Then Susan, saint that she is, told Elizabeth we’d be there until closing time, and to please let her know if there was anything that she or John could do. John seconded that, but John had no idea how he could help out in a funeral home. Water the flowers? Turn up the organ music? Hopefully, William and Charlotte would tire before 9:00 P.M. That was one good thing they could do for me.
Elizabeth thanked us for all we’d done already and added, “I love you both.”
That was sweet. And to continue the love fest, I said, “It’s too bad that it took a funeral to bring us all together – you, and Susan and me, and William and Charlotte, who I’ve missed terribly all these years.”
I thought I heard a little squeaky sound come from Charlotte, who didn’t miss that, and I definitely heard a snort from William. Come on, guys. Loosen up and let the love in.
Susan suggested we sit, so we took seats behind Elizabeth and her two children.
Some wakes are better than others, partly depending, as I said, on who’s lying in the coffin. Also, you do get to see people you haven’t seen in a while, and you can promise to get together for happier occasions. This wake, however, promised to be deadly. All right, all right.
I mean, I didn’t seem to know anyone who was there, or anyone who was drifting in. Maybe I should go over to Parlor B and see what was going on there.
Susan did know some people, however, and she stood a few times and said hello to arriving mourners, and now and then she’d drag someone over to say hello to me and her parents.
William and Charlotte, too, knew a few of the older crowd, and they got up and greeted some of them, then they drifted off to the back of the parlor where the senior citizens had gathered, away from the coffin, which probably upset them.
I recalled that at George’s wake ten years ago, the old servants’ network, or what was left of it then, had gathered in good numbers at Walton’s to pay their final respects to one of their own. I recalled, too, that even a few of the old gentry and their ladies had made an appearance. But now I didn’t see anyone who could be from either of those opposite but joined classes, and this more than anything else I’d seen here made me realize that the old world that had been dying when I was born was truly dead and buried.
And then, coming through the door, appeared an old lady in a wheelchair pushed by a nurse in a white uniform. Susan saw her and said to me, “That’s Mrs. Cotter, who was our head housekeeper. Do you remember her?”
I didn’t recall having a housekeeper, head or otherwise, so I assumed she meant at Stanhope Hall. I replied, “I think I do.”
Mrs. Cotter was wheeled up to the coffin by the nurse, and they remained there for some time, then they did a one-eighty and moved toward Elizabeth.
Susan stood and took my hand, and we went to where Elizabeth and Mrs. Cotter were now sitting face-to-face, and Elizabeth held the old lady’s hands in hers. They were both crying and speaking through their tears.
Mrs. Cotter was infirm, but she seemed sharp enough, and she recognized Susan right away. Susan knelt beside her, and more tears started to flow as all three women reminisced about Ethel, and George, and about the past, and caught up on life.
This seemed to be all that was left of the glory days of Stanhope Hall – the former master and mistress burping martinis in the rear of Parlor A; their daughter trying to re-create at least some parts of those better days; Mrs. Cotter, whom I did remember presiding over a diminished staff in a house that was being closed up, room by room; Elizabeth, the estate brat; and Ethel, who was in the enviable position of not having to attend any more funerals.
Susan said to Mrs. Cotter, “You remember my husband, John Sutter.”
Mrs. Cotter adjusted her bifocals and said, “I thought you ran off with another woman.”
The elderly, God bless them, can and do say whatever they want, even if they don’t get it quite right. I replied, politely, “I’m back.”
“Well, you never should have left in the first place. Miss Stanhope had all the suitors she wanted, and from some of the best families.”
Everyone was suppressing smiles, and Mrs. Cotter, happy for the opportunity to speak up for Miss Stanhope, continued, “This is a fine young lady, and I hope you appreciate her.”
“I do.”
Mrs. Cotter seemed content to leave it at that, and Susan said to her, “My parents are here, Mrs. Cotter, and I know they would want to say hello.”
And then something strange happened. Mrs. Cotter said to Susan, “Thank you, but I have no wish to speak to Mr. Stanhope.”
Well, that stopped the show. Then Mrs. Cotter said to her nurse, “We can leave now.”
Elizabeth walked with them to the lobby, and Susan and I went back to our seats.
I didn’t know what to say, so I didn’t say anything. But, I thought, William must have been a particularly difficult employer, tight as a drum, and not overly generous with the severance pay. I was happy to have my very low opinion of William validated by Mrs. Cotter in front of his daughter.
Susan did comment, “I seem to remember some friction between Dad and Mrs. Cotter.”
To lighten the moment, I said, “She certainly put me in my place.”
Susan smiled and said, “She doesn’t remember, but she liked you. She said I should marry you.”
We left it there, and I went back to dividing my attention between my watch and the arriving mourners. I noticed now some people who were obviously friends of Elizabeth, male and female, and also a few women who were so badly dressed that they could have been her customers. I suppose I’ve been conditioned since childhood to look down on the nouveaux riches, but they themselves make it easy for people like me to make fun of them. I mean, they are a bad combination of money without taste, and conspicuous consumption without restraint. And they seemed to be taking over this part of the planet.
After about half an hour, I was bored senseless, so I didn’t notice that my mother had arrived until I realized that Susan was speaking to Harriet, who was standing with Elizabeth in the first row.
Harriet looked at me and asked, “Aren’t you going to say hello, John?”
Bitch. I stood and apologized. “I’m sorry, Mother. I was deep in prayer.”
She actually smiled at that, then she, Susan, and Elizabeth continued chatting.
Harriet, by the way, was wearing a coarse cotton dress of multi-colors, and I was certain that it was the mourning dress of some fucked-up tribe that lived in some fucked-up jungle in some fucked-up country somewhere. Harriet was multicultural before it became fashionable, and any culture would do, as long as it wasn’t her own.
So, before she started dancing around the coffin throwing burning bananas into the air or something, I excused myself and escaped to the sitting room. Tom and Laurence were taking a break, and I sat with them. I said, “Explain to me again how you can be partners and be in different businesses.”
We all got a good chuckle out of that, and Tom confessed, “I thought I had a mother-in-law from hell, God rest her soul, but your two are straight from the inferno.”
I replied, “Oh, they’re not so bad.”
Tom said, “Well, I’m only going by what Elizabeth used to tell me, and she got most of that from Ethel. So I’m sorry if I misspoke.”
I conceded, “They’re not the most likable people. But they do have some good qualities.” I was in a don’t-give-a-shit mood, so I explained, “They’re rich and old.”
That got a good laugh, and Tom said, “Well, big congratulations on your coming marriage.”
So I sat there awhile making small talk with Tom and Laurence, glad for the company. Then William walked into the big sitting room with an older gent, and he saw me, but he didn’t acknowledge me. Well, that wasn’t going to stop me from being polite and respectful to my future father-in-law, so I held up my hand and flashed two fingers.