1880 – St. Louis, Missouri
She felt herself running yet stood motionless in the church pews. She felt her past shatter beneath her feet, yet the room remained silent. To go forward seemed impossible, to stay still was unbearable, leaving behind the only option - to bow her head in prayer.
Two days ago, life was nothing but a comfort. She’d lived in a candy-coated world, a dream-world, a world of light. As the heir to her father’s rail fortune, she’d grown up with everything she could want; brocaded gowns edged with lace, glittering diamonds from India, ostrich feathered hats, and an army of servants at her disposal.
But above all those treasures, she had her parents. Her mother had died when she was small, but the love of her father had carried through to adulthood and helped her grow into the God-honoring woman she was today. To her father’s love she credited her charity, her compassion, and above all her faith.
Her mind went flying back to Sunday, the last day she had seen her father alive. Light crept its way into the room, silent, ready to pounce at the slightest disturbance. The edges of her grey and white dress rested in neat rumples around her feet, kissing the wooden floorboards underfoot.
“Miss Josephine?” her handmaid, Frances, asked. “Is your hair to your liking?" Josephine looked up, running a hand over the pins holding her hair in place.
She smiled, lowering her head in a nod. It was a Sunday, the only day of the week she and her father spent time in each other’s company. So, when she made her way downstairs and looked to find her father missing from the table, she turned to Frances, a short woman with kind eyes.
“Please fetch Mr. Carlyle from his bedroom, Frances. Tell him I’m waiting for him at breakfast." Frances nodded, dismissing herself from the room.
Plates of food and arrangements of flowers filled the table until the tablecloth was no longer visible. The household’s cook was known for her impeccable skill and eye for detail, causing Josephine to grow impatient when Frances returned without her father. Seeing the frustration in her lady’s eyes, Frances took a step forward before hesitating.
“Maybe my Lord is in the study? Shall I go fetch-”
“No need Frances” Josephine started “I will fetch him myself." She stood up, holding her gloves in one hand as she walked out of the dining room.
Josephine couldn’t help but feel guilty as she stepped onto the new carpet in the hallway, wondering how much her father had spent on it when it only seemed to pull her closer and closer to the ground.
After all the years growing up in privilege, she tortured herself with feelings that she did not deserve what God had blessed her with. She hadn’t done anything remarkable with her life thus far. Many people grew up with far less than she had, yet they seemed as though they deserved it more than most. These were the thoughts swimming though her mind as she made her way down the passage towards her father’s study door.
“Father?” she called, rapping her fist gently against the door. When there was no reply, she placed a hesitant hand on the doorknob, allowing herself into the room.
Meeting the eye of her mother’s portrait hanging above the desk, she smiled, expecting to be greeted by the face of her father sitting directly underneath it. Except the room appeared to be empty - the only inhabitant being her father’s Great Dane brooding in the corner. The room was large, overlooking the grounds outside which were accentuated by the bay windows on the eastern wall.
“Fa-” her voice faltered. She wasn’t sure, so she took another step around the big mahogany desk.
“Frances!” she screamed. “Frances!” Steadying herself against the wall, she forced her eyes from the vision of her father, who lay face down on the Victorian carpet. He looked quite comedic had it not been for the reality at hand. Her heart rate was racing. She saw memories of birthdays; Christmases passing by her as if they had just occurred Hands shaking, she turned towards the door. Frances ran into the room, freezing when Josephine faced her with a tear-stained face.
“Miss Josephine” she breathed.
“He’s dead” she choked, forcing herself to take a deep breath before collapsing in tears.
“Josephine,” a voice called. A hand snapped its fingers in front of her. She turned her eyes toward the face of its owner but found no solace in its too-bright smile.
“Josephine!” her fiancé repeated, taking her hand in his. “You have to say goodbye to the mourners." She looked up to see the people streaming out of the church, but she couldn't bring herself to care. She closed her eyes, searching for peace that she didn’t know if she’d ever find again.