Chapter I
Life is so courteous to its various residents as to provide certain kinds of moments which remind the lofty of their humility and the lowly of their pride. These moments vary widely, perhaps, in their particulars, but share one great impetus: to let no human forget its humanity. To ignore them or to reject their meaning is to invite destruction into the greatest of souls.
Around me stood the solemn-faced and heart-broken, and no doubt an onlooker could have by no means discerned me from their number, for by grief on that day no face was granted disparity. Before us, broken petals and stems had fallen over the final edge, resting atop the cloak of my great uncle’s coffin. Not at all could any of us stifle our tears as the fine pastor spoke, his resonant words a sad beauty which did as much justice to a fallen hero as was ever possible. Certainly, I do not know how any could stand under the grief of such heavy loss without the goodhearted support of those kinds inclined to selfless piety, but if they can I ascribe it to a strength I could never have.
Closely following the final words of sorrow and our unwilling departure of my uncle’s place of rest, my family gathered to sundered locations. Even the depth of sorrow could not mend what the only bridge between us could also not, when that bridge had collapsed in so horrific a manner. To my cousin’s estate I went, with our fellow cousin and her parents, as well as his siblings and our other fine acquaintances. My brother and my grandparents had been invited, but along with other parties had seen fit to decline.
Seated together in the common room, we talked at leisure, unable yet to resume normal affairs. We were not a family strange to sadness, yet I am not ashamed to admit that, at least of those in the room that day, we had not grown accustomed to it.
“I don't intend,” said my elder cousin, the only son of my uncle, “to send you off elsewhere to stay, before the reading of the will. I insist, as I have room and means for everyone, that you stay here until then for your comfort, and to extend your stay past that as long as you wish.”
“Doubtless, Jesse,” I returned in protest, “you really can't expect us to impose upon you in that manner. I intend to lodge in the city, and simply will not allow myself to take advantage of you in any way you demand.”
With equal fervor the rest of the company agreed to my statements, unwilling to make such trouble for their good cousin, nephew or friend. But my cousin is a man of a silver tongue and a pleading countenance, one to which others by instinct gather and hearken, and though it took even him something near an hour to convince each of us, we did finally assent to remaining at his home. In all there was no less than nine of us, a number which would seem uncommonly large to entertain for six days, but my cousin’s estate could have held a number twice that size for a good deal longer with little infringement upon the guests’ comfort.
His wealth owed only in part to a generous inheritance, which his father had long before imparted to a son of most excellent arrangement. Jesse was a perpetually lucky man, a sort of Midas who was so cursed as to fall into the most lucrative engagements imaginable, and as often as not without the least designs to do so.
The eight others were catalogued as follows. Jesse’s two sisters, Viola and Jenny, were much younger than himself, by no less than a decade. They had lived with their father until very recently, and at his passing had been studying with their older brother. They were good girls, very enjoyable to speak with, though I confess I did not know them as well as I should have. Of a similar age to my cousin and I was Kim, our mutual cousin, and her parents, Lisa the stately sister of my uncle; and her husband, William, a refined gentleman with good standing, as far as I knew, in every aspect. Kim was a young lady of much education and talent, and much in the way of looks, though perhaps little else to recommend her. With her also had accompanied two other ladies of her acquaintance, Theresa and Caitlyn, whom I had met on a few occasions and before that day knew little of them besides their closeness with my lovely, affected cousin. Also, there was Jacob, Jesse’s longtime friend from early in his education, a humble and self-approving man I too had been on very good terms with. Inexorably, we were to all learn much more of each other in the days to follow, than I have laid out here in this meager introduction.
As for myself, there is little of interest to speak. In the neighboring city my own estate was centered, inherited after the first great tragedy I came to know, and as I had sought after employment as an assistant in a publishing house for respectable means, I had little want of substance or activity. I had tried my hand a little at the foolish endeavor of linguistic artistry, but having failed at any notable success I chose to keep such pastimes as pastimes and nothing more. So, free of over-demanding obligations, taking a holiday for the recent event could be no hardship on my person.
We all sat at my cousin’s table that evening to his generous supply of palatables which far exceeded the necessities of a good host. We ate periodically in total, absorbed and affected silence, or perhaps made allusions to my esteemed uncle, none of us yet ready, if ever we could be, to put away thoughts of so great a man. Of course, Jesse and his sisters had been unequivocally lucky in having such a noble father, and had always been quick to admit as such. But perhaps none of their admiration was quite so obliged as mine; for while paternal excellence is always praiseworthy, of even greater esteem is the man whose benevolence extends so compassionately to those he had no other compulsion to assist.
“His laugh, I think, is what I shall miss the most,” thought Viola quietly, though in silence a soft word has sometimes greater effect than a harsher one. “No man I have ever known could laugh so well, especially when the sound was desperately needed but so hard to make.”
“But,” replied Kim, her glass of wine in hand, “certainly it was his generosity which so marked your father. His own wealth could only make him happy if it relieved the concerns of others as well.”
With a smile Jacob said, “Though I am sure you cannot discount his charm. Just a few words could command respect and reverence from any man when he spoke them, or affection and repining from the most steadfast woman’s heart one could ever hope to find.”
“No one will move to object my father’s being charming,” replied Jesse, “but certainly it is itself a lesser capability than many others, and in higher offices of character he was just as well equipped, to be sure.”
Jacob nodded once.
“I would say that my brother was, if nothing, a man who struck respectability to its core,” said Kim’s mother, her lips quivering slightly. “He kept always in his behavior the countenance of a gentleman, a fine thing to be remembered for.”
In this way they went, through the courses of meals and after, and to it I listened, little commenting on their observations of my uncle unless directly asked to do so. My thoughts were turned mostly to his insights and guiding hand which had supported me so unshakingly through my hardships. I think many of them could not help but miss what made my uncle so great a man, but having no better words for it myself, I said nothing.
We talked and played a few idle games of cards, until one by one each of us decided to succumb to the warmth of our beds. I was the last to leave my cousin for this purpose, though I suspect even after my late surrender he yet tarried awake. I confess that emotions could not keep me awake any longer, but instead compelled me to a very deep sleep that night.
