The Wallis Jones Series Box Set - Volume Two: Books Four thru Six

by Martha Carr

  Chapter 14

  The funeral for Harriet Jones was filled to overflowing even in the cavernous interior of Saint Stephen’s Church. Word quickly spread of her heroics, and the story of the second Keeper was finally told to the rank and file of the Circle.

  Members of the Order of the White Rose also had come out in great numbers from all over the country. Father Michael sat in the front row, clutching his Book of Common Prayer. Next to him was Bishop Crane, who earlier that day had laid to rest Fred Bowers.

  Fred was given a proper burial in a smaller chapel of the Cathedral and laid to rest beneath its floors where only the most revered and heroic of the Circle rested for safekeeping for all time.

  Behind them sat rows of older clergy from the Order who had known Harriet Jones as a young woman and quietly admired her courage, choosing to live among the enemy her entire life.

  Most of them looked grief stricken.

  “You would think one of their own had died,” said Tom, turning to get a better look, as he sat next to Esther.

  “One of them did,” said Esther. “They saw Harriet Jones as one of their own from the day she agreed to be the second Keeper. She served dutifully and with honor every day of her life and I’m proud to have called her my best friend,” she said, as she softly began to cry. Tom slipped his arm around her shoulders and said, “Here’s to Harriet Jones who loved more fiercely than anyone I ever knew and was willing to do whatever it took to give her daughter the best life possible.”

  “Here, here.”

  “What did they end up doing with George Clemente’s body?” asked Tom.

  “First they took pictures so they could prove he was dead to any old Watchers who are still around and wanted to start rumors of a comeback. Then they cremated what was left and threw the ashes away where no one will ever know. No shrine for the wicked.”

  “Give it a few years and no one will remember he ever walked among us,” said Tom.

  “I look forward to that day,” said Esther.

  The church was a sea of black with one notable exception. Sitting in the front row in a pale pink suit was Wallis Jones, honoring her mother and her unique flair for life. Tucked next to her on the pew was a familiar large, leather purse shaped like a trapezoid with a shiny brass clasp. Inside in a special pocket was the iPhone Madame Bella had given her, even though Wallis had already made the decision to join the Butterfly Family and let the Circle live or die on its own.

  In her hands were a bouquet of white gardenias, Harriet Jones favorite flower. Harriet always claimed it was Wallis Simpson’s favorite flower too.

  The only thing missing was a gun inside of the purse.

  Wallis took care of that memory as well and was wearing a small gold pin shaped like a Glock. Norman had found it for her and left it in a velvet box on the bathroom counter.

  She gently touched the pin and took Norman’s hand.

  “You are still, and always will be the person who understands me the most,” she said. “You have loved me in the simplest way possible. You’ve let me be myself and always knew that was more than enough.”

  Norman’s eyes filled with tears. “What brought that on?” he asked, as he gently kissed his wife’s forehead.

  “My mother loved me from the day I was born but for most of my life she had to keep it in check in order to protect me. Hasn’t there been enough of that? Ned and his friends are right. I’d rather love with abandon and get hurt than hold back. That can be my way of paying my mother back for all of those years she had to love me from a distance. When I think of how I used to talk to her,” said Wallis, her voice trailing off, as a tear slid down her cheek.

  “In the end, Harriet knew how much you loved and admired her, and even better, you got to know your mother instead of hearing them as stories from Esther.”

  “Mom would have loved that she drew such a crowd,” said Wallis.

  “Now, we are going to hear from a few of the members of Harriet Jones family,” said Father Donald, who was leading the service along with a rabbi from Temple Beth El. Wallis had insisted on the arrangement but no one protested. Harriet Jones was finally getting to be herself, even if it was at her funeral.

  Father Donald gave a nod to Ned who was sitting on the other side of Wallis. He leaned over and hugged his mother around her neck and let go, saying, “Got you last.”

  Wallis choked up and gently tapped his hand, keeping the endless game going they had started when he was small.

  Wallis watched Ned standing behind the lectern, filled with confidence. There it is again, she thought. I’m letting him go.

  “My grandmother, Harriet Jones,” said Ned, “led by example, more often with action than with words.” That brought a round of laughter for most of the people at the funeral who knew Harriet like to shoot first and go back inside for tea without ever asking questions.

  “I see a few of you have met my grandmother,” he said, inspiring more laughter. Wallis found herself smiling through her tears.

  “I am a very lucky young man,” he said. “I’ve had the example of two great women in my life who’ve taught me how to be a man of peace even in the middle of insanity. Peace that has sometimes been won with violence in the past and cost us all dearly with the lives of so many friends who didn’t make it to see this day.”

  Ned looked over at the black ribbon that was strung across a space in the front pew to memorialize all the lives that were lost.

  “You see, my grandmother once told me there was only one thing she really hoped for all of her life. That there might be a day when all the sacrifices that twenty young men and women made so early in life as they fled to this country would be fulfilled with a simple choice. The zwanzig. That day is here and we honor them now. We aren’t going to get everything right, and sometimes it will be messy. But for those of us who always knew the system was rigged, and sought to do something about it, we can now dream our own unique dream and actually believe it can come true. Harriet Jones, my wonderful, badass grandmother had something to do with that. In her honor, I plan to be happy for the rest of my life,” said Ned, as he gazed at Juliette. “It’s the bravest thing I know to do and the only way I can ever pay her back.”

  Ned stepped down from the podium and offered his hand to his mother to help her rise as Norman got to his feet and gave his wife a hug. Wallis stopped by the cherry wood casket with brass handles and placed her hand on the lid for just a moment.

  “Goodbye, Mama,” she whispered, before taking her place behind the podium.

  Wallis stood there quietly for a moment, looking out over the sea of faces and realizing her mother had somehow touched each one of them at some point in her life. Hundreds of people had come to pay their respects to Harriet Jones.

  “My mother believed in this very simple philosophy. Always do the right thing, for the right reasons, for the people you love. Don’t wait for them to love you back,” she said, as the words caught in her throat for a moment. “Do it just because it’s right. Not long ago, my mother told me a story that just about summed up who she really was. Fortunately, I had the chance to get to know the real Harriet Jones while she was still alive. She told me that this body we all have is like a dress that you get to borrow for a while. Eventually, we all have to give it back. It’s just a rental. And if you’re not having any fun while you’re wearing it, then you’re not doing it right. My wonderfully, wicked, gun-packing mother knew how to have fun and get in a good one-liner no matter what she was doing. I plan to carry on the tradition to the best of my abilities. After all, I’m Harriet Jones daughter, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned it’s how to have fun in the middle of chaos and love everyone around me. Don’t wait for permission from anyone.”

  There was a reception after the service in the main hall of Saint Stephen’s. Sandra Wilkins brought her caramel cake and Madame Bella told endless stories about all of the places she had seen and all of the people she had met. Wallis suspected a lot of it wasn’t true and the d
etails had been mixed just enough not to give away any secrets. Some habits were hard to break even in the midst of a new day.

  “You know, I’ve been thinking about starting a new bunko group,” said Wallis.

  “Oh, thinking about getting the old gang back together again?” asked Sandra. “We have to figure out who’s left.”

  “No, I think it’s time we start a new group. There has to be enough old Circle operatives in the houses right around me to start a group, don’t you think?”

  “Easily,” said Sandra, smiling. “Should we have the first meeting at your house?”

  “Why not” said Wallis. “It’s about time the place was used for something other than planning sessions to defeat some great evil. I’ll even get the prizes. I have a lot of old British knickknacks under my bed that I can use. Harriet gave it all to me. We can celebrate her life and get on with things.”

  “Here’s to getting on with things,” said Sandra.

  “With no idea of what comes next,” said Wallis.

  Martha’s Notes

  The Wallis Jones Series - Box Set - Books 4 thru 6 - June 2017

  Here we are at the end of an epic ride and now you know the whole story. All of those possible futures - they’re all based on real events that I took a little further and wrapped them around a good family in a small town. Thank you for going on this journey with me!

  Wallis Jones was an ordinary kind of hero and I hope readers get the idea that they can be the heroes in their own stories too. A good friend gave me the best advice I’ve ever gotten - go local. He meant get involved with my community right around me. Dig deep, be a good friend, and be of service where I can. Occasionally, take a break to write a good story. It all adds up to a pretty good life.

  If you enjoyed The Wallis Jones series, please consider leaving a good review at Amazon or Goodreads. Your kind words and encouragement help a lot.

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  I am the author of nine books and about to launch a new universe in urban fantasy with Michael Anderle called The Prophesies of Oriceran. www.Oriceran.com.

  I’ve written a weekly, nationally-syndicated column on world affairs and life that has run on such political hotspots as The Moderate Voice.com and Politicus.com. My work has run regularly in such publications as The Washington Post, The New York Times, USA Today, The Wall Street Journal, The Chicago Tribune and Newsweek.