His Lovely Ward

Chapter 8

As her father’s casket floated down the aisle, carried by four men in tuxedo, Angelica was attacked by a sudden feeling of sadness she had never felt before. The feeling of loss came to her despite the emptiness she felt towards her father, but there were no tears—just sadness and loss.

She didn’t know what she was supposed to call the man who spoke in front. Maybe he was a pastor of some kind because he talked about heaven and life being temporary. And she didn’t know what to do when he looked at her with his spectacled gaze, his white hair blinding, and said that she would have to say the eulogy.

She felt Henry nudge her side when she sat still in her chair, the invite ringing in her ears. What could she say about her father? She barely had enough memory to last a minute in front. Though she had been sharing one sky in the same city as the man of her own flesh and blood, the years of emptiness tore them apart as any continent could ever do.

“Dalton, get up,” Henry hissed beside her.

“Don’t push me,” she hissed back but did what he said. Good thing applause was not needed in moments like this because if that would have been the case, that would be pretty awkward, she thought.

She made her way as quickly as she could to the center, beside her father’s casket, focusing her eyes on the pastor. She couldn’t bear to look at her father’s lifeless form in that black box. As much as she could, she wanted to preserve his living look in her mind. As she took the pastor’s spot, the old man moved aside and gave her the floor.

Angelica cleared her throat for a few times, her mind already worming around her brain for any topic to talk about her dad.

“Patrick Dalton,” she mouthed the words like they were foreign. “Patrick Dalton,” she looked up and saw the solemn faces of her father’s five partners. They looked so innocent and kind. And that was what angered her. How could she know who among them would have ordered her father killed and her kidnapped? “He’s my dad,” she started. “He’s been a part of each our lives. We’ve all been in his presence,” she continued, feeling the words starting to flow now. Memories of her childhood—back when everything was still great—came rushing in. “When I was a child, he used to tell me to be strong no matter what happens. And he was—strong, I mean. He was strong enough to take on the challenges of different kinds of trials. And he was strong when we lost my sister. He was strong when mom died,” she paused to catch her breath, her eyes never wavering, her anger towards what happened to her father surging up, and she continued, “And I know deep in my gut that he was strong enough to go against whoever hurt him.”

She knew Henry didn’t like what she said, and she could see that in his face. His eyes tried to tell her to stop whatever she was planning, but the angry warrior within her was more demanding. She looked away from him and looked at her father’s partners in the eyes.

“I’ll make it sure that justice will be served though because that’s what Patrick Dalton fought for all his life. He fought for the justice of others. It’s only fair to give him one.” Angelica said what she wanted to say, and as she looked at the curious expressions of her father’s partners, she finished by saying, “May God rest his soul.” And then she walked back to her chair.

“I definitely need to talk to you after this,” Henry hissed with so much force beside her.

She didn’t care. She was able to say what was on her mind and that was cool with her. If it was true that her enemy was present in the room, she was glad she delivered her message.

She was not backing off.

 *****

After Angelica’s unexpected eulogy, Henry found the rest of the ceremony fast. He had been clenching his teeth the whole time and he was thankful when John Stewart, the last man who lingered long enough to chat with his ward, walked out and left him with Angelica and Cole.