Softly, Robert closed the door to his dressing room behind him and very slowly and most carefully, he walked inside. His steps always had a tendency to be very heavy, even on carpeted floors like this one, but this time they weren't. Reluctantly, he came to a halt behind her, resting his hands on her shoulders while she simply sat there.
She was looking in a mirror in front of her. Briefly, her distant gaze met his, but she turned her head immediately to avoid him.
Nevertheless, despite her efforts to hide it from him, he saw how tired she was, and not just because of the dark circles under her eyes. Her reactions were slower than usual, her every movement slowed down. It was almost as if all the progress of the past year to get her back to health had been undone in the past week. As if all the pain and suffering had been for nought.
But Robert knew better. He knew only too well how she was feeling, he did not even need to ask, and he knew it had little to nothing to do with her illness and physical health. It felt like only yesterday when he had been in the same situation, when they were about to bury his mother, and yet he knew that more than a year had passed since then. He had hoped that it would still be a way off until they would have to go through this again as a family, but there they were. Barely more than a year after Violet, Martha would be laid to rest in just a matter of hours. Despite knowing what she was feeling, he had no idea what to say to her to help her through this day. He had no recollection of how he made it through that day last year himself, a fact he deeply regretted. Anything to ease her pain would be in his best interest, but he could think of nothing.
After a further minute had passed with not a single word spoken between the two of them, Robert gently squeezed her shoulders. "I believe it is time to go, my dear," he whispered into the silence.
Tardily, she reached for the black gloves in front of her. Just before her fingers touched the fabric, she hesitated. Her hand still hovering over the garments, she spoke quietly: "Are you really sure that Sybbie is old enough to do this?"
Her tired eyes found his in the reflection, she saw his jaw tighten and lips purse fleetingly. Barely a second later, however, his hands let go of her shoulders and he rounded her chair once again. The armchair he occupied in the evenings was still there right next to her dressing table where he had put it the night before, and swiftly he sat down in the plush cushions. Deliberately, he reached out for her and covered her smaller, quite cold hand with his big and warm one.
"Yes, darling. I do think she is ready for this. You should have seen her when we talked, there was maturity there in that little girl I had not deemed possible. Plenty of childish innocence as well, yes, but also a deep understanding of matters, an understanding I did not anticipate. We talked about it all at length that day and she was so curious about all the different proceedings and traditions."
"Curiosity is all well and good, but it does not guarantee that she is old enough to find out the answers to her questions first-hand. She is nine years old, Robert. I don't think she should come, she is only a child."
Robert thought back to that conversation he had had with his eldest grandchild a few days ago, how she had caught him fully off-guard with her questions and her reactions to his explanations. Remembering that girl who hugged him to her so tightly when all her questions had been answered was all that it took for him to be sure. "Yes, she is a child, you are right. But death is certain for all of us. If the past has taught me anything, then that death does not make an appointment, he just comes to collect you whenever he deems the time to be right. Life isn't promised, it could be over any day. She will have to deal with this in the future, whether we want her to or not. Believe me, if I could, I would protect her and everyone else from all this as long as possible, but I can't. None of us can. And honestly, I would prefer her to already be familiar with some of the proceedings and the feelings involved when our time comes. It is overwhelming, not just for children, but I wouldn't want her to be there with just one half of the story."
"Robert, but-"
"No, I am not only talking about your health this past year," he interrupted her, looking at her intensely. For a second, he debated whether or not to say what he was thinking. Carefully, almost as if he were walking on the thin layer of ice covering the pond in the gardens back home during those coldest days of winter, he carried on: "The age both our mothers lived to is extraordinary, it is not a given. Far from it. And while I appreciate every day I get to spend with you, I do not want to take it for granted. Not anymore."
Holding her tears at bay, Cora replied with a tight feeling in her throat she had almost got used to by now: "What about Tom, what does he think?"
"He decided that she is old enough to come with us, we discussed this at length directly after Sybbie's peculiar visit. Back then, I had told her that this was not a decision I could make, and it was not. I would not have been able to come to a well-founded decision because I agree with you. She is very young, no matter how well she seemed to understand it all. Tom and Lucy sat down with her yesterday, and they talked about it all again now that the inevitable has happened. Only then did the two of them make the decision to allow her to come today. It is on them to have the final say, and I trust their judgment."
Cora was fiddling with the rings on her fingers, twisting them this way and that as she nervously listened to her husband. She knew that he was right, he had rarely made as much sense when talking about a decision that had been made as he was then and she truly appreciated that so much. But she still wanted to protect her darling granddaughter, and to some extent maybe even herself.
Then, Robert stood up and began pacing the room behind her. His hands clasped behind his back, he stopped after a few steps to look back at his wife and said: "Lucy said that she would leave with her as soon as she thinks it gets too much for her."
It did not take long after that for the dull thud of his steps on the carpet to fill the room as he paced the length of the room again and again. At first, his voice was so quiet she barely heard him. But then he stopped in his tracks once again just after he had passed by her chair for the umpteenth time. "And I also think this is something Sybbie needs. We did not only talk about funerals, especially Mama's, when she came looking for me. She asked about all the things you do at a funeral, and the customs involved. Only I got the impression that the question she had truly wanted to ask the most was whether we did all that for Sybil as well. This particular path all life takes is one she is not familiar with, and I assume this is almost like a missing puzzle piece in the picture of her mother's life Sybbie is trying to paint for herself. After all, she never got the chance to meet her."
The carpet below his feet had suddenly become very interesting, or so it seemed with how closely he was inspecting it. His gaze had settled on a small piece of thread stuck to the carpet just next to his polished leather boot. All the while his wife could only stare at him incredulously. Apparently she had once again fully underestimated him, and she was in awe of this ruminative and attentive side of her husband, one he rarely showed.
After finally taking the gloves off the table top and putting them on as he kept standing there, Cora got up from her chair and placed her hand tentatively in his dangling by his side. Standing impossibly close to him, she softly whispered next to his ear: "You are right, Robert. Let's go and help her paint the bigger picture. Even if that's to be the only thing keeping me from losing my all today, that's still a good cause."
"It is," he retorted, perplexed that this seemed to have done the trick in more than one way. Not only did he convince her to go along with the decision Tom had come to, but he also managed to take her mind off the funeral they now had to get to. Largely, at least, since for now she seemed focused on their granddaughter.
Cora and Robert both had lugubrious smiles on their faces when she cautiously placed her hand in the crook of his arm. His hand came up to softly caress hers. Barely loud enough for her to hear and yet with as much conviction as he could muster, he said: "Let's pay our last respects to the ambitious woman I owe my whole life to. I am right here, right by your side, at all times. You are never alone."
Her grip on his forearm tightened when she heard him say this, and her head turned to face him once again. For a brief second, he saw something other than the deep sorrow reflected in her pale blue eyes. What it was, though, he did not know. But he was glad for this subtle change, as short-lived as it was. And for now, he decided that it was enough.
The stormy seas outside were very much a reflection of how she felt, and at the same time, they were not at all. Her mind was in uproar. Constantly. Her thoughts were ricocheting in her head just like the waves outside were crashing against the ship's bow.
She couldn't help but keep replaying the last moments she spent with her mother. And strangely, she did not feel anything. Nothing. Just emptiness. Only, she did not want to feel this emptiness, she did not want to feel this numb. She did not want to feel bound to the bed she was in, and yet here she was, in bed at 4 oclock in the afternoon, with her husband sleeping uneasily next to her, unable to get out of it. The worst of his cold had passed and luckily the worst surges of fever were now behind them, but he was still congested and coughed a lot when awake. It was no wonder to her that even his sleep was this restless. Even so, she did envy him. At least he was able to sleep. It seemed as though sleep had been evading her, and not just since yesterday. She would have to ask Baxter for a sleeping draught when they were back at home, things could not go on like this.
A rattling gasp. And then nothing yet again. How something coming so naturally to people all their lives could become such a struggle was beyond Cora, and seeing it hurt her more than she would have thought. When the next rattled intake of breath did not seem to want to come, she closely watched her and saw the minuscule rising and falling of her chest. The sigh of relief she was about to breathe got stuck in her throat when she saw the pain just simply breathing caused her mother.
Next to her on the bed, Robert tossed and turned in his sleep, fighting the cough stuck in his lungs. She was tempted to reach out and wake him up, to tell him to sit up straight in hopes that this would help him get the coughs out easier. But he was still sleeping, so she let him be.
"It's alright, Mother. We will be alright. Harold has Madeline and little Cornelia now, he will be okay," she heard herself say into the emptiness of the room. The plate with some fruits and cheese Robert had just brought up stood there on the bedside table, untouched. He had meant well, but she could not get anything down. A bittersweet smile crept on her face when she thought of her husband. "And I have Robert take excellent care of me. We all have our families, and none of it would have ever happened this way if it hadn't been for you. You gave us the best life we could have ever hoped for. Thank you."
The blanket covering the both of them was suddenly yanked away from her and the chilly air nipped at her toes while Robert bunched it up around himself in his sleep. And again he tried to cough, but couldn't seem to. She should ask someone to bring him some tea, maybe that could help.
Her hand was so small and frail in hers. It was marked by time, covered in wrinkles and pigmentation marks. Her thumb brushed lightly over the loose skin beneath her fingertips. The rings on her mother's fingers were glistening in the soft glow emitted by the fire a few feet away, almost glowing on the pale skin underneath.
"You've done your duty, Mother, you can let go now," she whispered, her voice quivering with every syllable. Part of her meant the words and believed that it was time. And the other part was selfish and did not want to let go. When the next breath came out more jarring than the one before, she knew it was time. "Go to Daddy, he's somewhere waiting for you. We will be alright. Let go."
Not even the warm fire managed to offer some warmth to her as Robert hogged the duvet, still struggling as before. Gently, she turned to face him and stretched out her hand. This could not go on like this, he needed to do something for this, anything. And he would not do it on his own accord.
Taking matters into her own hands, she stood and rang for some tea, waiting for it in the living area of their cabin. Carefully, she placed the steaming cups on the bedside table on his side and tried to wake him up.
"Robert, wake up. Drink some tea, maybe that will help with your cough."
Grudgingly, he opened his eyes and sat up, but he did as he was told while Cora went back to her side of the bed, ready to curl up there again.
She was leaning against the door she had just shut behind herself as he came to a halt less than an arm's length away from her.
She had not cried, not yet. Not a single tear had rolled down her cheek when she had realised that her mother's laboured breathing had ceased once and for all, and not when she had checked her pulse. Not even when she had gone downstairs to tell her family what had finally happened had she shed a tear.
But now, behind closed doors in the comfort of their assigned bedroom, she could not hold them at bay any longer. Just like on that evening a few nights ago, Robert came close and wrapped his arms around her, closing his red-rimmed eyes and breathing deeply as he held her close and let her cry out all her heartbreak.
They simply stood there near the door, her safely wrapped in his arms as she let her guard down at last. When the first wave had seemed to have passed, he lessened his grip on her and asked: "What can I do for you now?"
"Just hold me, Robert. Hold me close and don't let go," she gave back, her voice breaking from the strain.
Without a further question asked, he guided her over to the bed. He took off first his shoes and then hers, and then he lay down, taking her with him. He held her close as her tears once again wet through his shirt, but he did not care. He would never care.
He watched her lie on her back, staring at the ceiling, after he put the cup of tea down again, which seemed to have calmed the tickle in his throat. Readjusting their blanket over her still body, he asked: "Can I do something for you?"
Without turning to him or even blinking, she retorted: "Just hold me close."
And so he did. Robert scooted closer under the blanket and simply held her as she seemed to all but melt into his embrace. After that, neither of them moved again until they were woken up the next morning just before Southampton came into view.
