Who is Rose Grey?
I suppose you'll just have to find out along with her.
My eyes wandered past the cemetery in which I stood, over the emerald landscape, the sweeping shoulders of the heaving hillsides. The sky was painted hazy grey, as if cloaked in its own mourning; washed out, unfeeling. The winter wind snapped at my nose, tugged at my gowns, forcing me to hug my cloak closer to me.
It was a cold world, as if all light and love had been drained out of it. There was the greatest feeling of lonliness and isolation pressing on my heart.
"Miss. Grey, are you ready?"
I swallowed past the hard lump formed in my throat, turning to glance at Mrs. Horwell from beneath my lashes. "Yes," I answered very simply, taking another last look that day to the grandious headstone I was positioned before, reading the inscription chiseled there. Beneath it, his body was returning to the soil, slowly melting back into the embrace of the earth. Yet I knew this grave meant nothing, his spirit was likely in the land, in the wind, all around, everywhere. He could be sitting atop a sail on a magnificent ship, the saltine ocean breeze in his face and the world at his disposal. I could imagine him adventuring through the stars, no longer in need of the great telescope glass in his office. One moment, observing maginificent crystal caves deep within the belly of the world, another listening to the calls of exotic birds in exotic places. It would be just like my father to do such things, now independent from the restraints of bodily confinement, the holding of his crippled limbs that had never seemed to break his spirit and love of adventure.
Mrs. Horwell put her hand to my back, offering her gentle maternal support. "He was a good man, Rose. You will always know he loved you above anything and always will."
I looked to her face, so full of care and deep understanding. I did not know much of the widow's story, but I at least knew it was a sad one, filled with such loss and personal detriment. When I had no mother to support me, Mrs. Horwell was at my side with her strength and compassion. I nodded as she took my hand in hers, "I know."
There was a moment of silence between us, the company of one another suppressing slightly the sorrow and gloom in side us and all around us for just a moment. "Come," smiled Mrs. Horwell. "Your hands are chilled; I don't want you catching cold. I'll have some tea prepared--it shall warm you right up."
"Alright," I smiled in reply, allowing her to guide me back toward the direction of our home.
What would happen to what had been my home for so long now that Father was gone?
What would happen to me?