司氏姐妹 第14章: 哀悼的母亲

第14章 – 哀悼的母亲

 当司家姐妹溜进似乎为她们保留的教堂前排的座位时, 一阵沉默席卷了本来已经非常安静的人群。人们屏住呼吸，咽下已经打了一半的喷嚏，停下伸进钱包和口袋的手，闭住俯身靠到邻座耳朵耳语的嘴。空气变得异常紧张，直到约翰·亨特大步走向法妈，拥抱了她。法妈表情矜持，已经伸出准备与市长握手的右手显的不知所措，但是聚集在教堂的全镇居民还是一起轻松地吁了一口气。 紧绷的气氛终于得到松弛，虽然可能只是一点点。人们试图要安静下来的轻微的沙沙声再次充满了这个神圣的场所。

追悼会没有提到玛拉。也没有提及任何有关婚礼，司氏家庭，或任何与Graham死亡相关的事。相反，它着眼于他短暂人生所取得的成就，把他从孩子培养为辉煌的法学毕业生的喜悦，以及未能看到他在他的新领域开花结果的遗憾。

司家姐妹们坐成一排，法妈边上是玛丽，接着是摩根，然后是米娜。在米娜边上有意无意的留下一个小小的空间，或许玛拉应该坐在那儿。但是，正如追悼会上没有玛拉的内容，在教堂里也没有她本人出现。但是对于姐妹们，也许对于很多镇上的人说，她的缺席象是一只白色大象，静静地坐在他们的思想里。

在司家就坐的长椅上，姐妹们一排明亮的眼睛，蓝色，褐色，灰色，在灯光下闪亮。三姐妹的眼睛都似一汪井水，充满了眼泪，而米娜时不时用她的手背去擦干从她灰色眼睛溢出的泪水。无论对约翰·亨特和他的妻子何种矛盾心理，她们已经在订婚期间认识了格雷厄姆亨特，并开始象爱兄长一样爱他。她们爱他，就象玛拉爱上他，是出于同样的原因，因为他善良，有趣，不像他们所知的其他人一样，他对待他们就像对待任何人一样。

如果玛拉知道她不能来参加这个仪式会对她有毁灭性的打击吗？摩根对玛丽感应道。

你认为她知道吗？

她可能会感觉到。最起码，她会感觉到我们都在一起，在这里哀悼。

虽然只有摩根和玛丽之间有这种能够通过思想直接沟通的特殊关系，所有的姐妹们的情感是联结在一起的。即使她们相隔千里——虽然在这以前她们从来没有分开过－－她们能感觉到另一位姐妹的欢喜，沮丧，愤怒，害怕，或处于极度危险之中。这也是为什么姐妹们感到玛拉目前仍处在相对安全的状况，因为如果她在监狱里发生了什么事，她们会感觉到。

摩根握住了玛丽的手，这时，她们感到脚下在轻轻的颤动。

一定是玛拉！玛丽想着，她知道我们在这里。

正如摩根的魔力是火，玛丽是水，玛拉的魔力是土。然而，多年来，她在不断地抑制它，拼命想成为一个正常人。像玛丽一样，她很小心地不在外人那儿透露她具有魔力的秘密，但是也不像玛丽，她从来没有在家关起门来认真的练功。因此，她的魔力是不稳定的，有时会在不由她控制下爆发。每当她有强烈的情感波动时，魔力就会失控，造成地面颤动。在Graham遇害那晚以后，姐妹们能偶而感到地面的震颤——甚至在报纸上也曾有人指出，虽然这样的文章被深深地埋在血淋淋的，耸人听闻的谋杀案的报道之中，无人注意。

追悼会结束后，来宾们应邀参加在花园里的招待会。跟着人流，姐妹们再次踏上了一个星期前走过的足迹，心情笼罩在婚礼和出了什么差错的阴影里。

在花园里，代替婚礼蛋糕和帐篷搭起的临时舞场的，是一个简单的摆设：格雷厄姆的画像，与报纸讣告里的照片一模一样，挂在一个小桌子上。它的下面，放着一本很大的签名本和一枝钢笔，朋友和亲人们，可以写上他们的慰问和祝愿。不断收到的纪念格雷厄姆的花束和慰问卡，让纪念仪式显得非常热爆。百花堆积在格雷厄姆的画像周围，把已经色彩鲜艳的花园变得更加灿烂多姿。

那些还没有签字的人们在排着队，有一些人手上还拿着花束。亨特一家人站在桌子旁边，接受大家的拥抱，握手，和拍拍肩膀的安慰。法妈把女儿们聚集在一起，排进了队伍。

当轮到她们走到前面时，每个姐妹都在本子上写下了对格雷厄姆要说的话。然后，她们面向了亨特太太，尽管她不断的抽泣，她完美的眼线仍然完整无损，没有被眼泪损坏。玛丽极力对她微笑着，摩根没有微笑，米娜只是用她那小鹿般惊恐的眼睛向上看着她。

“我们最深切的哀悼，”法妈说着，一步走出队伍，这时亨特太太用手臂拦住了她。

“我很抱歉，”亨特太太说，这个举动甚至让法妈吃了一惊。她眼睛里的眼泪，慢慢地冒出来，汇集成一大颗泪珠，危险的挂在眼角，每次她把它们从脸上拭干，它们又再次从她的脸上溢出。她用手臂搂住法妈，紧紧地拥抱了她。法妈后退了一步。

“您必须明白，”她说，“一位母亲的哀伤...我...我这样对您和您家人不公平......”她向后退了一下，看着米娜。 “我一直希望有女儿......但我很抱歉。对于所有的我带给您们的不必要的痛苦。只是...很震惊！我唯一​​的儿子......“

法妈捏了捏她的手，点点头。 “您失去的也是我们失去的”。她说完，便走开了，而人群中在角落里注视着她的眼睛，也回到原来他们自己的对话中。

A hush swept over the already quiet crowd when the Switch family slipped into the pew at the front of the church that had been seemingly reserved for them. Breaths were held and sniffles were swallowed, hands stopped as they reached for the insides of purses and pockets, and mouths closed as they leaned over to whisper into a neighbor’s ear. The air tightened and did not release until John Hunter strode over to Fa and embraced her. Fa was stiff, having held out her hand for the mayor to shake, but still the townspeople gathered let out a collective sigh of relief. The tension broke, if only slightly, and the light rustle of people trying to be quiet once again filled the sanctuary.

The memorial service did not mention Mara Switch. Neither was any mention made of the wedding, the Switch family, or any of the circumstances surrounding Graham’s death. Rather, it focused on the accomplishments of his short life, the joy of raising him through childhood to a brilliant law student, the regret of not being able to see him blossom in his new field.

The Switch sisters sat in a line, Marie next to Fa, then Morgan, then Mina. A small space had been unintentionally left next to Mina, where perhaps Mara should be sitting. But just as Mara was absent from the contents of the service, so too was her presence missed in the church. For the sisters, and perhaps for much of the town too, her absence was the white elephant that sat silently in their thoughts. 

In the Switch pew, the row of the sisters’ bright eyes–blue, brown, and grey–sparkled in the light. All three sisters held wells of tears in their eyes, with Mina occasionally reaching up to wipe her grey ones on the back of her hand. Whatever ambivalence they had felt for John Hunter and his wife, they had come to know Graham Hunter during the engagement, and had started to love him as a brother. They loved him for the same reasons that had Mara made fall in love with him: he was kind, he was fun, and unlike everybody else they knew, he had treated them just like he would treat anybody. 

Mara would be so devastated knowing that she couldn’t come to this, Morgan thought to Marie.

Do you think she knows? 

She can probably feel it. At the very least she would feel that we’re all together, here, mourning.

Though only Morgan and Marie had the special connection of being able to communicate directly through thoughts, all of the sisters were empathetically linked. Even if they were miles apart–though they had never been until now–they could feel if another sister was ecstatic, depressed, angry, scared, or in grave danger. It was the only reason why the sisters could feel relatively secure that Mara was still okay in her cell–if something had happened to her, they would have felt it. 

Morgan reached for Marie’s hand, and as she did, the ground trembled lightly beneath their feet.

That must be Mara, Marie thought. She knows we’re here.

Just as Morgan’s power was over fire and Marie’s was over water, Mara’s power was over earth. For many years, however, she had suppressed it, wanting desperately just to be normal. Like Marie, she was overly cautious about revealing her true identity to the people outside their family, but unlike Marie she had never practiced methodically at home behind closed doors. As a result, her powers were erratic and would sometimes flare outside of her control. Whenever she experienced strong emotions, they would come out uncontrollably, causing the ground to shake. The sisters had felt occasional tremors since the night of Graham’s death–even the newspapers had noted it, though of course the article was buried deep in the middle pages, outshone by the gory, glamorous coverage of the murder. 

The memorial service ended and guests were invited to the reception in the garden. Following the stream of people outside, the sisters once again traced their steps from a week before. The shadow of the wedding and what had gone awry hung over the procession. 

In the garden, instead of a wedding cake and a tent for dancing, a memorial for Graham had exploded with bouquets of flowers and handwritten notes. It was a simple presentation: Graham’s portrait, the same one that had appeared in the newspaper obituary, had been set up on a small table. Underneath it, a big book lay open with a fountain pen sitting next to it: a place where friends and family could write their condolences and send-offs. Hundreds of flowers were piled around it, turning the already brilliantly colored garden into an overwhelming sight for the eyes. 

The attenders lined up to sign the book, if they had not already, some with still more flowers in hand. The Hunter family positioned themselves next to the table, taking hugs, handshakes, and firm pats on the shoulder as they came down the line. Fa gathered her daughters, sweeping them into the line. 

When they reached the front, each sister wrote a message to Graham in the book. Then, they faced Ms. Hunter, whose perfectly eyelinered eyes were unsmeared despite her continual sobbing. Marie tried to smile, Morgan did not, and Mina just looked up, doe-eyed and scared. 

“Our deepest condolences,” Fa said, and she moved to step out of the line, when Ms. Hunter brought out an arm to stop her. 

“I’m so sorry,” Ms. Hunter said, and even Fa was taken aback this time. The tears in her eyes, which had simmered to a pool hanging dangerously over the corners, overflowed again as she wiped them from her face. She brought her arms around Fa and hugged her tightly. Fa stepped back. 

“You must understand,” she said, “A mother’s grief…I…I have been so unfair to you, and your family…” She trailed off, looking at Mina. “I’ve always wanted daughters…but I’m so sorry. For all the unnecessary pain I caused you. It’s just…the shock! My only son…”

Fa squeezed her hand and nodded. “Your loss is also ours,” she said. She stepped away, and the crowd that had been watching from the corners of her eyes darted back to their original conversations.