Rose stood in the snow with old boots and the only fur coat she had draped over her shoulders, but it did nothing to warm the cold lodge deep in her heart. Flakes of snow floated in the air, pooling in the hole in the ground—the hole meant to hold her mother. Rose still couldn't believe it.
Someone was speaking, but she didn't hear a thing as she stood over the empty hole. Knowing this was where her mother was going to be placed, but it felt like a dream.
Everything did.
Ever since her outburst with her father, Rose had been awfully quiet. She went about her duties as usual, and sometimes she would start to scoop out food for her mother before she remembered. She would then sob silently, eating the food instead.
Her father tried to talk to her, but Rose didn't want to speak to anyone. Her father was great—he didn't pester her or say anything in relation to her mother. The only time he brought it up was to tell her he was going to get her mother buried.
Rose's first instinct was to resist, she wasn't going to let anyone take her mother, but the only rational part of her brain thankfully still had some control.
But how could she deal with the fact that her mother would never speak to her again? She could never see her, never care for her again, and never make new memories with her. Rose realized it didn't matter if she had known this day would come. It didn't make it even an inch easier.
It had been three days since her mother's death. Three days, and now they had all gathered here to bury her. Surprisingly, a decent number of people had shown up, and some did try to offer their condolences before the funeral started—but Rose could not remember them, nor could she remember what she had said in response.
Her father had taken care of the preparations all by himself. Rose didn't have a single inkling until it was time for the funeral. She knew he wanted to protect her as much as he could, and she was grateful to him.
Someone stepped forward to speak about her mother, and then another. She felt gazes on her, but Rose didn't even lift her head. She kept her gaze on the hole in the cemetery that was slowly filling up with snow.
Her fingers felt numb. She had left the house without gloves, but this time Rose embraced the cold, as it made her thoughts as numb as her fingers.
She heard raised voices, and the wooden box her father had made himself was lifted off the bier. Rose winced. She had avoided staring at it. She knew it held the wrapped body of her mother.
Oh, the heavens! Her heart screamed.
Rose felt her legs shake as tears gathered in her eyes. She fought the urge to run toward them, to stop them from throwing her mother into the dirt—to tell them her mother was only sleeping—but Rose knew that wasn't true.
Her mother was gently lowered into the hole, making a soft noise that echoed at the back of Rose's head. It was loud enough to silence any remaining thoughts. She shut her eyes tight but was forced to open them when her father returned to her side after lowering her mother.
He lightly touched her arm. "We 'ave to send 'er off, Rosie."
She knew what he meant—it was tradition for the family to throw the first dirt into the grave, but Rose didn't think she was ready to do that. It really was hard to say goodbye.
"Rosie," her father called again. He wasn't impatient; he was just urging her to find courage.
Rose took a deep breath. The only reason she wasn't crying was that she had no more tears to shed. They pooled in her eyes but didn't slip past her lids.
Rose slowly nodded and reached down to the dirt that had been piled onto the sides as the hole was dug out. Rose grabbed a handful—it was cold, but not as cold as she felt. She crushed it in her hand and stood to her full height.
Rose turned to look at her father, who had also grabbed a handful of dirt. They stared into each other's eyes for a moment and simultaneously turned to the grave, sprinkling the dirt they held. This was repeated two more times before Rose was forced to step back as the rest of the dirt was shoveled over her mother.
Rose didn't look away once. Her eyes sparkled under the freezing temperature as she watched with her arms wrapped around herself.
After the grave was covered, a simple wooden stand was placed at the top of the grave. Her mother's name had been engraved on it:
Iris Vallyn.
Rose knew this because her father had asked Madame Razel's help in spelling it out. He had been the one to engrave her name onto the wooden headstone.
Rose knew the wood wouldn't last, but it was all they could afford. She made a promise to herself to get a better headstone—one that would stand the test of time and termites.
She knew her mother was happy being buried here. She always said she wanted to be buried where she had been born.
Too bad roses don't bloom in winter. Roses were her mother's favorite flower. Rose quickly made another promise.
"Rose," a voice called.
Rose's eyes widened at the voice, recognizing it instantly. She closed her eyes briefly as she realized the grief of losing her mother was much greater than anything else.
"Ander," she slowly turned around and immediately saw he was not alone.
On his hand was his very pregnant wife — she was at least four months along, or very close. Rose hadn't seen or heard anything about them since the conversation with Madame Razel. Other than purposefully avoiding them, she had also been too preoccupied with taking care of her mother.