The Wind in Our Words

II: 1932

My mother was dead. There was nothing I could do, no person who would understand. Frank didn't even get it the same way I did. 

I watched as cousins I didn't know carried the casket of my mothers to our forgotten cemetery. That's what my mother would become; forgotten. 

A priest read from the Holy Bible, and I stood there motionless in my black mourning robe. Miss Hilda stood next to my father. She started to cry, and my father held her tight. It invoked a profound sense of rage in me. He didn't bat an eye as my mother lost her life, but held tight to his employee? I was undeniably more focused in his gesture of comfort than the procession itself. Frank elbowed me, to which I saw the priest staring me down while continuing to read. 

He must have memorized the passage, because he kept looking at the audience, like he was off-script for a play. 

There was a clear grayness that filled the air. The muck beneath my shoes was unpleasant, but as long as I didn't move, I would be fine. 

We returned home, where Miss Hilda had prepared snacks for the funeral guests. I didn't recognize most of the people. A lot of those who knew my mother were dead, unknowing of her efforts, or both. The majority was unfaithful extended family, who hadn't made an effort to see my mother in years. 

I saw an older woman, who had the face of someone my mother's age, but gray, wispy hair that caught my attention. She had on a longer dress with a black shawl draped over her shoulders. 

She began speaking with my father. Besides the emotionless "I'm sorry for your loss," statements, she pointed to me. 

My father led her over to the sofa, where I was sitting in an effort to make it clear to passerby people I did not wish to be spoken to. 

"Hello, Miss Rachel. I knew your mother. Terribly sorry for your loss." She turned her head to my father. "How old is she, Edward?" 

It was rare that I saw many adults outside of my home, so my father's first name being used in informal conversation almost came as quite a shock. 

"She's seven years of age, Ms."

"Ah. You know, there's a school in the city, Charlotte Hills Academy, an all-girls, respectable institute. If she's sent there, she'll leave here an unruly girl, and come back a good-natured woman." 

"Sounds lovely, but my loan from the bank was rejected. I couldn't possibly fork up that cash." 

"Well, maybe, or maybe not." 

The woman pulled my father aside and removed something from her purse. My father's eyes widened. She grabbed his collar and whispered something more. She then collected her things and pushed through the crowd, apologizing to those she'd shoved, while leaving abruptly. 

My father stood there in shock. He held an envelope corner in between his pointer and middle finger. He went to the study immediately. 

Later that night, I brushed my hair to get ready for bed, after getting dressed in my nightgown. Downstairs, I heard mumbling. I took a candle and went to the top of the staircase, peering through the railing to see what was happening below. 

"Edward, you have been through so much." Miss Hilda rubbed my father's feet. 

"Hilda, you would make a good wife, you know that?"

"Well, I haven't thought about marriage. I'm only a housekeeper."

"Yes, but, you can't deny that you want to be married." My father sat up.

"I suppose so."

"Put my feet down, Hilda, come sit beside me." She sat beside him on the sofa. He took her hand and kissed it.