in the dawn light that I wouldn't speak to him – I didn't want to interfere in whatever relationship he was in now, for surely a man like him would be in one. I would just see him to make sure he was okay and that would be it. I still had my voyage back to Europe booked in a week and a half. That was my saving grace.

"You don't look well. Are you sure you're alright?" Edith asked again, her eyes lingering on me the entire time.

I sighed. "I didn't sleep well, is all."

Edith gave me a sympathetic smile. "To be quite honest, I didn't either. And today will give us no respite, I'm afraid."

I bit the inside of my cheek to prevent the tears that threatened to fall. It still hadn't quite hit me that today was the day that I would be burying the only parent I had left, no matter how estranged we had gotten. She was still my mother.

Ethel cleared away our plates, mine still full. Edith wiped her small mouth with her napkin and stood with me following suit.

"Ethel will help me get dressed and then I will send her to help you. Thomas will have the carriage ready at precisely nine-thirty," Aunt Edith informed me. "Will that be sufficient?"

I nodded, fixing my plain cotton robe to better cover my nightgown underneath. We both wet our separate ways – her to her room on the main floor and me to mine upstairs. While I waited I again sat at my vanity's mirror, looking at the reflection that stared back at me. I tried to remember how I last looked when I was here before, all those years ago. Perhaps my eyes had gotten duller and my cheeks less full. I was a child then, I told myself. I was a woman now, with thicker, tougher skin (both literally and figuratively) to prove it. No longer was I the unblemished, fair-toned girl that used to dream about Henry Schoonmaker while clutching the hat he had gifted me.

At the thought of the hat, I jumped up from my seat at the vanity and knelt beside my bed. I pulled up the covers to reveal a heavily dusty underside of my bed. Sure enough the round, gold box was still there. I reached under the bed and pulled it out. The note inside held the same handwriting at the letter she had received yesterday.

Of course, the last bit of it related to the fact that he had just gotten engaged to Elizabeth. That time seemed eons ago, or like a dream.

Beneath the note, the familiar hat greeted me like an old friend. I looked at the ribbon tied around it closely, finding the "H.W.S." embroidered on it. With a smirk, I placed it on my head. I got up and looked at myself in the mirror.

The hat, whereas it was usually much too large for my head, now fit almost perfectly. The waves of my hair kept it from sliding down my face. I could tell then that I had, indeed, changed.

I still remembered the first day Henry and I had met – it was mere moments after he and my sister had gotten engaged and, not knowing that, I took his hat to try it on. When he took it back, he kissed me and that's when I knew he would be the only man I would ever love.

Before Ethel could come in and have a heart attack at the sight of me in some man's hat, I slipped it off my head and back into its old box. I placed the original note gingerly on top again and slipped the whole thing back under my bed and out of sight once more.

Ethel came in shortly after and dressed me in the same outfit as yesterday – black crepe dress, black lace gloves, and now a new black hat to match. It had a black satin ribbon tied around the brim, coming together at the back in a bow with the strings hanging down my neck, just touching the same, low bun Ethel had created yesterday.

The carriage was ready exactly at nine-thirty, as Edith had said. Thomas – the name of the stable boy, I learned – helped Aunt Edith and me into the carriage.

We arrived just in time, as had Elizabeth and Teddy. Delores, I was sure, was somewhere nearby with the children. Elizabeth and Teddy greeted us with kisses on our cheeks and small embraces.

"I checked everything and it all seems to be in order," Elizabeth said. The deep lines below her eyes indicated a lack of sleep – something we all seemed to have in common.

Teddy kept a hand on her lower back the whole time as if to catch her in case she fell over, but she looked strong as usual.

The church loomed over us, its white stone exterior as old as the city itself. The last time I was here for a funeral was the one for Elizabeth when she had faked her death. I had only found out that morning that she was, in fact, very much alive.

There was no such hope today.

Elizabeth looped her arm through mine. We both lifted our skirts and began up the church steps. Edith followed behind us, with Teddy shortly after her.

Luckily, the sky was bright and sunny – a perfect summer morning. I was relieved to find that part of my dream had not become reality. Of course I knew Henry wasn't dead, nor that Penelope would come wearing her wedding dress and obnoxiously laugh at me, but I was nervous to enter the church nevertheless.

As we entered, everyone was already in the pews. The organist was playing a soft, soothing song as we walked down the aisle. The coffin was set up in front, with hundreds of lilies on top and draped over the side to the floor. An opulent display worthy of the woman inside the mahogany coffin.

Bouquets of wine carnations lined either side of the aisle and on either of the coffin. Had it not been for that object, it might have seemed like a wedding instead. There were flowers everywhere one looked. The church was filled with dozens of floral fragrances it nearly caused a headache.

Another difference from my dream, I had realized as we made our way to the front pews reserved for family, was that the coffin was shut. I breathed a sigh of relief at this. I should have figured – Mother was in no shape to have an open casket. She would have been embarrassed by how she looked and forbidden it.

Quickly, I scanned the crowd. Everyone kept his or her heads politely looking forward. While no one was wearing white, I still could not see Henry or even Penelope. I could only see the backs of everyone's heads and all the men had the same hair cut and all the women wore the same style of hair – low bun or pompadour – hidden beneath the same black hat. I couldn't find anyone I knew if I tried harder.

When we all reached the first pew and sat, Reverend Needlehouse, now seeming as ancient as the building, took to the podium. The organist brought the music to a gradual stop and, as the last notes echoed around the church, silence fell.

"It is with heavy hearts that we all gather today," Reverend Needlehouse began. He pointed to the coffin and went on, "Louisa Adora Holland went into the kingdom of Heaven and joined her beloved husband, Edward Holland, once more."

Reverend Needlehouse continued on talking about Mother's many charitable donations to the church and other places around the city and how adored she had been by the community. He said her soul lived on inside Elizabeth and me, eyeing both of us with a sad smile. He quoted several bible verses that dealt with death, love, and Heaven.

I began droning him out, knowing that if I listened too closely, I would break down in tears. Instead, I stared intently at the coffin, then at each stained glass window that told of the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. I counted each flower in the bouquets on the sides of her coffin – 75 on the left and 67 on the right.

Reverend Needlehouse finished by saying, "The family of Louisa Holland invite anyone who would like to attend to join them at the final resting place, next to her husband."

It was our cue to stand. After we rose from our sears, everyone else in the church stood as well. The benches groaned underneath them and skirts ruffled and were smoothed down.

Elizabeth took my hand. We waited for the pallbearers to lift Mother's coffin and I watched them intently as they passed us, trying to imagine Mother inside. The large box seemed to be too big to be holding her tiny, fragile body inside. She had looked so helplessly small when I saw her last; nothing like the Mother I had known my whole life.

It was only after the pallbearers, including Teddy, proceeded past us that Elizabeth, Edith, and I were able to leave our pew and follow behind Mother's coffin. I wanted to keep my eyes low so as not to see the leering eyes of the New York social class but curiosity kept my head up. I saw Lina and next to her was her sister, Claire. They gave me sad smiles as I went by them. I saw, peculiarly, a man startlingly familiar right next to Lina – Grayson Hayes, Penelope's brother. It felt like so long ago that I had a romantic tryst with him, which eventually led to Henry enlisting in the army.

I quickly glanced away before I could meet his eyes. I saw all the usual people – Agnes Jones (who was, I guess, now Agnes Coddington) and Percival Coddington, Amos Vreewold, far off cousins none of us had spoken to since we were young children, and Isaac Buck Phillips. At the sight of him, I grew rigid next to Elizabeth for wherever Buck was, a certain someone was almost always very close by.

Buck and Penelope had always been devilishly close for as long as I could remember. She always concocted evil plans and he gleefully executed them. Though the truth of his pedigree was murky, he lived as though on top of the world, with Penelope by his side as his evil queen.

I gulped loudly and glanced at the faces nearby Buck. Sure enough, there she was. Her black hair tumbled and was perfectly curled around her face – she must have been the only one whose hair was not up, as if she wanted to stand out. Of course she did. Penelope always had a flair for the dramatic. When our eyes met, I could tell by the small smirk on her face that she had been waiting for this moment for a very long time. Her arctic blue eyes turned me to ice.

It wasn't the sight of her, though, that made my jaw go slack and my mouth open in a small "o" shape. It was the person she was next to, whose arm she was clutching tightly against her side. On his left hand that was gripped tightly by Penelope, I recognized the familiar wedding band.

Henry Schoonmaker and Penelope were still married. The divorce he always said would happen never did. They were still dreadfully married.

I locked eyes with Henry only for a split second before a mixture of red rage and immense depression made me look away. In that second that we shared a gaze, his eyes looked at me, silently pleading.

I thought back to his letter he had written only just yesterday. I wondered if he meant anything he had said or if it was all just some cruel joke to him. Penelope had her claws so deep inside him; she had turned him against me. They were each deriving some sort of sick pleasure in toying with me. The pleading look he had just given me was all part of the game. They were probably laughing to each other now, but decorum forbade me from turning around. I could only hope that my face hadn't portrayed too strongly how hurt I was.

I quickened my pace, pulling Elizabeth with me until we walked out the church's doors. I gasped for air as if I had never breathed before. Since the beginning of the service, clouds began to move in and were blocking out the hot summer sun. It would rain soon.

My dream – or nightmare, really – had in fact come true after all. Penelope was right – Henry would never be mine. He loved her now. She was his true bride now.

I had been in New York for days and no one had told me or even hinted to the fact that Henry was still married to the Siren called Penelope.

The moment we left the church, I turned to Elizabeth who was looking at me worriedly. Everyone was filing out of the church after us to watch the burial.

With my voice full of venom and between gasps for air, I whispered to Elizabeth, "You knew. You knew this entire time they were still married." My ability to breathe had improved only somewhat but if anyone heard me, they would assume it was the grief of Mother that caused it. My voice was low, only Elizabeth had heard what I said.

"Diana, I–" she started, her brown eyes widening in shock.

I interrupted, "Don't speak to me. After this funeral, we are done."

Her mouth was left open in surprise. It was moving as if she was trying to speak but nothing came out. For appearance's sake, I kept Elizabeth's hand in mine and dragged her along forward, out of the throng of people crowding the outside of the church talking about how lovely the service was.

We continued following the pallbearers around to the back of the church where some church staff were quickly setting up a small tent over the prepared burial site, preparing for the inevitable rain fall.

I was still struggling to get air into my lungs. I replayed Henry's letter and the desperate look on his face over and over, only fueling the desire to scream and flee the funeral and the country altogether. Somehow I managed to keep my emotions composed, unwilling to let Penelope or Henry win if they still saw me. Elizabeth stayed silent next to me as we went under the tent.

After a few minutes of waiting for everyone who wished to join us to quiet down, Reverend Needlehouse again started up a small dialogue, reading Mother her last rites. Shortly after he began, the sky let loose a loud, clap up thunder startling everyone under the tent. Reverend Needlehouse began to speak with a quicker pace but it was too late. A downpour was upon us shortly after he began speaking. He had to raise his voice and yell above the pound of the rain on the tent.

But I barely heard a thing.

My eyes were concentrated on Mother's coffin, seeing her slowly lowered into the only patch of dry earth in the entire courtyard now. While I kept my face as emotionless as stone, I could not do anything to stop the tears that fell.

On the other side of me, Edith took my hand into hers and gave it a small squeeze. I jerked my hands away from both her and Elizabeth then, not touching either of them. In my eyes, they were both traitors.

To Mother's right sat an all-too-familiar gravestone. "Edward Holland, April 15, 1854 – January 3, 1899. Beloved son, father, and friend." I still remembered his funeral as if it were yesterday. We all thought it was a natural death in the Klondike that turned out to be something much, much more sinister. At that time though, before we discovered what had truly happened between Father and Mr. Cairns, it had seemed like the end of the world. Father had always been the buffer between Mother and me. When he died, I felt that I had no true friends in the world anymore.

And now that was true again. Why hadn't Elizabeth told me? Why hadn't anyone told me? I was far too selfish at that moment to admit that I had never asked anyone and, out of self-pity, I had stopped anyone who tried to tell me anything about Henry. I would realize later, of course, how foolish I had been but right then I could only see in shades of red.

It was that anger and frustration, mixed with the emotions over Mother's funeral, which had made me cry all those tears then. I vaguely wondered if I would have still cried had I not seen Henry with Penelope. I was inconsolable when Father had died and all through his funeral. I realized that Mother and I weren't close and I often was the cause of her excusing herself to rest because she'd gotten a headache. But she was my mother after all – shouldn't I feel more?

Elizabeth stood, interrupting my thoughts. Reverend Needlehouse had finished speaking and, as head of our family now, she took a handful of dirt and threw it on top of the coffin, now deep in the ground. I always fond this part of the ceremony terrifyingly rude. Who thought the proper, last goodbye to a loved one was throwing dirt on them? They would be covered with it soon enough – what good does one fistful do?

She took her seat quietly next to me again. It was my turn next. In a quick motion I stood, scooped dirt into my hand and let it fall on top of her mahogany coffin whose flowers were now gone and probably still in the church ready to be reused for some service or for Elizabeth's centerpiece in her home. Before I took my seat again, I looked down below where the two handfuls of dirt had fallen. I wanted to remember it. This would be the last time I would ever see Mother again, despite her actual body being hidden away inside the box.

"I'm sorry. Goodbye," I whispered.

Without looking at the crowd or my family, I took my chair. I watched Edith go next, followed by other less immediate family members and finally whoever wished to give her luck – or whatever the ritual symbolized – in the afterlife.

After the rain had started, a vast majority of funeral goers abandoned the burial service to return back to their warm, comfortable homes that were far bigger than necessary to plan their next party, away from all the sadness of the funeral. To them, this whole event was just an ordeal blocking them from leading their carefree, ignorant lives.

The few remaining spectators put their handful in. When they had finished, they would let out a little squeal and laugh as they ran to their awaiting carriages in the pouring rain. Their obligations were done. Now they could lay about for the rest of the day with their servants bringing them iced tea and sandwiches while they did whatever was fashionable – reading (though nothing of substance I'm sure), napping, or perhaps playing a card game with whiskey or bourbon in their hands.

Soon enough, it was only us three women left. When I stood and turned around, I had nearly expected Henry to be standing there. I had prepared a scalding speech in my head ready the second I saw him but he wasn't there. No one was. Just Elizabeth, Aunt Edith, and me.

"Diana, if you would just let me explain–" Elizabeth began.

I turned to her quickly, my skirts swirling about me. With blood burning under my skin, I gave her a vicious look that silenced her immediately.

"You – both of you – neglected to tell me not only that Henry was married but that he remained married to… to… that? I expected to see him married, I will say that. But to her?" I shook my head, absolutely dumbfounded. "And no one told. This is the worst kind of betrayal. I would expect this from Penelope, but not you. Not my own family."

"Di, please–" begged Elizabeth.

I turned away from them both and began stomping out of the tent, into the downpour.

Edith chased after me, yelling, "Where are you going? The carriage is this way. You'll catch your death!"

I ignored her and kept walking out of the cemetery, getting drenched in the process. The rain was good – it cooled me down and felt as if it were cleansing me. I could no longer tell whether the water on my face was pure tears or a mixture of that with the rain. I knew I looked like a blubbering mess as I turned onto the sidewalk and headed in the opposite direction of the carriage Edith would take home.

I didn't know where I planned on going, only that I did not want to be around my family. Eventually when the rain had cooled me off, I could feel the coldness start to sink into my bones. I wrapped my arms around myself to try and keep some of my own heat but it wasn't going well

I hadn't paid attention to where my legs were taking me until I looked up through my soaked hat and saw a very familiar fifth avenue mansion towering over the street.

The famous Schoonmaker residence.

I had been there many times before, both publicly and secretly. Those days were so far away now that they felt more like a dream than reality. Sometimes, I wished they were.

I stood there, staring at the grandiose house for what seemed like a long time. Through the torrential storm, I could make out shapes inside some of the front rooms – mostly maids and servants, I guessed.

One room on the first floor suddenly lit up with light and I saw two figures through the window. I knew that room – it had once belonged to Henry's father, William, as his personal study. Since he had died, I assumed the use was passed down onto Henry. I recognized the figures inside now – Henry and Penelope. They appeared to be arguing, maybe about a difference in ideas they had to publicly embarrass me or ruin whatever happiness I still held inside of me.

Henry yelled something, and threw his arms in the air. Penelope's face contorted into something evil and with a jab of her pointer finger, Henry turned away shaking his head. However, they way he turned was to the window to look outside. His eyes were downcast and he rested his knuckles on the windowsill. I couldn't tell if he was speaking then, but knew Penelope's mouth was not moving.

They were both still in their funeral attire, but Henry's first three buttons of his white shirt were undone and his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows.

He slammed his hand down hard on the windowsill, shaking the glass, and I saw Penelope jump in shock. He looked up then, out of the window. His face looked clearly distraught until he saw me. I saw him mouth my name and his face changed to confusion. He jumped away from the window with Penelope clearly still angry and he left the room. He turned right in the doorway and I knew exactly where he was headed – outside, to me.

I turned away immediately and, with quick steps, kept walking. My teeth were chattering, I realized, and I had started shivering uncontrollably. My toes had long since been numb, so I tripped over myself lightly as I walked.

"Diana!" I heard his voice call. I closed my eyes and bit my lip when all the times he had called my name came flooding back. The sound of his familiar, deep voice nearly stopped me in my tracks. More than anything I wanted to turn around and kiss the very lips I had dreamt of every night for seven years and touch the torso of the man I had memorized every inch of.

But I did none of these things. I only kept walking. What was earlier an unfathomable anger had turned into profound sadness.

I heard his feet on the pavement running to me. With all my might, I willed my frozen legs to walk faster or for me to sprout wings and fly far, far away.

"Diana, stop," Henry said, voice lowering. I was shocked how close he was. A hand touched my elbow and I grabbed it back.

Walk faster, I begged my feet.

This time, he went for my wrist. He grabbed it tightly. I tried to pull it back again but I should have known that would be useless.

"Let me go," I said. I tried to sound as venomous as his wife always was, but my chattering teeth made me sound rather quiet pathetic.

I had no choice but to turn to him. I saw him then – really saw him. He was the Henry I had always known. His sharp jawline was dotted with stubble as if he had forgotten to shave for a few days. His skin was as golden and soft as ever. His dark hair, which had always been neatly pomaded to the right, was ruffled and messy and speckled with a few dozen grey hairs here and there. He was getting as drenched as me in the process of standing there staring at me.

I could actually feel myself breaking as I stood there, looking at the man I had given everything and nothing to. His deep eyes searched mine, looking for something. I could only assume what I looked like to him – a small, wet girl who was absolutely and positively… empty. I couldn't hold back my tears. They mixed with the rain my hat could no longer deflect away.

I saw something come over his face then. Some sort of want or need ignited in his dark eyes. I recognized the look a split second too late. Both of his hands cupped either side of my jaw and he brought his lips flush against mine.

I closed my eyes and floated back to the many times we had kissed before. From the first time in our lesser parlor after he'd proposed to Elizabeth, to the last time on the docks, and everything in between; in my bedroom, late at night; in his family greenhouse; in secret rooms at large fetes where we were each supposed to be with other people; in Cuba, drenched by the rain, or the lazy, half-asleep kisses in the middle of the night.

A loud clap of thunder brought me back to the present and I leaped away from him and the kiss.

Before he could dive in again, I took three steps back. I brought my fingers up to my lips in shock of what had just been against them. I could still feel him against me, the familiar electricity still running through my body. I glanced at his left hand to convince myself again why I was angry. Sure enough, the gold band met my gaze. Then I looked back into his deep eyes, – eyes I swore I could swim inside forever – shook my head, and turned around.