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Chiquitita, tell me the truth
I'm a shoulder you can cry on
Your best friend, I'm the one you must rely on
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Pen’s mother tugged an itchy black dress over her head and zipped it up in the back.
“No running about. No fighting with your sisters. And do not ask too many questions,” her mother instructed.
“But why do I have to wear black?” Penelope asked.
“Because that’s what people wear when they are invited to a funeral.”
“What is a funeral?”
“A sort of party for someone who’s passed away.”
“Will there be dancing if it’s a party?”
“It’s not that sort of party.”
“Then what sort of party is it?”
“A sad one.”
“Why is it sad if it’s a party?”
“Because Mr. Bridgerton is gone, Penelope!” her mother snapped. “He died. He’s in heaven now. Mrs. Bridgerton and all the Bridgerton children are mourning him. We are going to his funeral to show them our support in this difficult time of their lives.”
Pen didn’t have a chance to ask why you wear black for funerals because they started walking across the road to the Bridgertons’ house. The Featheringtons had moved to the neighbourhood six months ago, and Pen had quickly grown fond of her new neighbours. They were always so kind to her, and let her into their pantry whenever she was a bit hungry. They always had crisps, and grapes, and cubes of cheese, and occasionally M&Ms—all things her mum didn’t allow her because they had too much sugar, too much fat, too much of something or not enough of anything. Her mum said Pen was becoming too much herself, so she should try to be less, and that meant eating gross broccoli or nasty carrots or mushy peas instead of her favourite, more delicious things.
Mrs. Bridgerton answered their knock on the door, her eyes a bit red and puffy. Pen noticed immediately that she wore a black dress, too, just like her mum said.
“Hello, Portia,” Mrs. Bridgerton greeted her before turning to the three young girls. “And hello, young ladies. Thank you for coming.”
“We’re sorry for your loss, Mrs. Bridgerton,” Prudence said eagerly.
“Thank you for having us,” Philippa added, perhaps a little too cheerful, and not quite understanding the seriousness of the occasion.
Pen couldn’t think of the right thing to say, so she kept quiet.
“The children are all in the parlour,” Mrs. Bridgerton said. “The adults are in the ballroom, Portia. There are drinks and hors d’oeuvres.”
Pen’s mum ushered her and her sisters inside with a palm on their backs.
In the parlour, board games sat in neat stacks, a Jenga tower stood half-built, and stuffed animals were scattered across the floor. At the piano, Frannie played an endless loop of “Hot Cross Buns,” “Mary Had a Little Lamb,” and “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.” She was only a year younger than Eloise and Penelope but already much better at piano than either of them.
“Pen!” Eloise cried, throwing her arms around her in a tight, crushing hug. “I missed you!”
“I’m sorry Eloise,” Pen said, a little strained from the squeezing.
When Eloise pulled away, tears streaked down her cheeks. “I miss my dad, Pen.”
Pen couldn’t really relate and wasn’t sure what to do or say. Her own dad was gone a lot for his job, and when he was home, he smelled like beer and argued with her mum about money and where it all went. Pen often wondered why it wasn’t in the bank, where it was supposed to be. It wasn’t like there were hidden stacks of paper bills in their house, so she didn’t know what they meant when they said it went missing.
Pen tried to smile. “It’ll be okay. I had to wear black instead of yellow today.”
“Me too,” Eloise muttered bitterly, glaring down at her dress. “Mum made me put this on even though I told her I wanted to wear pants like my brothers.”
“Where are they?” Pen inquired. She hadn’t seen any of the older boys, including Colin. She really liked Colin. He was always nice to her and talked to her even though the other brothers hardly noticed when she was around.
Eloise scoffed. “Anthony and Ben are too old for the kid room. I don’t know where Colin went.”
“Let’s go find him,” Pen suggested. “We can play hide and seek.”
She loved playing hide and seek with the Bridgertons. Their house was quite big and had lots of places that were good for disappearing.
She and Eloise darted into the ballroom even though Pen thought they would get in trouble for sneaking away from the parlour. Eloise didn’t care, so Pen followed. The room was full of adults holding tiny plates and glasses of wine. There wasn’t much laughter, and it was so quiet. Pen’s breath came fast as she dodged between legs and ducked around tables, scanning the room for Colin.
“Penelope Featherington!”
She skidded to a stop in her black Mary Janes. Her stomach twisted as her mother’s voice cut through the eerie quiet.
“What did I tell you earlier?” Her mother’s grip tightened around Pen’s arm, her nails pressing into her skin. “This is not meant to be a fun playdate!”
Mrs. Bridgerton stepped closer, her face kind. “It’s alright, Portia,” she said softly. “They can run about and play if they want. Edmund wouldn’t mind hearing children laughing, even on a day like this.”
Portia pursed her lips. “Fine. But I thought we wanted the children to stay in the parlour?”
“It’s about time for the speeches anyway,” Violet said. “Let’s go grab the rest of the kids and bring them in.”
Pen held her mother’s hand as the other kids slowly started filing into the ballroom, guided by their parents. Her sisters came to stand next to her and smirked as they noticed their mother’s iron grip on her hand.
There were no seats, but a small stage and podium waited at the front of the room, and the other guests gathered around. Once all the Bridgerton children lined up, oldest to youngest, Violet counted their heads, and looked confused when she only made it to seven.
“Where’s Colin? I don’t see him.” Violet looked around at everyone standing closest, peering around between the adults.
“Me and Pen were looking for him,” Eloise explained. “We couldn’t find him.”
“Do you and Penelope want to help?” Violet asked, looking toward Penelope. “Tell him that we need to start, and we can’t go on without him.”
A low murmur spread through the room as Eloise grabbed Pen’s hand, pulling her away.
“We should split up!” Eloise said, darting off down the hallway.
Pen hesitated, nerves twisting in her stomach. But before she could object, Eloise was already long gone, disappearing around a corner.
She checked the parlour first and then made her way to the kitchen next. Colin liked food, so it seemed logical that he might have run off for a snack. She asked the cook if she’d seen him, but she hadn’t. None of the other helpers had noticed him, either.
Pen moved on to the family room, then the drawing room, and then the living room, with no sight of Colin at all.
The one place in the whole house she wasn’t supposed to go into was the study. It belonged to Mr. Bridgerton, Eloise had warned her the first day she slept over. He didn’t like to have kids in there because there was too much they could knock over or ruin. The big wood door looked intimidating, and it felt naughty, but maybe Colin wanted to be in a place that no one would think to check.
A quiet sniffle reached her ears as she stepped inside. Then, after her steps echoed through the room, silence.
“Colin?” she whispered, hesitant.
A pause. Then a small, familiar voice replied, “Pen?”
“Where are you?” she asked, looking around and not seeing him right away.
“Under here.”
She moved around the massive desk and found him curled beneath it, knees tucked to his chest.
Pen dropped to her knees and crawled beside him. “They need to start,” she said gently. “They can’t do it without you.”
“I don’t want to be here,” he mumbled swiping at his eyes with the sleeve of his black suit jacket.
“Me either,” Pen admitted. “My mum brought me here. I had to wear black because it’s a funeral but she won’t tell me why you wear black at funerals.”
“I don’t want to stand up there and cry in front of everyone,” Colin whispered. “Everyone’s been crying all week. I’m sick of it, but my dad…”
“You miss him?” she asked.
But he just started sobbing. Pen didn’t know what to do. When she cried, she hid in her room because her mum would tell her it was stupid to cry even though she couldn’t really stop. She knew it didn’t do anything, but when she was sad, the tears just came out of her, so she tried to not be sad in front of anyone. It must be hard when your dad was gone though, she thought, especially a dad as nice as Mr. Bridgerton.
“I’m glad you’re here, Pen,” Colin said through his tears, leaning his head on her shoulder.
“It’s okay to be sad,” she assured him. “I get sad, too. Sometimes I have to cry even though I probably shouldn’t.”
“Crying is normal,” he said. “My dad always said it was. He told me that sometimes people say that boys shouldn’t cry, but when I felt like it, I shouldn’t hold it back. I don’t do it very often, but I can’t stop being sad.”
She’d never heard Colin cry before. He was always laughing, always making her smile, always causing mischief. He was so serious now, so solemn, that she didn’t quite know how to handle it.
“My mum says the opposite,” Pen admitted. “So I hide. Like you are right now. So she doesn’t see and get mad.”
“I’m not hiding because of the crying,” he explained. “I’m hiding because…I don’t know if he would want me to be here.”
Now Pen was very, very confused. “Why?”
“The last thing I said to him was cross,” Colin whimpered, his voice breaking. “I didn’t…I didn’t get to say sorry.”
Pen tried to imagine what she might feel if she was mad at her mum and never got to say sorry. It was strange to think about. Her mum was always there, even if she didn’t want her to be, and even when they fought she always apologized to her afterwards. Colin must be hurting inside if he never got to say that he was sorry to his dad.
At church, they always talked about heaven, and what you should do to get there, how you should be nice to everyone and you’ll be allowed in once you die. Mr. Bridgerton was so kind, to his family especially but to most people, too.
“What did you say?” she asked.
“I was rude to Eloise,” Colin started. “And Dad caught me, and he–he said he was very angry with me. And I needed to apologise to Eloise. But Eloise deserved it because she was mean and hogging the XBox to play Peggle. So I took the controller from her and she was crying, and my dad yelled, and I wouldn’t apologize and he wasn’t listening, and he—”
Pen thought she knew what Mr. Bridgerton did. “He hurt you?”
“He smacked my bottom like I’m a little kid,” Colin spat out bitterly, pouting into his crossed arms as tears slipped onto his cheeks, growing angrier and sadder with each word. “But I’m not little, I’m 9 years old, and don’t need my bum smacked, so I screamed that I—that I hated him!” He gasped, trying to catch his breath as he spoke between sobs. “And by dinner he was go—one! I never go—ot to tell him that I didn’t ha—ate him. I never got to sa—ay that I lo—ove him!”
Something inside Pen ached for Colin. It was just a fight. She told her sisters she hated them all the time, even though she supposed she really loved them in a way only possible between siblings or family.
Mr. Bridgerton loved Colin. That was something she knew for certain.
“I think he knows,” she finally said. “I think he’s in heaven, so he can hear you crying. Hear how sorry you are.”
But that only caused Colin to cry even harder, his face red and his eyes squeezing tightly as though he could keep the tears inside by sheer force if not his will.
“Can I hug you?” she asked, wanting to comfort him but not wanting to scare him away.
“Yes,” he whispered.
She wrapped her arms around him, and he pressed his head into her.
“You can talk to him,” Pen suggested. “When you’re alone. He’ll forgive you.”
“I hope so, Pen,” Colin mumbled.
Through the open door, they could hear footsteps in the hallway.
“Colin!” his mother called out.
“Penelope!” her mother added.
“We should go back,” Pen whispered so only he could hear. “Your dad would want you with your family.”
Colin sighed, his voice barely a breath. “Okay.”
They crawled out from under the desk. At the sound of their little shoes stomping around in the study, their mothers turned back and spotted them.
“Thank God,” his mother exhaled, rushing toward him. “Please don’t run off like that again.”
“I needed to be alone,” Colin mumbled, still wiping tears off his face.
“I know, my dear,” she soothed, cupping his cheeks, her thumbs brushing over the damp trails. “But please tell me before you do. I—I worry about you.”
“Penelope!” her mother hissed, leaning down and hovering over her, her face so close to Pen’s she could smell wine on her breath. “Why didn’t you two come straight back?”
“Colin wasn’t ready,” Pen explained firmly. “He needed to talk. I think he’s okay now.”
“I certainly hope so,” her mother snapped, seizing her tightly by the hand. “You’ll be staying close to me the rest of the day.”
There were a lot of speeches in the ballroom. People started crying a lot, over and over again, including all the Bridgerton siblings and Mrs. Bridgerton. A photo of Mr. Bridgerton was on a sort of art easel, his kind face smiling at the guests, like he was still there in a strange way. Pen really hoped that Colin would get a chance to talk to his dad again. She was very confident that Mr. Bridgerton would let him know he was listening.
Pen didn’t have a chance to speak to or play with Colin again that day. He was busy talking to everyone else, accepting their sorry’s and sad smiles.
She hoped he would have plenty of time to be alone with his dad later that night.
She hoped he never wanted to run away from his family again.
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Chiquitita, you and I cry
But the sun is still in the sky and shinin' above you
Let me hear you sing once more like you did before
Sing a new song, Chiquitita