Origins by L. J. Smith Page A

be—
could
never be—my wife.
    “Your first death, the first one you witness, changes you,” Damon said finally, as the coach pulled up to the white clapboard church. The church bells were ringing, and every business in town was closed for the day. “But perhaps it can change you for the better.”
    “Maybe,” I said as I descended from the coach. But I didn’t see how.
    We reached the door as Dr. Janes hobbled into thechurch, his cane in one hand and a flask of whiskey in another. Pearl and Anna were sitting together, and Jonathan Gilbert sat behind them, his elbows perched on the edge of Pearl’s pew, just inches from her shoulder.
    Sheriff Forbes was in his usual place in the second pew, glaring at the cluster of rouged women from the tavern who had come to pay their respects. At the edge of their circle was Alice, the barmaid, cooling herself with a silk fan.
    Calvin Bailey, the organist, was playing an adaptation of Mozart’s
Requiem,
but he seemed to hit a sour note every few chords. In the front pew, Mr. Cartwright stared straight ahead, while Mrs. Cartwright sobbed and occasionally blew her nose into a lace handkerchief. At the front of the church, a closed oak casket was covered with flowers. Wordlessly, I walked to the casket and knelt down in front of it.
    “I’m so sorry,” I whispered, touching the casket, which felt cold and hard. Unbidden, images of my betrothed popped up in my mind: Rosalyn giggling over her new puppy, giddily discussing flower combinations for our wedding, risking the wrath of her maid by planting a covert kiss on my cheek at the end of one visit. I moved my hands off the casket and put them together, as if in prayer. “I hope that you and Penny have found each other in Heaven.” I leaned down, letting my lips graze the casket. I wanted her to know, wherever she was, that I would have learned to love her. “Good-bye.”
    I turned to take my seat and stopped short. Right behind me was Katherine. She was wearing a dark-blue cotton dress that stood out in the sea of black crepe that filled the pews.
    “I’m so sorry for your loss,” Katherine said, touching my arm. I flinched and drew my arm back. How dare she touch me so familiarly in public? Didn’t she
realize
that if we hadn’t been carrying on at the barbecue in the first place, the tragedy might never have happened?
    Concern registered in her dark eyes. “I know how hard this must be for you,” she said. “Please let me know if you need anything.”
    I immediately felt a wave of guilt for assuming she was doing anything other than showing sympathy. After all, her parents had died. She was just a young girl, reaching out to offer her support. She looked so sad that for one wild second, I was tempted to cross the aisle and comfort her.
    “Thank you,” I said instead, sucking in my stale breath and walking back to the pew. I slid next to Damon, who had his hands crossed piously over a Bible. I noticed his eyes flick up as Katherine briefly knelt down by the coffin. I followed his gaze, noticing the way several curls had escaped from beneath her hat and were curling around the ornate clasp on her blue necklace.
    A few minutes later, the
Requiem
ended, and Pastor Collins strode up to the pulpit. “We’re here to celebrate alife cut far too short. There is evil among us, and we will mourn this death, but we will also draw strength from this death …,” he intoned.
    I covertly glanced across the aisle at Katherine. Her servant, Emily, was sitting next to her on one side and Pearl on the other. Katherine’s hands were folded as if in prayer. She turned slightly, as if to look at me. I forced myself to look away before our eyes could meet. I would not dishonor Rosalyn by thinking of Katherine.
    I gazed up at the unfinished, steepled beams of the church.
I’m sorry,
I thought, sending the message upward and hoping that Rosalyn, wherever she was, heard it.

11
    T he mist rose up around my feet as I walked toward the