CHAPTER 1
“You are far too calm,” Augusta Cluett, who was seven years younger than Charity at seventeen, whispered without turning her head. Matilda, who was the youngest out of the three sisters, stood a few paces away. Her expression was similarly placid, but Charity thought her calmness had more to do with her young age rather than any real understanding of what was going on.
Matilda was only eight years old after all. How was an eight-year-old meant to act at the funeral of her parents?
How was a twenty-four-year-old meant to react, Charity thought about herself? Much less one who had been kept away from her family for most of her life, and only recently reunited.
So, when Charity glanced back at her sister Augusta, she opted not to respond to her question. Though it rang clearly in her own mind,it appears that I have no other choice but to be calm.
The funeral service was inside their nearby churchyard, arranged by their uncle, Edward Cluett. Her father, the Viscount of Orton, had not a male heir to whom he could have left the affairs of their estate, so it would pass to his younger brother. Charity only had a handful of interactions with her uncle thus far, but an unsettling feeling arose inside of her as she thought about what the future held for her.
With the head of the family now gone and no brother to take his place, Charity knew that she, alongside her sisters, had found themselves in a vulnerable spot. Their uncle held all the power, and their way of life would be dependent on him as he held the title. They would now be reliant on him for their living.
“I despise the spectacle of it all,” Augusta whisper-yelled to her once again, keeping her eyes trained firmly on the ground. Charity instantly knew that she was referring to the pitiful watchful eyes of the guests, fixed onto the three ladies as though their lives had now forever fractured. “And I refuse to meet their gaze.”
Charity nodded slightly, agreeing. Her own gaze was fixed on the polished wood of the coffin as it rested above the open earth. Though it was a cold afternoon, she hardly felt the cold at all.
Matilda clutched Charity’s hand with a fierce, childish determination. “Are they truly gone?”
Charity’s throat tightened.
“Yes,” Charity said, knowing that there is not much to be said that could comfort the little one. It was a bitter reality, and she had arrived at it earlier than most of her peers. “She is there.”
Matilda’s lip wobbled, just barely managing to keep herself from crying. “I know that Mama hated it whenever it was dark, and she must be having the most miserable time in there. She must be frightened.”
“She is at peace now,” Charity told her, and she reached instinctively for the rosary at her throat, thumb passing over one bead and then the next with the unconscious rhythm of long habit.
Charity considered herself to be someone who had strong faith. It felt like a necessary prerequisite in her life, where uncertainty felt like the only constant at times.
Her faith was such that no matter what turmoil life presented her with, she had a staunch belief that she would be able to get herself through it through knowing that Someone was listening, even when no one else cared to.
“How can you be so certain?” Matilda looked up at her older sister, who was nearly two feet taller.
“God is looking after her now,” Charity admitted.
“You say it as though you have seen it.”
Her eyes flicked to her sister’s profile. It was terrible that she had to go through this grief. Since Charity had moved back to her parents' home exactly a year and a half ago, the relationships between the three sisters had improved steadily. At first, there had been lingering awkwardness that had made Charity worry that things would never improve. But soon, as the time passed, she found herself forming closer bonds with her sisters.
Now, this misfortune had brought them even closer. Their parents had been ill for some time, and the physicians had long indicated that there would be no saving them. The two had passed within a day of each other, making Charity believe that they must truly have been destined to be with each other. Both in this lifetime and the next.
But as far as her own relationship with them was concerned, she would consider it taut at best. Despite being their eldest daughter and firstborn, they had just not been able to accept her with the same love that she thought parents ought to give. It was a distant relationship between them, and they avoided getting close to her.
Perhaps if Charity had been a different kind of person, she would have used that as evidence to feel sorry for herself. But she did not believe in self-pity, and in any case, there was no discussion of it now. Her parents had been called back to God, and she would never complain about them, even in her own heart.
“I believe it,” Charity said to her sister, “And I must believe it.”
Matilda sniffed, looking at her again and sniffing softly. “If God took them, can’t God give them back?”
Augusta’s shoulders stiffened, and it appeared that she had been listening to the conversation without making it show. Charity swallowed the burn in her throat and stroked Matilda’s knuckles through her glove.
“We can pray,” Charity said softly. “We can ask for anything, my love.”
“And what if the answer isno?” Matilda demanded, making her youth apparent.
“God knows best,” Charity responded, and it was clear that she truly believed it. “And we keep praying regardless.”
“How can you speak like that today, when everything has been taken?” Augusta’s eyes flashed.
