Now and Forever ~Chapter 17~💔Light on the Horizon🌄

By the day of the funeral,  the house was awash in friends, family, colleagues and more casseroles than anyone could eat in a month.
It was September.  Just before Autumn and yet  it was already becoming chilly out on a daily basis . On this particular day, the clouds were dreary-grey and threatened to let loose a downpour.    Hercule stared out the window from Virginie's side of the bed, which had made as he had occasionally watched her do.  There was a dance to it, she had told her husband as she tackled one aspect of the bed-making chore.  One step at a time and it was done.
"I hope I have done well,"  he said, smoothing the crease of the bedspread over the pillow she had rested her head on, only a week ago.  Feeling a sob invade,  Poirot took a deep, steadying breath. If he began crying now, he wasn't sure he'd stop.   "I do not know if I can do this."   he said,  fixing his brown eyes on the deep grey clouds.  "I remember what that minister said to me and I try to understand and believe, but I...."
A knock at the door took him away from his thoughts, which wasn't necessarily a bad thing.  A head peeked in. Adelise. "It's nearly time to go."
Poirot's sister wore not so much black which she didn't like because it made her feel...claustrophobic, but a sky blue dress with hat.  Something her sister-in-law would have approved of, she was sure.
Poirot only nodded.  He didn't get up. Or he couldn't.  Adelise entered the bedroom and asked permission to sit on the bed next to her brother. Usually,  Hercule's older sister wasn't so formal.  In normal circumstances, she'd just sit herself down. But this was the room her brother had shared with the woman they were going to say goodbye to.  There was a....sacredness to this room.
"Are you going to be okay, little brother?"
Poirot shrugged
Going into the matching purse she carried,  Adelise handed her brother a letter.  "A while ago, just before she found out,  Virginie wrote me and had me keep this letter for you, 'just in case'.  Read it tonight."
"Merci,"  Poirot spoke in a low, choked voice.
"The car will be waiting for us."  She stood up but, again,  Poirot stayed.
"I cannot, sister. I don't think my legs will even hold me."
"You have me and Hilde."
"Hilde."  Poirot bowed his head. "Oh, how foolish and selfish I have been!  She knew Virginie since she was a little girl, or a teenager.  How she must be hurting!"
"My little one has been keeping her distracted with stories of how her siblings pick on her.  What tosh!  That girl is catered to!"
"Will she be good in church?"
"I think so.  She tends to follow along with what others around her do. She'll be quiet and just watch."
Thanking his sister, again, for the letter,  in Virginie's handwriting and in her favorite scented stationery,  Hercule set the light Lavender envelope on his pillow and willed himself to stand up.  His sister's smile encouraged him.
"I realize these are the most useless of words right now,  Hercule, but Virginie is well and with your son.  They are awaiting you. But In GOD'S time, Hercule, NOT yours."
"In truth, Ade, I do not even know what to believe.  I have been back and forth,  this last few days, like the only child on the see-saw.   Even when I try to pray, my throat, it closes up and I can barely utter the single word,  'WHY?  WHY was this allowed to happen?' "
"Are you asking God or me?"
Both?"  he said in almost a question. "Perhaps you can answer."
"I won't have an answer, Hercule.  I would tell you, gladly, if I knew."   Adelise patted her brother's hands that fidgeted with each other nervously.
"Better than what I am getting from above.  Stoney silence. I feel like I am being given, by God, the cold shoulder."
"God is NOT giving you the cold shoulder, little brother.  Maybe He's waiting for you to settle down so He can explain things to you without your getting angry and demanding better answers. You're hurt and confused and you want THE answer to explain everything from death whatever else is wrong with the world."
"I want only ONE answer;  WHY was Virginie taken when so many women in the world, they don't care about their husbands, or their husbands do not care about them!  So much disruption I see, Adelise, in homes,  and it is so sad.  I would tell Virginie about the problems and sadnesses of work and she would pray about it before bed.  She always prayed for my work day before we would fall asleep."
Adelise nodded, "I know.  We became pen pals,"  Adelise said as they made their way downstairs. "Less expensive than long distance phone calls. When she was laid up in bed in the last month, she feared you were drifting from God."
Hercule could not lie to his sister.  "I'm drifting."   When he stepped foot outside the door and saw the hearse, with his wife's casket inside,  he took a long, steadying breath; closing his eyes to the sight he still did not want to believe was happening.  "I'm drifting and I am not sure I want to come back."

   ~~~~

        Virginie's memorial service was well-attended; made up of friends from the neighborhood as well as church.  Even colleagues and friends from work offered their condolences in person, as they had,  over the telephone or by telegram, within the last week.  In fact, Hilde had to clean off the  desk to keep track of cards and telegrams.  Madame Deroulard had not used in some time and Virginie had only used to write her letters and sort out monthly bills.  A day ago,  Hercule, in a fit of restlessness,  organized the letters and telegrams to where a pad of paper had been set out,  the unread letters on the right hand side and the opened letters on the left.  By the time he got through reading, a page of the notepad was meticulously inscribed with  the name of the person who sent the message, the sort of message (condolence card or telegram) and the date opened.  Even after he was finished,  it was just about impossible to tell anyone had been at the desk. To the very positioning of the chair,  every aspect of the desk was office perfect.  There was barely a speck of dust.

~~~~

   "On occasions like this,"  the parish priest launched into his point without well-worn familiarities,  "it never fails that people will want to talk to me in person or by phone about the 'WHY?'  of our losses.  Why this person, and not some ne'er do-well who'd been in the papers for this crime or that.  It may surprise you to learn that I don't have the answer to that question.
In the front row of the church, Hilde sat on her brother's right side, with her daughter snuggled next to her mother; politely listening only periodically glancing around the sanctuary.  The sight of the casket held her attention while Poirot could barely face it. Instead, he focused his attention on the pulpit.  It was genuinely comforting to hear that he wasn't the only person who could not make sense of this...senselessness.  But then, if a 'man of the cloth'  couldn't fit these pieces together, what hope did a regular working man have?  Almost as if on cue,  or the long-over due answer to prayer,  the question was answered,  at least in part.
"However,  while I do not comprehend the  'WHY?' of our loss,  I wonder if we shouldn't focus our attention on the WHERE?  And, in that respect, we have our answer and our hope.  Virginie Poirot is not with us anymore,  but she has not ceased to exist. In fact, where she is, that is where we all look forward to.  
   When she came to me, mourning the loss of the son she lost before he came into the world,  she shared with ME the hope she had that Michael Louie Poirot would be waiting for her and her husband. In the meantime,  he was safe with our Savior, and in a place where he will never know a day's sadness for any reason, great or small.   He will never know the anxiety of a lost toy, or whether mom or dad don't love him because he was scolded for something.  I took the time to remind Virginie of this when she came to me;  puzzling over the why of her ailment.
   If I may fall back on the old story,  and the Christian's favorite scapegoats,  Adam and Eve,  it is true that, had it not been for that first sin, we would not be here today, in this sanctuary, for this sad purpose.  However, it is really only sad for us, and that, only temporarily.  So, do we mourn?  Of course.  We cry at train stations when a child goes off to college or a daughter moves out of the house, to share her new life with her husband.   Virginie is with her son, and awaits for her husband.   Let that comfort you, even as you remember the woman you love in your daily life. One day,  you will be with her and your son again.  On the other hand,  don't let the loss now prevent you from moving on with your life,  lest you miss out on the very reason God kept you here.
In the book of Esther,  chapter 4 and verse 14,  Esther's uncle Mordecai  says to her, in effect,  "How do you know that you were not placed into the king's palace for just such an occasion as this."    In the case of Esther,  she was called upon to help save her nation, the Jewish people, from a genocidal madman named Haman.  Your calling may not be so drastic, but it may well be that you do have bigger things to do.  I don't know. God knows.  If this is the case, then you'll know when you know.  In the meantime,  know that you have a wife and son waiting for you when your time comes."
Hercule Poirot was not sure he believed in 'messages' ;  as in God specifically trying to tell someone they needed to do something.  Back in Bible days ,  fine but this was the twentieth century and such things just didn't happen anymore.
The burial service was attended by Poirot and Adelise, whose hands were held by his little niece. Strangely, this was comforting.  Adelise, who resembled their mother,  Gotlieve, passed some of the dear woman's qualities down to the little one.  Next to Poirot,  Hilde wept quietly as the priest spoke of heavenly citizenship.  Despite the doubts that plagued his emotionally distressed mind,  Hercule found himself wanting to believe in what the minister was saying;  as his wife's casket was lowered into the ground, as well as what was spoken at the service.

That night,  when the guests were gone,  and the house was back to a semblance of normality,  Hercule took a long bath to try to wash the day away,  or perhaps give it more thought.
In his pajamas and bathrobe,  and the slippers Virginie had gotten him for Christmas,  he was about to open Virginie's letter when there was a soft rapping at the door.  Opening the door, Poirot saw his sister in her dressing gown,  her hair pinned up with bits of colorful ribbon.
"You look...refreshed. How do you feel?"
Poirot offered a side nod that translated to,  "Okay."   A vast improvement on his condition the same morning.   "I have decided to give the Psalms a read. Virginie was reading them."
"I will have to get back tomorrow.  While my sister-in-law is patient with the kids,  she doesn't always get along with her brother."
"I am glad we get along."  Hercule said with the first smile his sister had seen since she arrived at the house.
"Probably because we haven't lived under the same roof,  for any prolonged period, since you entered the police academy and I got married."
"Thank you,  Adelise, for coming.  And do not worry. I do not bear the grudge against the others.  Weddings, they can be planned.  This... not so much.  Anyway, I have the letters."
"Have you read...?"  Hercule held it up for a second.
"Good,"  Adelise smiled. "And if you want to talk..."
"No. No more talking. I need to rest,  as one colleague in the city morgue called them,  'the little grey cells' .  I am weary, dear sister.  Between all that has happened,  the ....events of this day and the food this afternoon,  I could possibly sleep through a world war."
Adelise sighed,  "Don't say that too loud.  The way the politicians are talking,  it's God's knowledge what we are in for in the next while."
"Then we must take advantage of the time we have for today. Goodnight dear sister. And thank you, again,  for your time and friendship. Virginie loved to see you."
"And I loved to see her.  And we will see her again. And my nephew. I'm anxious to see if he looks like you."
Poirot kissed his sister on the right and left cheek and closed the door after she left.   Getting back into bed,  he took a letter opener to the top of the envelope and removed three pages, written on both sides.

He read the letter over again, and again,  until he had every word and inflection just about memorized. Then Hercule slipped the letter carefully back into its envelope and placed it into the drawer of his bedside table.  Then he took the pillow Virginie  rested her head on each night,  held to it like it was the only thing keeping him afloat in a rising tide of complete despair and loneliness.
Inhaling her fragrance that was part of the pillow,  Poirot promised, through an aching throat and and silently flowing tears, that he would take the journey, should it be offered to him.  "And I will do my best to make you proud."

                                  ~END~