The Battered Heiress Blues - By Laurie Van Dermark Page 0,12
or chairs. I didn’t want others to feel invited to attend this goodbye.
Henry placed Connor on his grave and then walked toward me, grabbing my hand. The throbbing in my chest made me feel as if my heart would explode through my skin. With my legs beginning to fail me, I could barely hear Tommy. The tight hold I had on Henry’s hand was slipping.
“Get her a chair, now,” Henry barked at the workers. Within a minute, one materialized under me and he was pushing me gently down. A beautiful red cardinal caught my attention as it rested on one of the tree limbs that hung over Connor’s sacred space. Seeing such beauty distracted my sorrows for a brief moment. My hearing slowly returned for the final Amen.
Tommy walked over and held out his hand to urge me up on my feet. Handing me a rose, he took the lead in placing one on Connor’s coffin. I held the white rose, unable to release it, but Henry covertly opened my fingers and I watched it slowly fall to the wood below.
“Let’s go, Julia,” Tommy insisted, pulling me away as I protested.
“I want to stay for this.” I turned back toward Connor.
“No. You can come back later. Let’s go greet your guests and get a bite to eat.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Come now, Jewels,” Henry instructed, holding my hand and pulling me to him.
They were trying to protect me from what was coming next. They would lower my sweet baby’s body into the dark depths of the dirt and no one he loved would be keeping watch. I would give in for now, while I was under their scrutiny. The funeral director offered a simple condolence before we walked in silence back to face the guests I hadn’t invited.
The house was overflowing with people I didn’t know. It felt like a bad socialite party- terrible company, insincere sentiments, and lots of empty promises. As we approached the front steps, Henry squeezed my hand and then vanished into the crowd. I felt many hands touch me as I passed and words were exchanged that I paid little attention to. I simply didn’t care. All I could do was shake my head as a thank you for what I assumed were kind words. Hopefully, people knew better than to engage me with questions that required a true response.
I finally made my way to the guest bathroom and locked the door behind me. The mirror portrayed a grotesque picture. My face looked unrecognizable. The person looking back at me was so full of misery and sadness. I had never allowed myself such moments of heartache in the past. I was a pick herself up by the bootstraps kind of girl- a mentality drilled into my head by my father. My nose and cheeks were a blistering red and my eyes were swollen from crying. Turning away from that stranger in the glass, I slid down the door until finding a resting place on the floor. I began the comforting practice of counting ceramic tiles. For some reason, counting eased my anxiety. I had a good five minutes alone before people started knocking to either use the toilet or perhaps look for me- probably the toilet. Truly, no one wanted to be here.
Reaching up, I grabbed the marble vanity and pulled myself vertical. That same strange woman was eyeing me again. Turning on the faucet, I splashed my face with cold water and then pulled out the hair pin, allowing my long dark curls to provide some shelter from the staring eyes beyond this safe room. I could do this. For a few more hours, I could keep it together.
Making my way to the drawing room, I found solace in a single chair that was set off to the side. From that vantage point, I could see the show. Henry was smack dab in the middle of the festivities, shaking hands and dispensing opinions under the watchful eye of my father. He barely glanced at me during the long drawn out afternoon. We hadn’t touched at all since our return to the house and I longed for one gentle, reassuring caress to remind me that the future held some small amount of happiness. Around him, I always breathed in a sense of hope, but it appeared that this day would not allow such luxuries. He would never so blatantly cross my father. In the fight for Henry’s affections, I was always the loser. Business always seemed to