ISABELLA SAT BY her son’s bed. He looked as if he was asleep, his eyes closed, his mouth slightly open. Her boy – Gerald would always be her boy. He was handsome in his own way, strong and muscular, always happy to have a ball in his hand, football, rugby, tennis or cricket. A lock of hair fell across his brow; unconsciously, she pushed it off his face. Frederick had said the undertakers would arrive soon. Until then Gerald was hers.
He would take no wife, have no child, but stay as he was now on the brink of his life and manhood, his hard work, his years of study no more use to him. It was unfair, unjust and inhuman, what the Lord had done, taking her son. She sat listening to the clock on the landing tick as his hand seemed to grow colder and colder.
Frederick came in and stood beside her. He touched her shoulder.
‘Nicholls will be here in an hour,’ he sighed, drawing up a chair beside her.
‘Then we have an hour with him,’ she said as Frederick’s large hand clutched hers, his eyes red and raw.
The funeral took place on Thursday in their crowded local church. Reverend Harris’s sermon reflected on the shortness of life and the need to become closer to God. Friends, family, neighbours and some of Gerald’s old friends from High School and fellow law students from university attended the service. Afterwards he was taken to be buried in Mount Jerome Cemetery.
Standing beside his grave, Isabella was overcome with a strange sense of light-headedness and had to clutch on to Frederick’s arm for fear of fainting as the earth, the open grave and grass spun giddily about her. Sidney, white-faced and sobbing, was being comforted by Bridget, while Grace, Cecil and Muriel huddled miserably together. Her other sons were trying to stand tall and maintain their composure; only Liebert, away at sea, was missing. Kate’s and Nellie’s and Ada’s lips moved in prayer.
Afterwards they walked slowly back to the horse-drawn carriages with their black plumes as the gravediggers flung the dark-brown earth in on her boy in his wooden coffin.
Essie and Nora served their guests tea and cordial, offering a small sherry to those who sought one, as Isabella forced herself to stand in the drawing room receiving sympathy and expressions of sorrow for her troubles. Frederick was red-faced, standing near the fireplace, a malt whiskey in his glass.
‘He passed his law finals with honours and had just taken his place working with Claude and me in the family firm,’ he was explaining loudly. ‘His was a fine legal mind. Gerald was a great man for detail. His loss is … enormous to all of us.’
The two Lane boys, Ambrose and Eustace, came over to Isabella. They and Gerald had been great friends; both of them had regularly visited and stayed in the house. Tears welled in Ambrose’s eyes and she was tempted to pass him her embroidered handkerchief.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said over and over again. ‘Gerald will be so missed.’
Her eldest daughter, Kate, made Isabella sit down, bringing her sweetened tea.
It was raining outside, rivulets of water running down the windowpane, and she dared not think of her son in his resting place.
A few of the neighbours clustered around, fussing over her like a crowd of bees. She knew they meant well, but she was too fatigued, too drained to say much. Frederick was deep in conversation with John Yeats, who was doing his best to comfort him. He had lost his own wife the previous year. His son Jack had accompanied him and was discussing illustration work with Gabriel and Ada.
Eventually Isabella could tolerate it no more. She made her excuses and went upstairs to her bedroom, stepping out of the confines of her black satin dress. Nora had put a warming pan on her side of the bed and the heat and softness enveloped her. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest as she lay on the pillow. Grief … She had felt grief before, for her father, her uncle, friends; but nothing had prepared her for this – this pain that seemed to rip through her. The loss of a son – this was true loss.
Hours later, Frederick stood before her. He too was exhausted and, opening her arms, Isabella held her husband tightly as he gave in to grief, his body racked with heavy sobs for what was gone from them.