Greenhaven

The Funeral (part 1)

Three days later

At the end of the funeral, as you see your Mother's coffin being laid gently into the ground, the sheild of numbness that you'd built up over the past few days falls to pieces. Completely obliterated.

The choir continues to sing, the latin getting drowned out by your relentless sobs. A few onlookers look at you angrily for disrupting the ceremony, a few look at you with a deep empathy, but most just politely pretend they don't notice. You clamp a hand over your mouth, trying to mute the noise, but it seems quite pointless.

After the ceremony is finished, your father kneels down in front of you and embraces you, turning your blood cold. He begins to speak softly in your ear. To those around you, it might seem as though he's offering consolation. Only you can see his true colours. He mutters, "Come back when you can keep quiet, you're making a scene."

That's more than enough encouragement. You push him away and flee into the nearby woods, dodging gravestones and trees left right and center. You cry openly now, not holding anything at all back. It's all happened so fast, and she's never coming back. Never.

You long for Anthony to be here, he would hold and console you. He must be in pain as well, being away from his family as this is all happening. All you have is your Father.

The thought blurs your vision, and you trip over a tree root, tearing the hem of your skirt and ending up sprawled on the ground. You shake with adrenaline, your heart pounding, but you can't feel the sting on your knee or the hear the crack in your ankle. Your heart hurts too much for anything else to be of consequence.

You wrap your arms around your stomach, wiling yourself to stop sobbing. It's physically hurting you. After a few more minutes, and thousands of deep breaths, you stop crying. You are empty of tears, empty of everything.

You look a few feet ahead of you, and see a gravestone. "Harold Greene," You read. "I'm terribly sorry," you sniffle, climbing to your feet. "I meant no disrespect running along these grounds, I should have been more careful."

As soon as you're on your feet, a distant howl sounds. You look around, realizing that this is the deepest you've ever been in the woods, especially alone. A cold breeze hits you. You get chills, and are suddenly filled with fear. You try to take a step backwards, but your ankle gives out and you fall to the ground, crying out in pain.

"Are you alright?" A concerned voice speaks from behind you, startling you. You twist around and see a young boy running towards you, maybe around Anthony's age. Seeing him makes you ache for your brother, but you push down the feeling.

Unlike Anthony, this boy has a serious look on his face, very responsible. His lips are set in a firm line, dimpling his cheeks, and his eyebrows are furrowed with concern and concentration. His dark eyes are softened with concern. He's only a little taller than you, clearly not too much older than you, yet he somehow exudes authority.

He kneels down in the dirt next to you, placing a hand on your shoulder and the other on the ground to balance himself. You notice that his short chestnut brown hair is windblown and messy. You wonder what your own hair looks like.

He looks at you intently, waiting for you to respond, but you're overcome with embarrassment at being seen this way and stay silent.

After a moment, he says, "I hope I didn't startle you."

You clear your throat and break the eye contact. "Of course you didn't," your pride induces you to say. "And I am perfectly alright, no need to worry. Whoever sent you here didn't have to."

He tilts his head, confused. "Nobody sent me here," he tells you.

You frown. "My Father didn't... he didn't send for me?" You're not upset about having some time away from him, certainly, but it still stings whenever he discards you.

He takes his hand off your shoulder and sits himself down in the dirt, cross legged.

"I saw you run off, and as every minute passed that you didn't return, I grew worried. I hope you don't mind," he says carefully, as though making sure his presence wasn't disrupting you. "It is getting dark, so I just... well, now that I say this I realize you probably wanted some time alone, away from all of us. I could've just stayed at the ceremony, I'm sorry."

You stare at him, wide eyed. Someone had noticed you. Worried for you. The concept seems so far fetched at this point, you've felt so alone since Mother had become ill. "Nobody sent you?" You say again, more reassuring yourself than asking him.

"I'm afraid not," he says, "But I did tell my mother I'd gone off to find you, and she seemed alright with the idea."

"Oh," is all you can say. Your mouth stretches into a smile, the first one since your mother passed. This boy might not know you, may not love you, but he went out of his way to make sure you were alright. "What's your name?"

He considers this more than you'd think someone would have to consider their own name. "Archer," he tells you, face lighting up a bit.

You nod your head in greeting, not saying anything. At your silence, he says in a painfully kind tone, "would you like me to leave?"

You shake your head profusely, surprising him. You don't want him to leave, if he wants to stay here. Father never wanted you around, Anthony has been in London for months, and Mother has been too sick to see you. The warmth that Archer's considerate words fill you with is something you need right now.

He nods his head. "Would you like me to help you back to the chapel?" He asks, again in such a sweetly considerate voice.

You shake your head. "I can't go back there," you say. You pause, and then continue, "I'm actually considering running away," you tell him.

He tilts his head, intrigued. "You're not serious," he checks.

"I am most certainly serious," you exclaim, looking around the forest. "I could live here, you know. Build a treehouse. Visit Mother's grave whenever I so desire."

He looks impressed at your detailed plan for a moment, but then he shakes his head. "You can't leave your Father, he needs you." He reasons.

You grimace. "He hates me," you tell him, your voice cracking. The truth of the words hurts more than anything your Father has done to you in particular. Your eyes well up with more tears.

"Oh, I'm sure that's not true," he says, taking your hand and holding it in his. "Fathers love their daughters, I know it. My Father always talks about how he'd love a daughter, every day. Instead he's stuck with three boys." You laugh weakly but tears begin to stream down your face. He wordlessly pulls you into a hug, and you start crying harder, the kindness making you raw inside.

"He's the one who told me to run off," you sob, "he told me I was embarrassing him."

"He didn't!" Archer exclaims. You nod your head but don't say anything else, and his grip tightens. "How terrible," he says in a disgusted tone. You're glad that even a boy this filled with kindness recognizes how cruelly your Father treats you.

He holds you tightly for a while, until your cries calm down. You take a few deep breaths, and pull away slowly. "Maybe we could house you at Greenhaven," he offers, looking so desperate to help. "We have the space, my Father would never say something so rude to you, you know. My Mother might be hesitant, but I'm sure she could be convinced."

You smile up at him and wipe the tears from your eyes. You desperately want to get away from your Father, every bit of you does. But you promised your Mother that you would try to keep your family together, so that is completely out of the question. "No, thank you," you muster up some manners. "That's very kind of you."

He still looks upset. "Are you sure? I'm sure that you would be welcome, your mother was a dear friend of my Mother, you know."

You tilt your head. "She was?"

"Lady Caroline is her name," he says. His voice drops. "She was ..desolate..when she heard of your mother's passing." The worry fades and the kind tone resurfaces. "She must have been truly wonderful, I'm truly sorry for your loss."

You've heard those words dozens of times today, falling upon your ears emptily. Now, you can truly feel his sympathy, his desire that you didn't have to go through what you're going through. You smile at him and nod, noticing that his words didn't move you to tears. "Thank you," you say, sincerely.