“This was not your fault, Clara,” Mother insisted. “Your father has been sick for quite some time. This would have happened even if he had not attended the ball.” She used her ‘countess voice’. It seemed an odd tone after the melancholy of the night, but it settled Clara. There was no argument. She was not to blame.
With that out of the way, Clara and Papa said their goodbyes. They expressed their love for one another, as well as a few happy memories from the years past.
“Take care of your mother for me.”
“I will,” Clara promised.
“And John and …” Papa didn’t finish the thought, but she knew what he would say. “I just want you to be happy, ClaraBear.” He squeezed her hand. “Marrying your mother made me the happiest man in the world. There is nothing better than living life with your best friend.” The earl tipped his head up, and his wife gave him a tender kiss. “Promise me, you will choose who will make you happy?” He was slipping quickly now, his words slurring together as he sunk deeper into the bed.
“I will, Papa.” She kissed his head. “I promise.”
And then Papa turned his attention back to his wife. “I love you, Violet,” he whispered as he closed his eyes for the last time.
“I love you, too,” she whispered back, curling up beside him. They lay there peacefully for several minutes, and Clara watched as her father’s body lost its color. It was an image she knew would replay in her mind for years to come. The love, the sadness, all swooped together to make the moment bittersweet. But there was a different feeling, too. A feeling of peace that washed over her as if heaven stood in the very room.
But the moment ended as Walters exited. “The earl is dead!” the butler’s voice rang throughout the house. “Prepare the household for mourning. Send for Lord Rollins! Lord Merritt is dead!”
Lady Merritt slowly sat back up and began adjusting Papa’s pillow and blanket. Suddenly everyone was in motion—all the servants, the horses, the doctor, the countess. Not a soul was still.
Except Clara.
She stood at the foot of her father’s large poster bed with tears streaming down her pale face. Her mother, positioned near its head, reached for Papa’s hand. “Rest easy now, Matt,” she whispered, kissing his lifeless brow. “John will be here soon.” Lady Merritt’s tears had dried, and her voice was calm and steady as she placed her soft hand on the earl’s cheek. She gave him one last loving glance before lifting the sheet and gently covering his face.
“The earl is dead!” Walters continued to shout, but the butler’s words felt cold in Clara’s ears.
He is not just an earl,her heart cried,he is my papa.Her tears continued to fall.My papa is dead.She did not want to believe it.Not my papa.
“Clara?” Her mother’s voice was full of concern. “Honey, you should go to bed.” Violet Merritt placed the same dainty hand on her daughter’s cheek. Clara flinched. It was as cold as ice. “Let’s go to sleep,” Mother pleaded. “We will figure out what needs to be done in the morning.” Clara didn’t hear her words.
My papa is dead.
My papa is dead.
My papa is dead.
The peaceful feelings from moments before had vanished, and reality came crashing down hard. Clara would not see her father again. Why had she wasted so much time doing things of no importance when she could have had more time with him? There were questions she had never asked, secrets she had never shared. Moments she had taken for granted.
Papa was gone, and John was the head of the household, though he did not know it. He would be the one to approve Clara’s suitors. He would be the one to walk her down the aisle at her wedding. And in this time of grief and misery, her brother was supposed to be the one handling everything, but he wasn’t there. For a split moment, Clara resented him for his absence, but then, with an immense sense of sorrow she realized John did not get to say goodbye.The thought made her cry harder.
This time, the family had truly been broken, torn in a way that could never be mended. As if the very heart of the Merritt pedigree had been ripped from its whole. Clara’s heart had broken right along with it.
On a Ship Headed for England
The first week on the ship was dark and gloomy. It rained on and off, and the grey clouds and thick fog brought with it a melancholy feeling. It wasn’t just Luke who felt the shift. “The world feels sad today,” John commented as they stood on the wooden deck. “Like the sky is in mourning.”
“It does feel sorrowful,” Luke agreed, “like an omen.”Perhaps Clara married that duke today,he speculated,and Mother Nature felt the need to share in my grief.
They stared out over the murky water, watching as a light drizzle began to fall. “Everything is going to be different when we get home,” John remarked.
“Not for you,” Luke countered, “I imagine your life will remain much the same.”
“Perhaps,” John acknowledged, “but it is quite possible a certain member of my family will no longer be there.” Luke was not the only one thinking of Clara.
“Do you think she did it?” he whispered. “Do you think she married him?” His mind both pleaded for the answer and longed to be left in ignorance.
John sighed, refusing to meet his friend’s eye. “I have no reason to believe she didn’t,” he answered softly. The sky broke just then, flooding the world in rain. Luke and John pulled their jackets over the tops of their heads and rushed to get below deck. The air was dark, muggy, and quite smelly, with John’s horse on board. The two men huddled in a damp corner. The other sailors all smashed in with them. “For the record,” John whispered into the dark, “I wish she had picked you.”
It did not make a difference at this point, but it was still nice to hear. “Thank you, mate,” Luke whispered back. “I would have loved to call you brother.”
