She Returns From War Read Free Page B

parents in Heaven. The good Lord must have meant for them all to perish in the crash tonight, but somehow she had avoided that fate. It wasn't too late, though. All she had to do was drop into the river and let it carry her away. She felt halfdead from cold and damp already; the end wouldn't be long.
    "Victoria," Edward's voice cut through her confusion, "take my hand. We'll see about sending someone for your parents when we get back to Oxford. Let's get you home, dear."
    After a moment's hesitation, she wrapped her shaking fingers around his outstretched hand.
    The lacy black veil offered little protection from the pastor's kind glances, nor could it block out the murmurings of the other mourners. Victoria could hear them whispering the same words her neighbors, friends, and own mind had been hammering into her for the past five days. If it had been proper, she would have stuffed black handkerchiefs into her ears to drown out their endless condolences and apologies. Most of them were strangers, acquaintances of her parents who came to pay their respects. Victoria suspected that some of the tears falling were not quite sincere, those shedding them secretly wishing to be elsewhere. She stole a glance over her shoulder. Near the rear of the chapel, she spied a cluster of men in expensive suits. Business associates of her father's, no doubt. Henry Dawes had had the sense to invest in electric power when it first came to England, and his business had quickly expanded into a small empire. Men such as these envied him his success even as they worked with him. Had they the choice, they would surely be toasting her father's death in their offices and studies. Still, etiquette demanded their presence in the cemetery chapel, bidding farewell to a man they had thought was beneath them.
    Victoria herself felt only a great emptiness. At times, the void seemed cold and lifeless, a great dead thing lodged inside her ribs. She looked at the wooden boxes lying side by side on the bier and felt nothing. No wails tore themselves from her lungs; tears lingered in her eyes but did not fall. Had they seen her behavior, her parents surely would have found it improper. It wasn't the way a young woman grieved for her parents. They wouldn't expect her to carry on like a drunken wench in the gutter, but she ought to have the decency to weep. She could almost hear her mother's voice scolding her while her father looked on in his solemn way. Her blue eyes grew defiant behind her veil as she mouthed her rebuttal and watched their faces crease with frustration.
    All at once, the hard lump in her chest became brittle as glass. Her breath caught in her throat, and she held it for a moment, afraid to breathe too loudly lest she shatter. A single tear trickled downward, tracing a line through the powder on her cheek. Clutching at the handkerchief in her hand, she squeezed her eyes shut and willed away the gathering storm. Even if it was proper, she wouldn't start blubbing like some infant. She was now Ms. Victoria Dawes of Oxford, heiress to her father's estate and mistress of her house. The young girl who had let her parents die because she could not save them had died in the river. A new woman had emerged from the wreck of the buggy.
    "Now, let us commit the bodies of Henry and Abigail to their final resting places."
    The pastor's words brought her back to her present surroundings as mourners began leaving the chapel. They would proceed to the Dawes family crypt, where the bodies of her parents would be laid to rest. Wood creaked softly as the pallbearers lifted their burdens for one last journey. Keeping her eyes lowered, Victoria followed her aunts outside.
    The April air was chilly beneath grey clouds as the procession wound its way toward the crypt. Weathered headstones stood at attention to either side of them, their mossy crowns lifted in silent salute to the ones joining their ranks. Stone angels wept into crumbling hands, still grieving for men and