Dishonoring Jack

Chapter Thirty Three

The diamond ring Titus had given her was imprinted in Jack's hand because she was squeezing it so tightly. She hadn't let the ring out of her sight for days, but it had haunted her--staring at her from the stand beside her bed, burning a hole in the pocket of her dress, reminding her of dreams cut short by cruelty. Jack had put off speaking with Hannah and relaying those words, partially out of respect for her lesson but also out of cowardice. She didn't want to see anyone that reminded her of those events; in fact, besides going to work with Minnie each day, Jack was a recluse, avoiding all society.

Every day that passed, Jack half-expected to see Oliver Walker show up outside her door, chauffeured by his butler, to tote Jack to jail, but he didn't. Jack awoke every morning and parted her gingham curtains to see if Donovan's automobile still sat outside the Bookers'. He hadn't left--yet. Jack's heart couldn't bear the thought of Donovan's imminent departure. Sometimes she caught a glimpse of his flashing eyes through the window, but they hadn't spoken. Jack was afraid they were past saving.

Jack's seclusion had to end today, however. Titus Fletcher's funeral would take place in the church in only a few minutes and Jack had to attend--she owed Titus that, good, strong Titus. He had harbored no hard feelings for Jack and had left her with only one wish--that he tell Hannah the future he'd imagined with her. The future Max Slate had stolen.

Jack glanced at the clock with the broken minute hand that rested on the windowsill next to her--it was time to go. Jack pocketed the ring and laced her boots, wearing the only dress she had left after her muslin was destroyed. It was a blue dress, too bright for a wedding, and Jack had only a black frock from the period of mourning following her parents' death tomark her grief, and it was too small. Jack glanced in the cracked mirror at the corner of her bedroom--it would have to do. Her features had aged years in only a few months, eyes swallowed by dark bags.

"Be strong, Jack," she whispered to herself, turning on the heel of her boot and beginning the resolute march back to Irvington.

Jack's bike had reappeared under Margaret's ownership, so Jack was subjected to walking to town and to work, but she didn't mind. Her own company was all she could tolerate, and even that she found depressing.

Fall engulfed the Virginian countryside and further inland, the trees were baring themselves to the world as they lost their leaves, fleeing for winter. Irvington appeared and Jack kept her head down; she couldn't deal with the curiosities of any nosy town gossips today. If anyone asked her about Titus's death, Jack was afraid she might punch them and she'd had enough of violence for the time being.

"Jack, is that you?"

Jack looked up to see a friendly if sorrowful smile on the face of Irvington's preacher, Reverend Smalley. "Please, come in!" he said. "We missed you in church this Sunday, Jack."

"Yes, well, unless you're talking to a mouse in your pocket, I think you're the only one."

Jack stepped inside the church, shaking off the chilly wind. The church looked as it always did, two columns of pews facing a pulpit at the front. Today, however, the pulpit as well as the altar and the two crosses flanking the front were draped in rich black cloth and a closed casket sat in front of the pulpit. Jack felt familiar sorrow leap through her.

Even though Titus had no living family in the area, the church was filled from front to back with mourners clothed in black, murmuring under their breaths as they filled the pews. Some people were even forced to stand in the back, but Jack could scarcely move from the doorway as people filed in behind her. She was paralyzed.

This is because of you.

Jack wished she could squeeze Donovan's hand as a tangible reminder of the reason they'd endured all of this, but he wasn't there. He was gone, if not physically, then emotionally.