Eranthis (hamliza)

Chapter Forty-Six

ANGELICA'S POINT OF VIEW

The morning of Alexander's funeral was a sorrowful one. Friends and family all gathered to mourn a man who could've been the greatest out of all of us. From what Eliza told me, he had great aspirations and dreams, but thanks to John, those ambitions never got to see the light of day.

Eliza was a mess, so to speak. "Betsey?" I knocked on her bedroom door. No response. "Lizzie, please come out. You have to give his eulogy."

We all decided that Eliza — er, Rachel would be the one who should give the speech. And by "we" I meant "me". She knew him for numerous lifetimes and it was best that she would be the one who would let the world know what could have been.

Unfortunately, similar to Alexander's funeral back in 1804, she refused to come out. Rejecting the fact that she would have to see his corpse laid in a basket and lowered to the ground. My poor sister, I don't think she'll survive just being present at the funeral.

I must admit, I was depressed too. Sure, Alexander can be a reckless, selfish, egotistical, loudmouth, fool, but he's still my brother-in-law, even in a different life. Though it wasn't the fact that Alexander was dead that was the reason the saddens me.

It was the reality I was the one who caused all of this hardship.

Imagine, if I hadn't been such a jealous sister, none of this would have happened right now. My sister and Alexander would be happy, I myself would be satisfied with Brandon. If only I wasn't so envious, if only I hadn't written that letter, the outcome may have been so, so different.

I tapped on the door again. "Eliza?" I called out for her. No answer, again.

Sighing to myself, I decided to come in. "I'm coming in now," I announced to her. Shocked to see what's inside.

The room was chaos. Love letters scattered on the floor. Wet handkerchiefs all over the furniture. Eliza laid down in the bed, her current state in disarray. Her hair was in shambles, probably never brushed in days. She was still in her nightgown and dry tear marks painted her solemn face.

"Oh, Eliza," I said sympathetically, sitting down on the bed and massaging her back.

"I can't, Angie," she mumbled, her voice barely a whisper. "I can't bear to see him dead. You know that."

"You have to," I told her. "We already arranged for you to give the eulogy. Besides, you knew him best, better than anyone else."

"Please, Eliza," I pleaded. "Do it for him."

"Alright," she gave in. "I'll try."

I kissed her sweaty forehead softly. "I'll stay downstairs. We'll take you to the cemetery."

The wait was excruciatingly slow. So lengthy that I almost went up there myself. I was greeted by Eliza in a black dress with her face covered in a black veil, a hand cradling her pregnant belly.

"Are you ready?" I asked her. She nodded silently.

During the drive, I would check the backseat every now and then to make sure Eliza was alright. Making sure she wasn't doing something harmful to herself or the baby. Charlie, being the loving nephew that he is, cuddled close to Eliza, which seemed to ease her pain a bit.

When we go to the graveyard, all of the guests were already there. "Come on, Rachel," I said to her, making sure not to use "Eliza". "We have to go."

She obeyed noiselessly, not even looking up from the ground. I assisted her all the way through. She looked like she could collapse any moment and I had to protect her and the infant she was carrying.