Devastation
714 Words
"These brave men did not die in vain, for although their blood lies on the slopes of Glenmalure, their spirit lives on in each and every one of us, inspiring us on as we continue to fight for all just causes for the sake of Her Majesty the Queen, for the sake of our beloved England, for the sake of our Lord."
The vicar's words failed to ease the pain in Grace's heart as she stood in the midst of all the other women who were dressed in mourning as she herself also was. She simply couldn't make herself believe that she would never see her Henry's smiling face again, would never again hear him tell her that he loved her, would never again feel the soft warmth of his touch, would never again make love to him. She had never before imagined that this much sorrow was even possible. How could she have ever thought that she didn't really love him? Why, of course she had! Why else would she feel this hollowness inside, this dread of another morning, this conviction that she could never be happy again?
As the eulogy continued, Grace thought of her two young sons who now must grow up without their father, and her heart went out to them. Her own father had simply always been there, and she couldn't imagine having grown up without him.
"His sacrifice shall never be forgotten." The fourteenth Baron Grey de Wilton, Arthur Grey, bowed to Grace and kissed her hand, then turned his attention to the woman behind her.
For Jane, standing with Guilford and Bessie, her daughter's plight seemed almost unbearable. That Grace should be left to raise two young children alone at twenty-five was indeed a harsh reality.
"If only I could somehow take all her suffering upon myself, I would do so without hesitation," she told Guilford.
"As would I," he said softly.
Bessie quietly walked up to Grace and hugged her. Grace held the young girl tightly to herself, more comforted by that gesture than she would have been by any words.
Guilford and Jane looked on, touched by the show of emotion between their oldest and youngest daughters.
Later that night little Guilford climbed up into his mother's lap.
"Mama, when is my papa coming back home?"
The innocence in the child's question cut Grace to the core.
"Your papa isn't ever coming home again, sweetheart. He's up in heaven with God now, watching over us."
"But I don't want Papa to be in heaven! I want him to be here with me!" Guilford began to cry.
"I know that, sweetheart." Grace cuddled her son and patted him soothingly. "We must be good so that when we die we can go to heaven to be with him."
"But I want to see Papa now!"
"We can't do that, sweetheart, but we must always remember that he's watching over us and taking care of us and that we will see him again some day."
"No!" Guilford, in the full throes of a tantrum now, flung himself to the floor and kicked with all his might. When he had exhausted himself, Grace picked him up and rocked him until he fell asleep. Then she went to her own bedroom and climbed up into the cold, empty bed, where she cried until she fell into an exhausted sleep.
The next day Grace put on a simple but elegant frilly white dress that was trimmed in lace and decorated with embroidered flowers. She made up her face carefully in an attempt to conceal her swollen eyelids and puffy cheeks, wove flowers into her hair, and gathered more flowers to take with her as a bouquet. She left her sons with their grandparents, telling no one where she was going.
In a quiet little Huguenot neighborhood in the East End of London, the residents glanced up briefly at the approach of an unfamiliar carriage. The fact that its driver was obviously a woman of high social status was not lost to them, however, they were too preoccupied with their own worries and concerns to notice it much. In a small house, its lone occupant came to the door as he heard the horses' hooves getting closer.
"Grace. Mon Dieu," Gaston whispered.
- Writer
