When Hope is Gone

Chapter 1

Callie sat in the window seat of her second-floor bedroom, looking out at the winding streets of London below her. She picked unconsciously at her black muslin morning gown, worrying a fold of her skirt between her long, tapered fingers.

A scratch sounded at the door. After an acceptable amount of time, the butler entered, carrying a stack of cards on a silver tray.

“Mrs. Atherton,” he stopped just behind her.

Callie sighed, deeply, and finally turned her head.

“More callers, I assume, Giles?”

The butler gave a curt nod and extended the silver platter to her.

Callie shook her head and pushed the tray back.

“Give them my apologies. I cannot speak to anyone today.”

Giles gave another nod as a look passed over his face. Callie saw it but pretended not to notice; Giles would prefer it that way as propriety meant everything to him. It must be hard for him when she cared nothing for societal conventions. She knew that she should see to all of the visitors, hear their condolences, and accept their non-committal promises born out of sympathy for her but Callie just could not do it. There was no way that she could sit through all of those sympathetic faces when there is nothing they could do. There was nothing anyone could do.

Callie’s husband was dead.

The notice of this fact, signed by the captain of her husband’s ship, still sat on her dressing table where she initially read it.

A sudden thought occurred to Callie.

“Giles!” She turned to catch the butler just as he was closing the door behind him.

“Yes, Ma’am?”

“Once all of the visitors have left, I would like to go for a walk. Could you inform Marie for me?

Giles nodded, then hesitated. “Ma’am?”

“Mmm,” she murmured.

“We, that is the house staff, would like to know if you had decided whether you wanted to close up this house and retire to the country house or not?”

“I,” Callie sighed again, “I do not believe I will be making any decisions any time soon, Giles. Please inform the staff not to worry. Michael,” he breath caught at the sound of her husband’s name, “would not have wanted to put anyone out.”

“As you say, Ma’am,” Giles gently closed the door behind him.

Callie did not believe she had any tears left for her husband but they came anyway. The memories flooded her mind as tears flooded her eyes. Michael’s smile the first time they met, the feel of his lips in their first kiss, the light in his eyes the time he had shore leave and suddenly appeared in the doorway, and the way the wind mussed his hair as she waved goodbye the last time she saw him. She walked over to the bed and curled up, hugging her knees to her chest, staring in Michael’s face in the miniature they exchanged as wedding presents.

She ran a finger over his fashionably long, blond hair and imagined how it felt between her fingers. It was soft like cotton and was constantly mussed, even after he had just combed it. Michael had a habit of running his fingers through his hair while he thought, a habit that Callie loved, In the painting, he wore his usual smirk, suggesting that Michael had just heard a joke of which you were not a part. This was not from any snobbishness on his part but due to how he always saw the world as one large comedy. The coat of his navy uniform seemed bright against the cream colored background of the painting, the very same coat inside of which Callie personally sewed the matching miniature of herself.

            Her fingers tightened around the portrait as she snuggled it against her chest.