Am I a coward for not being able to brave myself up to face her burial?


    Am I pathetic for vomiting outside the church after seeing her coffin?


    I had come to say goodbye and I couldn’t even bring myself to sit through her funeral, to follow the horse and carriage and to watch her be lowered into the ground. To sprinkle the dirt onto her coffin and say I love you. But I couldn’t, I’m pathetic.


    But I knew where the wake was being held. The family home at the edge of the town, hidden from sight from a fringe of ash trees with a long, graveled driveway leading down into the grounds. It wasn’t a far out walk and all I had to do was follow the throng of black-donned people to find where it was. Everyone followed each other, not a word being uttered, heads bowed and hands clasped. Noses being blown and tears being swept away. Some were soothing each other, arms draped around waists and shoulders as they marched on somberly.


    I kept an eye out for Valerie, hoping she may not see me and question where I had run off to. Well Valerie if you must know, I went to the public house centered at the town square. A periodic building with a thatched roof, the wooden sign swinging carelessly back and forth in the light summer breeze.


    “The Crow on the tombstone”


    How befitting for today I remember thinking. As I walked through the door I was greeted with the heavy, dense smell of tobacco smoke, thinly wisps floating through the air from the tip of pipes and cigarettes. It had stung my eyes slightly at first but progressed anyway. It was a rather lively place despite it being rather early in the afternoon. I did not drink, not that I ''am in favor of temperance reforming but because I could still taste the bitter remnants of sick at the back of my throat. It had been a while since I had visited a public house and I had no idea if they served anything other than alcohol. The barman took one look at my attire and figured that I had just come from the funeral party.


    “You from the funeral of that young girl?” He asked, not loudly but firmly enough to cut through the murmur of the drinkers.


    “Yes” I replied, stumbling over to the bar stools.


    “You needing a drink?” He asked, he was a rather impressive man, a dark grey trimmed beard with an aquiline nose he was exactly the kind of a man I would put in charge of a public house. Stern but will offer you kind words when needed. He was a good man too, fixing me with just a cup of tea, although he did ask if I was sure I didn’t need anything stronger given the state I was in. My skin had broken into a clammy sweat by then.


    “No, I''m good” I had replied to try and assert to him I was better without a drink. I didn’t want the smell of alcohol on my breath if I were to try and make my way to the wake. Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    Marching onwards in the solemn crowd we made our way to the front of the house where a top hatted man with a cane stood with a rather impressively tall, athletic built woman stood by him. A white mink fur wrap hugged her squared shoulders whilst a large, white feather protruded from a rhinestone embellished, black headband wrapped around her head. Out of all the young attendees she was the most striking, towering over them dressed in black and white like a black and white movie star.


    Cordelia. I presumed. And the weathered, brow beaten man I could only guess to be Leonora''s dad Mr. Matthew Wanes, the head of Wanes Publishing House. Leonora mentioned in her letters that he always walked with a cane and always wore a top hat. In her letters she always described him as queer and lively, always making a joke and finding and purchasing strange curiosities to fill the house. But now, even a ghost would succeed in being cheerier than him.  Together father and daughter stood side by side, greeting guests and accepting condolences as each guest disappeared into the house. I dreaded my turn, hoping they don’t take too much of an interest in me, hopefully I will just be to them another of Leonora''s friends. A handshake, a brief exchange of words a then into the house. I still find myself wondering what drew me to that house, what made me wish to visit it so much. My mind and body craved to be within walls that held her once, that had sheltered and comforted her and had watched her grow up into the woman she did become. I wanted to feel her presence, if that is such a thing, to be close the things that shaped and molded her. I wanted to tell Mr Wanes and Cordelia how much I loved her, tell them that I wanted nothing more than to be near her, especially her few final days. I wanted to be friends with them, to have something left of her in my life. I don’t want a grave, a memorial service, or one last glance upon her coffin, I realize now as I look upon the man who could of became my father in law that all I wanted from today was to just be close to Leonora and everything that surrounded and touched her. To see what her life must have been like, to walk her footsteps, to see through her eyes. I just wanted to know her more.


    It’s my turn, I hold out my hand to Mr. Wane, he takes it and we shake


    “I’m sorry for your loss” I say, out from the weary face, a weak smile managed to lift itself up. “Thank you, son” He tells me, up close I can see the damage grieving has caused. Dark purple eye bags hung like crescent moons hunger his eyes with deep creases cutting through from the corner of his eyes; his dark grey beard, whilst from distance it looked kept, up close you could see thick, tuffs beginning to sprout. My heart went out to him; no one should ever have to lose their child. I suddenly – out of nowhere- felt the urge to help him.


    “If there is anything I can do to help you and your family through this difficult time, please let me know” I said sincerely.


    “We appreciate it umm...” he glassy eyes squinted at me, trying his best to sum up my name.


    “We haven''t met Mr. Wane, I was a friend of your daughter Leonora”


    “Oh right of course, she had so many. What''s your name son?”


    “It’s Ruben sir, Ruben Turnbull”


    “Well Ruben, I hope we get to see more of you in the nearby future but for now why don’t you head inside and I’ll see you in a minute. Help yourself to the tea and sandwiches”


    “I shall, thank you, sir”