As the ground thawed, and Spring arrived, Arthur returned to his normal amount of work on the farm. He found it more difficult than before he fell ill, but it made sense. When John died, everyone seemed to forget that he and Laura were still under the weather, and expected them to carry on like before. This wasn’t as much of a problem for Laura; she was nearly better by this point. Arthur, on the other hand, still had a way to go before a full recovery. Sometimes, it felt like he was still sick, but someone had to weed the yard, so he carried on.
Matilda had expected her parents to mourn, but she had no idea that she’d be the one who’d end up looking after Dorothy. This wasn’t to say that she didn’t like Dorothy, but Matilda didn’t want to become a second mother to the child. While she didn’t have to go to school until her period of mourning was over, she had barely any time to mourn, regardless. Much less did she have time to learn, so she wouldn’t fall behind in her class. Every day she spent away from school, she became more frantic, sometimes lashing out at her family.
Although they didn’t want her to go back to school, David and Laura felt they had no choice but to send her back. Matilda wasn’t happy with this development; she wanted to be able to go back on her own terms, but she ended up being denied even that. It turned out that she hadn’t missed that much in the classroom, which meant that everyone assumed it was fine to ask about John to her, and in gross detail.
“What happened when he died? Mama told me that you’d see his spirit either go to heaven or hell!”
“Well, he stopped breathing.”
However, the vague answers she gave, to avoid thinking about John for too long, never shooed anyone away. She might’ve been more welcoming if they said nice things to her, but any condolences were forced, and clearly on the child’s parents’ behalf.
Charlie, although on the other side of the country, found it easiest to slip back into a routine after returning to the school. His schoolwork wouldn’t wait for him, after all, and he couldn’t fall behind. He would try to talk to Fred about his feelings surrounding his brother, most of the time, in vain. He tried to explain what he was going through, but there were never quite the right words, even when they seemed perfect in his head.
“I don’t understand, Fred. I’m a bloody writer, and I can’t express myself with my damn words!”
“Well, it doesn’t matter. You’re clearly distraught, and that’s enough. I’ve heard plenty about how hard it is when someone dies–”
“I want you to know how I feel. It’s not just the sadness everyone talks about, it’s a lot of things. Too much for one conversation. It’s made me think about things I wish I’d never thought of, and feel things I hate. I hate these feelings so much, but I can’t feel anything else!”
“Well, tell me one thought, and one feeling, and we’ll call it a day.”
“Alright, then. He did everything right. There was no reason for him to die, and he still did. You have no control over when you die, and you could die tomorrow in a freak accident, and what have you even done? How people will remember you isn’t how you want to be remembered, and you just need a bit of time to get it sorted out, then it’s perfect. But that time’s never guaranteed, and that legacy too. I don’t want to die like this, Fred.”
Fred couldn’t help but stare at Charlie, agape. He wanted to say something, to help, but he was at a loss. The two sat there for what felt like hours, in silence. Eventually, he said, “I suppose you just have to start doing things, and hope you can finish them.”
It wasn’t long before Charlie thrust himself into his work. Not his schoolwork, but a story. Just a short one, to publish in the Fowler’s Magazine. It was new, it was bold, and the people would love it. It doubled as a way for him to finally express what he’d been feeling all this time. No more childish fairy-tales, it was the story of a man coping with the loss of his brother, and how the world couldn’t help but move on, dragging him behind. It was a story he shared with only Fred, who demanded every new page as it was written, and gave only the most glowing feedback. This was it, he was finally going to be a published author.