Life is Simple

Lesson 6

I bowed before my bed, placing my elbows upon my quilt, and prayed to God above. Never will that woman leave my mind, no, she will haunt it as I invited her to. A small ruckus was stirring downstairs, thus disturbing my intimate mourning routine which I often practiced the morning of a funeral.

"Dear, do come down! Fetch your gloves, we are leaving now!" Mother hollered insensitively from the foyer in a rushed manner. I breathed a gentle Amen before slipping on the gloves that were so very important when attending this sort of thing. I was forlorn, starved of my companion since childhood— then I glanced at Mother who gleefully straightened Edward's dress with a grin. She hurried out the door, fixing her bonnet as she stepped, making haste towards the mellifluous carriage drawn up to the door. As I was adjusting garnered fabric high on my skirt, I could not help but to listen to Father's perilous conversation with Isabelle from the dining room.

"We will discuss this later, do you understand? Now go on! Resume your day's work!" In a violent huff, Father sauntered down the hall with his hands on his cravat before catching sight of me in the corner of the foyer.

"I thought you went out with Mother?" Impatiently he loured in my direction, sending his auburn brows into a fuzzy frenzy which tugged at his forehead. I remained quiet as I looked up into the eyes he had given me— to think, he would give me something! If he could help it, I would wager he would have revoked that similarity between us as he would all of the others.

"Go." He furiously pulled on the door, knuckles turning white, as did his mouth as it filled with a grimace. At last, the door opened after a few tugs and laborious moments. Father stepped aside for me to exit, which I did in a timid way, scampering away from the aggressive man as quickly as I could. The gravel beneath my shoes made the most satisfying crunching noise, and beyond this house bullfrogs boomed their mighty voices in the undisturbed ponds. I climbed into the carriage, seating myself next to my brother and across from my mother. Only moments later Douglass appeared to take his seat as the coachmen, adorned in the best clothes Father would permit him, for Father wanted more than anything in the world to showcase his wealth when and where it was possible. The habitual whip lashed out at the horses, then we began to move down the road in the direction of town. I remained quiet for the duration of the ride, but had noticed Father glance over in my direction a few times. From the corner of my sight, I watched his eyes flicker on and off of me in a harsh, swift movement nearly undetectable. Edward and Mother laughed brilliantly, cutting off the deathly radiation of Father from polluting me. The stagecoach spiked in temperature, at least I believed it did, for it was either the weather or my nerves that pushed me to illness. I looked out the cool window to ease myself and my mind. Outside animals scattered among the hills and flowers waved their leaves, welcoming the carriage as it passed by, disturbing nature only for a moment on its lonesome way.

Into view came the plain church, a typical white structure with a black roof and steeple protruding into the sky. The grass was rugged straw and gray I noted as I disembarked from the carriage, taking Douglass's white-gloved hand tenderly on my way. Quietly we walked past the gravestones, some made of lime were in the process of crumbling, while those made from granite stood timelessly firm in the hard ground. Down the little path we clanked with our heeled shoes boldly interrupting the resting spirits on our way. I was the first to reach the wooden doors and the first of my family to enter the scene. What I had expected to see was not there. I had expected a crowd to come, but only a few patches of people bunched together in the pews turned out. Some lifted their droopy eyes out of curiosity while some remained fixated in the direction of the coffin.

My family snuck into a pew near the door and listened to the preacher drone on not in the expatiated way my dear friend ought to be talked about. His words were broad, general, overarching— not in the least sentimental or personal. The coffin was being dragged out into the graveyard before I could even focus on my grieving. The service was blending together with rocks as its hosts. No love or despair was expressed, to my shock, by anyone of the few people who attended the service.