An Opposition of Wills

Two people die, one of them at the wake for the other, and thankfully none of them are Frank Wicker.

Before today I knew very little about Mrs. Wilberforce-Wallander, aside from her having some relation to Claire, and that she was formerly old, and presently dead. I protested when Claire asked me to accompany her, saying that I would be out of place at a wake, as I did not know the deceased, or the living whose appearance was merely a pretence. Yes, the late Mrs. Wilberforce-Wallander was considerably wealthy, and she was estranged from her family. Claire did not tell me this. Nevertheless, my fiancée’s mother really wanted her to go, and Claire wanted me to go, so I had no choice. “Come on,” Claire insisted, “You’ll be glad you went.”

“Glad?”

“Oh, you know what I mean.”

The obligatory black wardrobe and false frowns found us at the funeral. Claire was sad, or appeared to be, and I was sad for her, to the maximum extent I could, yet my lovely one told me, “Don’t look so smug.” It was impossible not to; I was alive, and the old woman was not.

I did my rounds, consoling Claire’s sister June, and parents Marv and Sadie, very quickly shook a few hands, and made my way to the spread laid out on the dining room table. I had intended to stay close to the food all afternoon, except for when Claire required my assistance.

“Who are you,” an old woman asked, appearing to be as old and stiff as the stiff.

“I’m Frank Wicker. Claire’s fiance,” answered I, trying to be as pleasant as one could be at a funeral.

“Ah,” was the haughty reply, “What were you promised?” She looked at me the same way nearly everyone was looking at me. With curiosity and seething hatred.

“Heh heh, excuse me,” came my offended, polite, funeral laugh and segue, and I quickly tracked down Claire.

“Oh Claire, hun, can I talk to you for a moment?” as I pulled her away from someone I didn’t know.

“What’s wrong?”

“You forgot to mention, dear Mrs. Wilberforce-Wallander was a millionaire.”

“So?”

“So? Everyone is looking at me with curiosity and seething hatred, and I feel like I’m going to be killed soon,” I muttered.

“I know. Me too, just try to ignore it.”

“Ignore it?”

Claire brought me in close and whispered, “Mrs. Wilberforce-Wallander is estranged from her entire family, supposedly for practicing witchcraft, and she inherited her husband’s massive fortune when he died. Then she married my mother’s brother, and now, the Wilberforces hate us. Rumour has it though, that a second will was written, real or not, and that David Wilberforce, her only son, is the sole heir.”

“They hate the Wallanders?”

“Yes. Because she liked us best. Oh and don’t say anything, but I heard that David, or someone who works for him, poisoned his mother.”

“Who would I tell? I don’t know anyone here.”

I had at last come to an understanding, but I was far from satisfied. I was hoping we could have left with information like that. “Why are we still here?”

“To pay our respects.” Claire began to walk away, and rejoin the conversation from which I removed her, when I asked, “For how long?”

She quickly looked back and glared, which was code for shut up and behave. I hoped not to see the look again today. The Wilberforces continued to seethe.

A staunch man, perhaps three decades older than myself approached me, and looked at me with enough disdain to kill an elephant. He offered his hand to shake, “David Wilberforce.”

“Frank Wicker. Claire’s fiance. My condolences.”

David tightened his grip, and brought his face a little closer to mine and whispered, “You’re going down.” Then he grinned before releasing my broken fingers, and walked away.

Eventually, the Wilberforces and the Wallanders were brought together, and gathered around the open casket. Considering the price of this funeral, I felt Mrs. Wilberforce-Wallander looked particularly green and warty for a corpse.

The priest stood at the head of the coffin, delivered a sermon, and then David rose, with some prepared words, yet his eyes never left me; all his anger was focused on me. Solemnly and pragmatically, David read to all of us “My mother was an old woman. When I learned of her death, I was emotionally overwhelmed. We are here today, to mourn, and not applaud…” He paused here to view the genuine grief from the Wallanders, and the Wilberforces’ faces of stone. Then David forced himself to say his next line, “I will miss her.”

Suddenly, David had trouble breathing, and not for any extra attention. His hands went to his throat; everyone looked in awe, and many gasped. No sooner did a few people go running to his aid, that he began hovering in the air, steadily moving closer to the vaulted ceiling, without the help of rope or wires and a pulley.

Suffice to say, Mr. Wilberforce died shortly thereafter, and probably not from natural causes. Claire hurried me out of the house, and to our car, and likewise were other people, rushing to drive away. Claire took a few breathes to compose herself, while I myself was relieved that I had not been killed by any member of the Wilberforce family.

Reviews

[Botania]

The descriptions are vivid and bright. The hatred palpable. The relationship real for his loyalty to her, enough to go to a funeral... Excellent. Keep writing.

[Botania]

Great fun. This takes off down the road of fantasy as "he began hovering in the air."