Page 52 of Sunset at Embthwaite Farm
The funeral wasin one of Mathering’s two parish churches, weak sunlight filtering through its windows of stained glass. Anna had been in the church for school harvest assemblies and candlelit Christmas Eve services, the occasional Easter. She’d never been there for a funeral.
There were a few dozen people present—the Mackeys and a few other farming families, Quinn, and some stalwarts from the town. Standing in the narthex of the church, Anna adjusted the black wool dress she’d bought online for the occasion as she gave Rachel and Harriet encouraging smiles. In the old, Anglican way, they would process into the church behind the vicar as he recited the familiar Bible verses of life and death. It felt like a rather archaic way to do things, but there was a comfort in the ritual, Anna thought, a certain peace. Death—and grief—were serious matters, and the service weighted them appropriately.
The last few days had been a flurry of funeral arrangements; Anna had gone back to her house only twice, and she’d knocked on Jane’s door once to see how she was, but there had been no answer. There had been no answer to her voicemail from James, either a fact that was making her increasingly uneasy and even despondent. In three days, he hadn’t so much as texted her, which felt very odd as well as alarming.
Was he actuallyghostingher? He never had left a message this long before, and yet what experience really did she have to look back on? They’d spent so little time together. Yes, it had all become rather serious quite fast, but his blanking her now felt like a painful reminder that she didn’t actually know him all that well, even if she felt as if she did. Why wouldn’t he have at least texted her, especially knowing that the funeral was today?
There was, Anna feared, only one answer to that question—that he was no longer interested in her. Yet it seemed hard to believe, considering what she’d known of him. And their kiss…! Had he somehow started having second thoughts? Maybe he had decided she was simply too much hard work, and he wasn’t messaging because he felt guilty for not being up for it, for her.
Whatever possibilities she came up with felt far too dispiriting. There was no explanation, she knew, that felt good enough, or even remotely reasonable. She hadn’t seen him in nearly a week, and he hadn’t responded to her text from three days ago. What else could be going on?
But she couldn’t think about James now, Anna told herself, because Rachel and Harriet needed her. Although they’d both become stoical about the loss of their inheritance, the reality of the funeral—the sight of Peter’s coffin, hefted by Ben, Quinn, and four pallbearers from the funeral home, at the church’s lychgate had clearly shaken them. Rachel looked pale and grim-faced, and Harriet was fighting tears.
As the men brought the coffin inside the church, followed by the vicar, who gave them a kindly smile, they processed in behind.
“‘I am the resurrection and the life,’ sayeth the Lord,” the vicar intoned. “‘Those who believe in me, even though they die, will live, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die.’”
Harriet threw Anna an uncertain glance and she smiled back in reassurance before reaching for both her daughters’ hands and holding them tightly.
“We brought nothing into this world,” the vicar continued, “and we take nothing out. The Lord gaveth, and the Lord hath taken away. Blessed be the name of the Lord.”
Slowly, following the vicar, they walked down the church’s aisle as fifty or so local residents, almost all whom Anna knew, watched them sombrely. She met the eyes of a few and saw only sympathy and kindness, and her own eyes stung. For better or worse, this was her community, she realised. Her home.
“The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases, his mercies never come to an end. They are new every morning; great is his faithfulness.”
Anna led Rachel and Harriet into the front row as the pallbearers rested Peter’s coffin on the bier and the vicar turned to face the congregation. “Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted. Thank you for coming today to celebrate the life of Peter Mowbray…”
Anna found herself tuning out the rest of his words, not because she didn’t want to listen, but because she suddenly felt overwhelmed by it all. She wanted to be strong for her daughters, but in that moment, it slammed into her that Peter, her husband of twenty years, was dead.Dead.And although she’d made peace with it, with him, in that moment it felt like a terrible, gasping wrench. There was more she should have said, she thought. More she should have asked or explained. There would always be more, she realised. Death would always be a broken chain, an unanswered question. There could be no escaping the utter wrongness of it in that moment.
She sniffed, tellingly, and to her surprise, Rachel and Harriet, on either side of her, reached for her hands, just as she’d reached for theirs earlier. They remained that way through the whole service—holding each other’s hands, holding each other up.
Ben had agreed to give the eulogy, and Anna listened, smiling faintly, as he spoke of Peter’s love of the farm, the livestock, his dry sense of humour, his deep appreciation of a good cup of tea. He managed to find every good quality Peter had possessed and offer it up to the people who knew him well, and glancing at Rachel and Harriet, Anna knew they’d needed to be reminded of their father’s better qualities. They’d loved him, after all.
As Ben reached the end of his eulogy, a slight commotion from the back of the church had the three of them—and quite a few other people—turning. A young woman, tall and slender with long, fiery-red hair, was sliding into the back row, a look of something like defiance on her face. There was, Anna knew, only one person it could be.
Ben clocked her, paused, and then continued speaking.
“We all know Peter Mowbray was a dedicated farmer,” he stated carefully. “He loved this land like no other. But we also know he wasn’t the easiest man to live with, and sometimes lacking when it came to his roles as husband and father. That doesn’t take away from who he was as a person, and how much we all loved him. But it’s something that he wouldn’t deny himself, as he was a man who liked to say and hear it straight.” He gazed steadily at the entire congregation before he cast his gaze heavenward. “So, Peter, God love you, I hope you’re having a nice brew up there, in God’s own country.”
This caused a light ripple of laughter tinged with relief to move through the crowd; Yorkshire was known as God’s own country, and the joke was appreciated. Nothing like a little levity in a moment like this, Anna thought, and glanced back towards the young woman in the back row, but she’d already gone.
*
In the commotionafter the funeral, while the pallbearers loaded the coffin into the hearse, Anna didn’t see Daisy. She must have slipped out before the end of the service.
“It had to have been her,” Rachel remarked as they travelled to the cemetery for the private burial. Afterwards there would be refreshments in the church hall, organised by the indomitable Diana.
“She looked like an Amazon,” Harriet murmured. “Like a real force of nature.”
“I guess we’ll get to know her soon enough,” Rachel replied with a shrug. Anna knew they were both apprehensive about meeting Daisy, as well as handing over the house. She was, too.
They buried Peter in a small corner plot of the cemetery, next to his parents and sister, all who had died before Anna had ever met him. They’d never been more than sepia-tinted faces in old photographs, but now, as she watched Peter’s coffin being lowered into the ground, she was conscious of the history of his family in the place, and she understood a little more why he’d wanted Embthwaite Farm to continue, under Daisy. She’d shared the contents of his letter with Harriet and Rachel, who had been, in turns, tearful and furious, but also understanding.
“Truth be told, we would have sold it,” Rachel had concluded practically. “And that would have been sad, although it’s true we could have used the money. But maybe it is better this way…even though I don’t particularly like it.”
Back at the village hall, Anna was feeling exhausted and not particularly like she wanted to exchange pleasantries with half of Mathering, but she knew her duty, and she wasn’t about to let Rachel and Harriet handle the crowd alone. In any case, everyone was kind and accepting; there were a few laughingly pointed remarks about how difficult Peter could be that, improbably, made Anna smile.
“To be honest,” Judy, the wife of Peter’s barber, whispered to her, “I’m surprised you didn’t leave earlier. Alotearlier. That man!”
