When Hope is Gone

Chapter 4

        St. Paul’s Cathedral was full of widows, fatherless children, and curious London citizens who wanted see and mourn the dead they did not know from a battle that happened far away.

            Callie and Marie were shown to a seat near the front of the congregation. Michael’s parents, Lord and Lady Atherton did not come to London to attend. They had a personal service at the Atherton country seat soon after the news of his death had come, which Callie had naturally attended, although she remembered very little of it. Lady Atherton sent her a note saying that they could not relive the death of their beloved second son again and so, Marie was her company today.

            She sat, dry eyed, throughout the entire service. Callie sang along with the hymns, heard the Bishop give his sermon, and did it all without feeling any of the closure feelings one was supposed to feel from such a service. All it did was make her feel alien in a sea of weeping widows.

            What is wrong with me? Callie asked herself. Why do I not feel what they are feeling?

            “This was a mistake,” she whispered to Marie as the service was winding down.

            Marie nodded and followed Callie as they quietly tried to exit the church but the throng of people filling the church seemed to be pressing against her.

            “Mrs. Atherton, this way.” Marie took Callie’s elbow and guided her through a small exit way behind a row of people.

            “Mrs. Atherton?” John wondered out loud as the two women turned away next to where he was sitting.

            Callie rounded quickly at the male voice.

            “Mrs. Atherton? Mrs. Michael Atherton?” He struggled to get on his feet.

            “Yes…” She answered cautiously.

            “Are you Callista, per chance?” He asked, trying to make sure that she was the right person.

            “Yes. I am Callista Atherton, widow of Michael Atherton. What is this about?”

            “I…” John started, trying to ignore Wilson behind him, “Is there somewhere we can speak?”

            Callie motioned to Marie. “We were just leaving.”

            “Of course,” John tipped his hat with his free hand. “Could we at least speak outside? I have something very important to share with you.”

            Callie nodded and allowed herself to be lead outside, as that was were she was trying to go before he interrupted her.

            Once outside, Callie looked at the man expectantly. He was dressed fashionably in a completely black suit with white cuffs and a white cravat; even his hat was black silk. The man had dark brown hair, the color of a coffee bean, which fell unfashionably long over his ears and down to curl at his neck. He leaned heavily on a dark wood cane and walked with a pronounced limp.

            “I sailed with your husband on the HMS Colossus.”

            Callie just blinked at the man for she did not know what to say to such a blunt statement.

            John continued on. “I am Dr. John Sinclair. I was the doctor assigned to the Colossus and so attended to your husband when he was wounded in battle. He had taken a shot to the stomach, there was not much I could do for him, except bind him up, and listen. Atherton spoke of his lovely wife at home, of her beauty and how much he wanted to dance with her once again. He made me promise to give you this if he did not make it.” John motioned for Wilson to come closer. Wilson nodded and removed an oilskin wrapped parcel from his coat, handing it to John.

            Callie took the package from Dr. Sinclair, not knowing what her husband could have possibly wanted to give her with his last breath. She slowly unwrapped the twine and pulled open the edges. Inside was the companion to the miniature she had pinned inside her pelisse. A small painting of herself smiled up at her, although in much worse shape than the one she carried.

            “Th—thank you,” she stammered, not knowing how to respond.

            John watched as Mrs. Atherton fingered the imperfections in the painting and gouges in the thin frame. She was quite beautiful, in an English country lass sort of way. Her hair was the color of golden wheat in the sun and fell in tiny curls around her heart shaped face and along her neck. She wore an unrelieved black, muslin, mourning gown with a black pelisse and bonnet. In fact, she looked very much like the woman in the miniature except for the expression on her face.

            “My pleasure.” John tipped his hat again. “Good day, ma’am.”

            He turned to leave but Wilson did not follow him. Instead he held out his hand to her.

            “Dr. George Wilson, at your service.” He bowed low over Callie’s hand with a twinkle in his eyes.

            “If you are quite finished?” John called behind him.

            “Good day, ladies!” Wilson winked at them and trotted off behind his friend.

            Callie watched them leave in wonder then stared back at the miniature she held preciously in her hands.