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1883, Somewhere in Colorado.

I got off my horse and entered the house. It was just as dark and bleak and depressing as I remembered it to be. The town sheriff was at the door waiting for me.

“There you are.” The old man said. He had seen me grow up, from a little girl to a young maiden and then into a woman.

“When did it happen?” I asked

“Last night, around 2 am.” The doctor who was standing beside the bed answered.

“It was peaceful.” He added as if I cared.

“We have to have a funeral and a prayer service in the church.” The Sheriff suggested.

“How much will all that cost?” I asked.

“About a 100, depending upon what you pick for snacks and the type of coffin you choose.” He answered.

“I don’t have that kind of money.” My answer was simple. “No need for an elaborate funeral or a prayer service.” I declared the men trying to interrupt me, mansplain to me things, again. But I held up my hand.

“I can't afford it, if you are willing to pay, I will be there in my finest black dress,” I replied, to which they both found an interesting spot on the floor to stare. Cowards!

“Can you call men to dig a hole behind the barn? And the cheapest casket will do.” I told the sheriff as I looked at the man lying on the bed.

My Father.

I don’t remember the last time I felt any love towards the man. Hell, I don’t even remember calling him father.

The sheriff walked out of the room, along with the doctor, and I followed them, closing the door to his bedroom.

“I will make the arrangements.” The sheriff said, but before he could walk out of the main door, he looked back at me.

“At least let me bring the priest to read him his last rites.” His eyes were almost pleading.

“Fine.” I agreed and sat in the rocking chair on the porch.

My black dress stuck to me like a second skin, the corset digging into my breast and stomach. The high neck suffocating me and the damn veil colouring my world black.

Death had been a constant in my life for the past two years.

Daniel, my husband, passed away last fall, and hence the dark, gloomy dress of mine and now his. My father was dead too. Not that I was particularly sad about either of their deaths. I just wish it had happened sooner. Both men were a disgrace to the human race.

I placed my hand into the pocket of my dress and pulled the letter out of it. Eviction notices from the bank. The red stamp stared at me like the warning it was.

The soft mountain breeze caressed my cheeks, and I closed my eyes for the briefest moment, allowing myself to think of her. Her touch, her voice, her smile, the feel of her. My mother.

The sick bastard killed her too early. And then handed me over to another monster.

The last time I felt safe and happy in this house was when my mother was still alive.

I read the eviction notice for the nth time and wondered how a widow like me, who had nothing to her name pay back the loans of her good-for-nothing deceased husband? I would lose the house and be homeless.

Unless…

I moved back in here…my father was dead, and this house was mine, technically, as I had no brother. But according to the law, a woman cannot inherit property. Which meant I would still be homeless.

I sighed, placed the letter in my lap, and rocked the chair slowly, feeling the cool breeze on my face. I should tackle one problem at a time. And today’s problem was putting my dead father in the ground once and for all….

Four people lowered my dad’s casket into a hole dug behind our barn. A makeshift wooden cross was placed at the head of the grave with my mother’s rosary wrapped around it. I wanted to rip the rosary from the cross. He didn’t deserve a single piece of her, even after death. But I just stood there motionless with a single white lily in my hand to drop it on his coffin once he was lowered.

My mind was numb, and my eyes were emotionless, reflecting how I felt.

I always imagined this moment to be joyful and freeing, but it was anything but that. I just felt hollow.

The priest gestured for me to drop my flower and I threw the damn thing on him. He deserves to rot in the ground.

The men began filling up the hole, and the priest said some last words. A few people were there for his funeral, but if you ask me, they all were as good as dead in my eyes. Some women tried to console me, but I just looked them dead in the eyes and said the world is a better place now. They flinched, and then every person maintained some distance from me throughout the funeral.

The sun set in the distance, and people began to leave. Some walked, some rode their horses, and some rode their carriages. I stood on the porch, seeing to it that everyone left. Maintaining my numb composure.

And once everyone was far into the horizon, then and only then did I let the first tear escape.

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