by Oster, C. G.
“I see Penelope is off sorting everything. She’s never as happy as when she has things to manage. I think she’d taken on the task of managing Henry,” Sue said.
“Penelope likes to be needed,” Mary confirmed. “Did that policeman speak to you? He’s quite dishy, isn’t he?”
Was he? Dory hadn’t noticed. As a married woman, perhaps she didn’t notice such things anymore. Inexperienced was the impression she’d gotten. “He seems very dedicated.” If that was true, she didn’t know, but he seemed willing to do his job, which was more than some of the policemen she’d dealt with in the past.
Obviously, this wasn’t the time or place to ask if anyone had heard anything about the postmortem examination. It must have happened, because the casket stood at the back of the church. A large wreath of flowers on top.
The space silenced and Dory turned to see a man walking in with Penelope. This had to be Henry, Dory assumed. Not exactly distraught, as Penelope had said, just a stoic lack of expression. His hair was neatly combed and he wore a dark suit. It had to be difficult for a man to lose all his family—although he wasn’t the only one. There had been too much loss, and here was another they had to endure.
Reverend Churing was there to receive them and spoke quietly to them before they seated themselves.
The sermon was lovely. A well thought out speech about what we contribute to our community and the people around us, and that Edith was a wonderful example of such service.
In all, the sermon heightened Dory’s opinion of Father Churing immensely. Her relationship with the church had never been terrible, but it had never been truly inspiring either. The solace that so many seemed to get just wasn’t... accessible to her. Or maybe she simply hadn’t yet been in a position where she’d needed it. Her life was simple, with cherished family and friends. No grave guilt or secrets.
But some people carried both, and she hadn’t completely laid to rest the idea that someone carried both with regards to Edith Wallis. If Henry Wallis was a violent man, she would probably have heard about it by now. Violent men often couldn’t hide what they were. It’s said some hid their vileness for behind closed doors. But was it invisible, or did the people around choose not to see it?
There was a difference between men who lost their control and killed in a fit of rage, to the murderers who planned their deeds. There were different motives. According to Michael, deaths resulting from fits of rage were much more common. And more often, it was women who were the victims of such crimes.
If Henry had murdered his wife in a fit of rage, everyone would likely have guessed what had happened. And it seemed that Henry had been at work. Surely the young constable had verified his whereabouts? That had to be the most basic thing he would do, wouldn’t it?
The service didn’t take long. It seemed Henry had chosen not to speak, which Dory understood. It wasn’t for everyone to share their grief. As the service ended, they mingled amongst themselves while things were being prepared outside. Meaning the casket was moved to the grave. The idea of the grave sent a chill up her spine. It seemed so final, so definitive. It brought home the tragedy in all this. Edith Wallis had lost her life. All those years she should have had, had been taken away, by accident or on purpose. It was a tragedy either way, but it was a crime if someone had done this to her, stolen her very life.
Everyone was staring at her and Dory just noticed. “Sorry, I didn’t hear. I was a bit distracted.”
“We were just asking if you were coming to the reception,” Mary said.
“Yes. I thought I might.”
“We were just going to walk,” Sue stated. “After the... You know, I really don’t like this part of the funeral. It’s so gloomy. Why do we have to stand around and watch the casket being lowered down, and then throw dirt on it? Isn’t it bad enough that she died? Do we have to be so gruesome with the laying her to rest part?”
Dory had no answers. These were old traditions, and personally, she liked to think the people that went on were just out there, just beyond reach. Not buried and forgotten. “Maybe some people just need to understand that they are gone.”
“I know she’s gone. I don’t need to dig her into the ground to prove it.”
“We can skip it, if you like,” Mary said.
“You know, I’d rather,” Sue responded.
“I’ll stay for it,” Dory said. Maybe Edith would be offended if she didn’t. Dory shook the thought off. In all honesty, she wasn't sure what she believed.
“We’ll help Penelope prepare,” Mary finally said and Sue agreed. They left and Dory joined the others heading into the graveyard. And this part of the funeral was as gruesome as the girls had worried it would be. It started raining, and grim faces stood huddled around the dug grave under black umbrellas.
Edith’s husband was just as stoic as before. Penelope stood next to him. It didn’t seem as though Edith had any other family there. There were people from the village, faces Dory had seen, but didn’t know. It reiterated that she and the housing development that had brought her had moved into an existing village where relationships went back decades. Meanwhile, down her street, they were all strangers, who guardedly smiled at each other when they passed on the street.
The eulogy that the reverend read out now was much more religious in tone, more rooted in processes and procedures. More mechanical in a way. Almost as if saying the right words was necessary to ensure Edith reached the right place. Maybe they were. What did she know?
What she did know was that she didn’t want to go to another funeral in a really long time. Surely death had had its fill for a while. And it would make her really angry if someone had done this. As if there hadn’t been enough death and dying.
Dory found she was growing really angry, but knew it was partially the confrontational nature of this internment. And maybe the entire war that preceded it. She was just angry. Furious. And then she felt like crying, which was alright, because this was the appropriate time and place for it. Why hadn’t she brought a tissue?
The man standing next to her kindly offered his handkerchief. “Thank you,” she mumbled.
By the time they walked away, Dory felt truly drained. It was unusual that she cried. No doubt her eyes were red and puffy now. As she left the graveyard, she picked up a small stone and pressed the coolness of it to her eyes in turn so it would rid them of some of the redness.
The walk to the Wallis house wasn’t long. Sue and Mary were already there, and it was warm compared to the cool rain outside. Unfortunately, the rain also made it humid when so many people in damp clothes were in the small parlor which adjoined the dining room.
“Penelope must have baked like a demon,” Sue said as Dory found them. “She must have used up a month’s worth of rations.”
“I suspect some of the ladies contributed ingredients. There’s scones and clotted cream,” Mary said brightly.
“I’d love a scone,” Dory said wistfully.
“Well, get one before they’re gone,” Sue urged and Dory walked over to the dining table where there was an assortment of biscuits, scones and a sponge cake. Spearing a scone, she cut it in half and spread on the strawberry jam before the clotted cream. It was a little taste of summer on a truly awful day. Jam really was important, Dory conceded. It seemed like a frilly, superfluous thing, but it bolstered the mood like nothing else, and it provided summer nutrients when they were sorely needed.
Taking her small plate and pouring herself a cup of tea, she returned to the girls, having to find a perch for the teacup while she managed the scone. It was wonderful. Penelope was a brilliant baker.
“The weather’s packing in, isn’t it?” Mary said. “It can be like this in autumn.”
“Summer just seemed too short, but the harvest is done,” Sue said, looking out the window, which was in the direction of the chicken coop. “Do you think the chickens will miss her?”
“Maybe. My uncle had a chicken who came running when he came home. For its entire lif
e, my uncle was its favorite human.”
“I wouldn’t have thought they could tell us apart,” Sue said.
“Oh, they do. They hold grudges too.”
“Too bad they can’t tell us what happened to her,” Dory said.
“Maybe they tried to, but we didn’t listen,” Sue said.
“Poor Henry is bearing up. Penelope is fussing over him. It’s a wonder he hasn’t told her to stop,” Mary said.
“He should be grateful for all she’s done with this. If it wasn’t for her, we would probably have to boil our own water for tea. Honestly, I don’t know how he’ll manage without Edith.”
“I’m sure Penelope will help him,” Mary said.
“Don’t be snide,” Sue said. “She’s being very generous.”
“Yes,” Mary replied, but it didn’t sound like she was agreeing.
“How long had Henry and Edith been married?” Dory asked.
“Ages. Since they were eighteen, I think. They were neighbors growing up, and by neighbors, I mean farming neighbors, so they actually lived miles apart. They were definitely more country than village. But they bought this house close to the village. I think he bought it for her. There’s actually another house on the farm, but Edith enjoyed village life.”
“That is very sweet. It sounds like they had a good relationship.”
“They did. You know some of these farmers show all the emotions of telephone poles, but he got her anything she wanted. He’s going to miss her. Poor man.”
Over in the parlor, Henry stood with a group of men. One of them had brought a bottle of whiskey and was sharing it around. Perhaps this was the time and place for that too. The reverend didn’t seem to mind.
The constable hadn’t attended the funeral, Dory noted. Everyone else seemed to be here.
Chapter 8
“HOW WAS THE FUNERAL?” Michael asked as he walked into the kitchen and saw her there in her black clothes.
“It rained, and hasn’t really stopped since,” Dory said, feeling exhausted. Michael came and kissed her on the cheek, and for a moment, she adored the warmth of him. “Otherwise, it was as nice as funerals can be, I suppose.”
“Have you started dinner yet?”
“No, I’m running behind,” she said. Luckily, she had bought two pork chops, which would fry up quickly. She’d actually considered it when she’d planned the meal that she might be running late.
“Why don’t we go down to the pub for dinner?” he asked. It had been a while since they’d gone to the pub for a meal.
“That would be nice,” Dory said with a smile. They’d used to do so every time they’d meet, but increasingly, they’d been at home more. Mostly because it took some time for him to get home.
“Come on,” he said and nudged her with his elbow. “Let’s go out.”
Dory was touched. He was trying to make her feel better after a tough day, and she adored him for doing so. They walked to the front door and he helped her into her coat. Both of their coats were wet, but it was only until they reached the pub.
He held the umbrella for her as he took her to her side of the car, then walked around and got in himself. The engine started and the wipers along with it.
“How was work?” she asked.
“Good. Busy. Didn’t spend a moment at my desk today.”
Now she felt a little guilty too, because he’d had a busy day and could probably use an evening of sitting. Still, she was touched that he wanted to take her out.
The drive to the pub wasn’t long. An old building with small windows that glowed with yellow charm in the dark. A fire roared inside and the gentle din of conversation made for a lovely atmosphere. “We’re lucky to have such a lovely pub,” she said.
“It is a nice one,” Michael admitted.
This pub was long established, and a place that had been for locals long before the new suburb had appeared. There was always that little hint that they were invading. Nothing was said, but to Dory, she was aware that in the minds of some of the people who looked over at them, there had to be the acknowledgement that they were some of those ‘new’ people.
The publican smiled broadly. It certainly wouldn’t serve him to turn the newcomers away.
“We’ll take a table,” Michael said and the publican nodded.
“There’s a few free ones. Take whichever suits you. There’s one closer to the fire.”
“Excellent,” Michael said and led them to the one by the fire after ordering some drinks. “This should be warm enough.” Swiftly, Dory took off her coat and hung it over the back of the seat. The rain pattered on the window. This was lovely. The fire crackled and it was warm. “It’s been a while since we sat like this.”
“Yes,” Dory replied and smiled. It even felt as though they hadn’t sat this close together for a while. Michael looked tired. “How is everything in London?”
“Busy,” he said. “There’s a degree of lawlessness after the war.”
The publican came over with a glass of ale and a cider. Dory accepted her cider with a smile.
“A degree of exuberance has a mirror side of carelessness,” he continued. “London still looks a mess and many see that as opportunity.”
Between sips of cider, Dory listened. “Perhaps it is also a degree of not wanting to see what is there.”
“Is that what you feel is happening with your friend?”
Edith wasn’t a friend by any stretch of the imagination, but yes, that was what she believed. “I think people really want to believe that perfectly innocent means caused this death.”
“But you don’t think so,” Michael stated. “These things will come out. The people who deal with such things are professionals.”
This was exactly what she expected him to say, but to be fair, Constable Worthing didn’t seem experienced. “Are men joining the force now that the war is over?”
“Yes, quite a few. The bosses have taken this as an opportunity to recruit the next generation. A lot of young men are coming back seeking what to do with themselves.”
That might have been how Constable Worthing became a policeman. He seemed awfully young, but then most men returning from war seemed awfully young.
“There are some teething problems when you fill the ranks with new recruits. Most of them are disciplined enough,” Michael went onto say. “There’s a push for order to allow the country to recover and rebuild.”
"I suppose that is needed,” Dory replied.
“We’re getting there. Slower than some hoped, but a lot has changed.”
Dory listened to him talk. She loved listening to him talk.
“I think I’ll have the steak and kidney pie,” he finally said, drawing Dory’s attention to the menu.
“That sounds good,” she said.
“I hope you’re happy here,” Michael said. A statement she hadn’t been expected.
“Of course.”
“You seem a little... lost, sometimes.”
“Just a lot of change, I suppose. Good change. It’s a lovely village, and I am making friends.”
“It’s unfortunate this has happened. It can be distressing in a community like this.”
“Yes,” Dory replied, thinking of the women she’d spent time with that day. “The uncertainty is unsettling for everyone.”
“These things must be given time. A shock like this works its way through a community. We must give them the time and space to respond. Some things cannot be simply fixed.”
Was that what he thought she did, tried to fix things? Perhaps it was a fair observation.
“I’ll go order,” he said and rose from his chair. She watched him as he walked to the bar and ordered their pies.
It was comforting that he was concerned for her. She did have a tendency to take responsibility for sorting things that happened, and she would drive herself to distraction with that assumed burden. Perhaps an urge that drove Penelope as well. Henry’s need seemed a compelling call to her to help.
Chapter 9
“RIGHT, EVERYONE. SIT DOWN. Let’s start the meeting,” Hesta said beseechingly. “We are running a tad late. We have to be out of the hall by three o’clock on the dot, because the decorations have to start for whatever the boy scouts have planned. Sit, sit.”
The gathered ladies left the table in the back with the hot water urn and took the seats that had been arranged in a semi-circle around the small stage at the front.
“Now, today,” Hesta said as if she was speaking to children, “we are talking winter crops, because it’s time to start planning for the winter season. A kitchen garden is always more successful if you plan it out properly. As we know, some plants aren’t the best of friends, and it’s wise to know who enjoys what company. So we have a guest today, who’s come all the way from Aylesbury for this talk, and we’re honored she’s made the effort to come speak to us today. First, however, we must probably open the meeting and go through anything that must be mentioned. After the talk, we have a motion we need to discuss in terms of what we want to do for the harvest festival. It is fast approaching, so we cannot delay planning for it much further.”
The meeting proceeded to open and they were officially welcomed. The minutes from the last meetings was usually discussed, but not this time, which was perhaps understandable as it had involved finding a member of the group dead. Instead, they chose to mention the correspondences from headquarters and a brief financial statement.
To Dory’s surprise, there was no sentimentality toward the fallen member.
“It is now my deepest pleasure to present Mrs. Ruthledge from Aylesbury,” Hesta finally said.
A tall, thin woman stood up, looking around a little nervously as she smiled and took them all in. “As Mrs. Hesta mentioned, I have prepared a talk on winter crops. As we all know, winter can be a difficult season, but it does not have to be barren.” The woman went on to present a well thought out talk, going over the main winter crops and the things one needed to know about caring for them.