The Traitor's Stain (wattys 2019)

Chapter Forty: Setauket, Long Island

Ophelia began to make arrangements. She knew that Ben and Caleb wouldn't be able to get Noah's body back to Setauket, not without a considerable amount of questions. So, she put together some of his things. The things he'd loved in life: some of his clothes, his bible, a quilt his mother had sewn them when they were first married, not long before she died. She put all of them together, and that's what she gave the undertaker to put in a casket for them to bury.

Nobody questioned her as she went about it. Nobody told her that there wasn't a point in burying a casket that didn't even have a body in it. Nobody even charged her for their services. The stonemason went to work on his headstone, the carpenter on the casket, the priest on organizing a small service. Her neighbors went to work the moment she saw her all in black, as well: they brought her food, made certain that Constance was looked after while she made arrangements.

She hated it. She hated every second of it. She knew that her friends and neighbors all had good intentions, that they just wanted to help, but... she wished they would stop. All she wanted was for people to leave her alone, allow her to grieve. Not ask her how she was doing, or if there was anything they could do for her. Not tell her that everything would turn out for the best, when it was clear that it wouldn't. How could it? How could Constance's father dying when she was so young be what was best for her? How could being left without a husband, being left with a child to raise on her own be what was best?

Why did God have to take Noah away from them? When they needed him most?

Ophelia didn't understand it. Didn't understand how God could let a good man like her husband die when bad men got to live. Didn't understand what she'd done to deserve his wrath. She thought back on her life over the past few months, since her husband had been captured, trying to trace God's anger to one decision. One thing she'd done to upset him so. She couldn't think of anything. She couldn't think of a single thing she'd done that was so terrible, she deserved this fate.

And now, she couldn't help but wonder if there even was a God. And if He was even a God worth worshipping if he were truly there.

Ophelia didn't tell a single soul about her doubts: she didn't need a lecture about how God loved her, and how He gave her hardships to strengthen her, bring her closer to Him. She just nodded, said what she was expected to say, and prayed that nobody saw through the facade.

She didn't know why she even bothered with the praying: it wasn't as if God had answered any of her prayers, as of late.

They held the service that Friday. It was sunny, a break in the winter grayness, but it was still bitterly cold. There was no wake, and there was hardly a service: she couldn't bring herself to get up in front of the congregation, talk about Noah. The priest gave a short homily, one about loving one another, not taking our lives for granted. It was sweet, well-meaning, and Ophelia knew that he meant every word that he said. Still, she felt hollow, as if someone had ripped a hole in her chest. And no amount of well-meaning words could fill that hole.

After the priest finished his homily, they all shuffled outside with the coffin filled with his things to the gravesite, the church bells tolling in mourning.

Ophelia stood by the grave as they lowered the coffin, holding Constance close. Constance was crying, of course: she had her face buried in Ophelia's skirts, her shoulders heaving as she sobbed. Ophelia wished that she could cry, too. She'd run out of tears to cry. She felt nothing but numb as the priest consecrated the grave, numb as everyone else who'd come to the gravesite offered their condolences before leaving to escape the cold, numb as she watched the grave diggers shovel dirt back into the grave. All she felt was that horrible, aching numbness. Her husband was dead. She hadn't even been able to bury his body. She was alone. Constance no longer had a father. She had to raise her daughter by herself.

Earlier in the week, when she'd first found out about Noah, those thoughts had terrified her. Now, she felt nothing but resignation to it. That was her new life. Being fearful of it wouldn't help her figure out how to live, now.

The Strongs were kind enough to host a reception after the funeral. A sort of wake to remember Noah's life rather than dwell on his death. Ophelia, Constance, and Beth were the last ones to arrive: they'd stayed at the grave until the diggers were about done filling it back in. By the time they arrived, everyone had already settled into their tables, eating their stew and drinking their ale. Some there hadn't really known Noah, were simply there to show their sympathies. A few were friends. A few were practically his brothers. She didn't know all of them, but, of course, all of them knew her: it would've been difficult to not know who the woman in all black with a widow's veil at a reception for a funeral was.

All of them stood up out of respect the second she and Constance walked into the room.

"There's no need for that," Ophelia said.

They all hesitated, but eventually sat down.

She sighed and walked over to the corner table, where Anna and Selah were sitting. Both of them looked exhausted, and she couldn't blame them: they'd had to leave the service early to rush back home to make certain that everything would be ready by the time everyone else got back.

"Thank you for all this," Ophelia said as she sat down. Constance sat beside her, and Beth headed for the kitchen to see if they needed any help.

"No need to thank us: it's the least we could do," Selah said. "How are the two of you holding up? Is there anything you need?"

"I don't know," Ophelia said. "I really don't know."

Selah nodded. "Anna and I are here for you if you need anything. Extra money, a night to yourself, a shoulder to cry on; if you need anything at all, just say the word."

Ophelia nodded. Selah had said something very similar when Noah had first enlisted. She wondered if he remembered that.

"Have either of you heard from Caleb?" Ophelia asked.

"We don't need to talk about that," Anna said. "You need your time-"

"No: I need to get my mind off of No- everything that's happened," she said. "Please: have either of you heard from Caleb, or Ben?"

Anna and Selah glanced to one another, seemingly debating whether or not that was the best thing to discuss with Ophelia. She hated it, hated that everyone felt the need to tiptoe around her.

And the thing she hated most: she couldn't help but wonder if they were right.

"Caleb is due in a couple days," Anna said. "I'll tell him to stop by. I'm sure he'd like to see Noah's grave."

He's already seen Noah's grave. He and Ben actually got to bury him. Got to give him a proper military funeral. The one he deserved.

And me... I couldn't even bring myself to speak about my husband at his funeral.

"What do you plan on doing about... the group?" Selah asked.

"I don't know," Ophelia said. "I haven't had time to think about it."

Anna nodded in understanding. "Take all the time you need."

Ophelia nodded.

What she didn't tell Anna and Selah was that she already had a good idea of what she wanted to do. She just... didn't know if she could do it, yet.

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Alright, guys: here's your second chapter. I hope you guys enjoyed it.

I don't have any other housekeeping items for you guys, today, so we'll get right to the dedication. This one's going out to one of my fantastic readers, MaeShaanaP! She's been reading "The Last Romanov" as of late, but since that one's finished with updates, I thought that this would be a good book to do a dedication on, instead. So, thank you for your support, mate :D

As always, be sure to vote and comment, and we'll see you next week with another exciting chapter of "The Traitor's Stain" :D