Work Text
Anna was a woman in her early thirties; however, some had told her she looked younger. Although she made sure to always be presentable, her appearance beyond that didn’t much matter to her.Anna idly flipped through her magazine, not really reading it. She tiredly wished that she could be at home. Back with her loving husband and their daughter. She even rather ruefully wished to be back at her rather dull job as a secretary. Sometimes Anna still dreamed of having a better, more exciting job, but she knew better to hang her hopes on it. Sometimes you just had to make do.At least Anna was on her way home now. Home, and away from her childhood town and her mother, and her father, now lying cold in his new grave. Although she hadn’t particularly wanted to go, Anna knew how it would have looked if she hadn’t gone to the funeral. If she hadn’t thought that it would stir up that old drama, she would have brought along her husband for moral support. He had even offered. Anna had truly been tempted, but even while she was standing there, dressed all in black, surrounded by people she had once known, she was glad she hadn’t.It had been one of the more awkward experiences in her life. They all stood shivering in the chill around the straight edged pit in the ground, casket perched precariously above it. Ridiculously, Anna had wondered if it would fall in. Her mother was making soft muffled noises and wiping away tears through the whole service. The trees stood stiff against the grey sky and the other grave stones, many old and worn, watched the proceedings with disinterest. Anna’s mother choked and excused herself from the group as the casket lowered with a creaking of ropes.After the service, everyone was thanked for coming and offered comfort for the loss of such a man. Well, except for Anna, but she didn’t comment on it. Everyone there, including Anna, was acutely aware of how tense Anna’s relationship had been with her father. Indeed, had Anna been still a teen, she may have been tempted to spit at the now lowered casket. But Anna didn’t truly hate her father, she just didn’t forgive him. She had wholeheartedly loved him once.When Anna was little, her father had seemed to her a gentle giant that would carry her around like a queen. She remembered him, caught between laughter and disgust, as she presented him with a pile of mud. Another memory of him caught her. Anna wasn’t sure anymore what she had done, but she remembered how he had protected her from a scolding from her mother. A scolding that, more than likely, she had deserved.Maybe these memories of a tolerant and loving father were why it had hurt so much when he was no longer tolerant. He had caught Anna kissing a boy behind the school. But not just any boy.The boy that would become her husband and the boy who was black. It had been her first kiss. Maybe her father would not have been so angry if he had been white. Her father had knocked the boy over, snarling terrible words at him, before grabbing Anna so hard by the wrist that the bruises lasted days. Their relationship was like this from then on. Anna loved the little boy who brought her flowers, and he loved her. Even her furious father and the others who spat at, hit, and hurt the boy she loved didn’t stop them. The last time Anna saw her father before his funeral, his eyes had been cold and even though he didn’t speak, she knew he was glad to see his disappointment of a daughter leave.Before Anna left the funeral, her mother approached her, tears still glistening in her eyes.“He did love you, you know,” she told Anna.“I know he did, and I love him too,” Anna lied automatically. It was just a habit that when strangers asked about her parents, she would claim to be on good terms. That they loved her, and she loved them. It was usually just easier that way.Anna’s mother smiled teary eyed and seemed relieved that Anna didn’t carry any resentment for having been driven away from her family because of whom she had loved.Anna hid a wince at her mother's expression of gratitude. Somehow, she felt guilty even though it really wasn’t her fault. Why should she be guilty about not forgiving someone who had hurt her, who had hurt her husband, who had never harmed another person?Anna blinked, refocusing on the pages in front of her. The motion of the train was making her sleepy and allowing her mind to drift. She didn’t really want to fall asleep before getting home. She often slept poorly when away from her husband. Always dreaming of things that she could never remember when she woke up. Something about running through a building with rooms that never ended. Anna shook her head. It did no good to dwell on things such as dreams. They didn’t affect her real life, after all.Anna smiled to herself as she brushed her hair out of her face. The fair, golden hair of her mother. She had always loved her hair. She loved it even more when her husband’s hands were brushing through it. He had told her once, that her hair had been what first drew his attention to her. Out of all the girls he had seen, Anna’s hair was the most beautiful.Anna hummed a snatch of song. A hymn from the church that she and her family walked to every Sunday. As a little girl, she had found church awfully dull whenever her parents dragged her there. Now, in the church where the songs and passions seemed to fill the space and ring from the roof, Anna truly felt the presence of something greater than herself. It often seemed that many people became less religious as they aged, but for Anna it was the opposite. She was closer to God and loved him more than she ever had. God had gifted her an amazing and devoted husband and a beautiful daughter after all.---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------The steward walked down between the compartments of the train. So far, everything seemed to be in order, and no one seemed to need his help. So, he figured there was no need to rush and allowed himself to amble along at his leisure. Every so often pausing to glance into the compartments. Technically, he knew this was probably rude, but what else was he going to do, except spy on the people riding the train. The things he had seen! He could write a book on it.Glancing in the next compartment, he stopped to inspect the lady within. He figured she must be in her late twenties, dressed in black as if going to a funeral. He doubted that was the case though, as she didn’t seem particularly sad. He even saw her give a slight smile to herself as she brushed a pale delicate hand through her golden hair. She was pretty enough, but she wasn’t particularly interesting. He slouched on along the carriage, almost immediately forgetting about her. Just another passenger on a train full of passengers.