Garnet or Garnets Curse

your spiritual nourishment as we pray in thanksgiving that our dear loved one has now entered the kingdom of heaven.”
    The coffin was closed and draped in a dark linen pall. The men lifted it up and carried it down the aisle. I followed behind the priest.
    In France, many things are done as of old. The funeral attendants were mostly women and children. The men waited outside to follow behind the funeral procession.
    Charles offered me his hand and I stepped up into the hearse. The sky was murky. My colorful world had turned gray.
    The driver cracked his whip and the horses started down their familiar road to the cemetery. I turned to view the paid mourners. They were nothing more than paupers dressed in black rags. I could hear their wailing and phony crying. They were a disgrace to themselves and to my poor Auntie’s body.
    By the time we arrived at the cemetery it was raining. I was thankful that God had provided a backdrop fitting for the day. An attendant holding a large black umbrella escorted me to the gravesite. Once the rain began, the false friends slowly melted away, leaving behind only the servants and one honest friend.
    My thoughts were so far removed that I had not heard Father Andrew’s final words. Charles tugged on my arm. “Garnet, Garnet, it is over. It is time to go home,” he said softly. My heels mired up in the mud and the hem of my dress was heavy with rain. I stumbled as Harriet and Charles guided me to the carriage.
    Next to a tree, I saw a man. He was hatless and his gray hair was wet and plastered to his head. Although I was certain he was a stranger, something about him seemed familiar. Our eyes met and he watched intensely as I climbed into the carriage. As the carriage rode away, he was still standing in the rain.

    Chapter III
    Aurochs

    Following the funeral, I had informed Charles that I wished to schedule a meeting with him. For three days, he avoided me. At last, I cornered him and insisted that he speak to me.
    He happily discussed the affairs of the servants and what grew in the garden. However, when I questioned him about the state of my financial affairs, he gave me flimsy answers and changed the subject. “Garnet, there is enough money for us, I mean you, to live comfortably for a very long time. That is, if it is handled properly. Take a look around you. That is exactly what I have been doing for the past 25 years. I don’t know why you insist on cluttering your pretty head with such matters. I would suggest you enjoy life and find yourself a suitable husband. Master Shelley has had eyes for you for quite some time. Surely you remember him?” The tone of his voice was flirtatious and his eyes wandered over my body.
    “Yes, I remember Robert Shelley. I don’t care for Englishmen,” I answered, and crossed my arms over my breasts. I found the conversation uncomfortable and I was angry that he would not address the issues I wished to discuss. I had little intention to humor him with foolish talk.
    “Garnet!” he called out, as I began to leave the room. “May I remind you that rich, handsome young men do not remain single long? What you may not fancy, I assure you others do. Shall I send him a dinner invitation?”
    “No thank you, Charles,” I said and left him standing in the hall.
    That morning, I took the carriage and went into town alone. I thought of shopping, but I realized I had no money. Auntie always had the money and we always came to town together.
    After a bit, I decided to park the carriage and walk down by the river. Auntie and I used to come to town often. Sometimes we visited the shops, but sometimes we would just sit and watch the fishing boats come in. It excited her to see what the catch of the day would be.
    Afterwards, we would go to our favorite cafe with the view overlooking the river. Auntie would order a bottle of wine and drink most of it herself. On those days, it meant I was to drive the carriage home while she napped.
    She was my only real friend. I never thought of her dying, leaving me alone with an inherited house full of servants.
    As I strolled the streets, the mixed aromas of food cooking made their way to my nose and my stomach had begun to growl.
    Auntie conducted business with Lawyer Bastille on First Street. My thoughts were to knock on his door and ask him for advice. I hurried toward his office, but a note on the door read “closed.”
    In despair, I made my way back to the carriage and stopped once more to gaze across