One for Sorrow

by Mary Downing Hahn

  Miss Harrison looked shocked and angry. “I will not tolerate this behavior. Line up and return to the classroom immediately.”

  As we got into line, Rosie muttered, “Recess is over early, and it’s all Elsie’s fault.”

  Once we were seated at our desks, Miss Harrison said, “I know you’re worried about the flu, girls. Maybe we should talk about it. Does anyone have a question?”

  Theresa Luciano raised her hand first. “My aunt says everybody who gets flu dies. Is that true?”

  “Of course not, Theresa. Many people recover, but we hear more about the ones who die. Sometimes I think newspapers like to scare us.”

  “That’s just what my mother says,” I told Miss Harrison.

  “What are the symptoms?” Eloise Murphy asked.

  “From what I understand, it begins like any other flu—​fever, fatigue, muscle and joint pain, headache, lack of appetite. Maybe a cough and a runny nose.” Miss Harrison paused a moment. “It’s just that the symptoms are more severe than normal, as is the flu itself.”

  Rosie raised her hand. “My pop says big cities are closing schools. Will our school close?”

  “In many cities, they’ve closed theaters, department stores, and other places where large crowds gather—​including schools.”

  “But this school.” Rosie leaned forward eagerly. “Will this school close?”

  “It’s under discussion,” Miss Harrison said. “The public schools closed yesterday, so I wouldn’t be surprised if we follow suit.”

  Rosie sat back and grinned. “No more homework,” she whispered to Jane in a voice loud enough for all of us to hear.

  “Well,” Elsie said, “I hope school stays open. Education is important, isn’t it, Miss Harrison?”

  Miss Harrison said, yes, of course it was. “But if our health is endangered, the school will close.” She had to speak loudly to make herself heard over the murmur of dislike directed at Elsie.

  After school, Rosie, Jane, Lucy, Eunice, and I headed to the corner grocer for candy. Turkish toffee was my current favorite, but the others were in favor of licorice—​black for Rosie and red for Jane, Eunice, and Lucy.

  Rosie chewed a big mouthful and opened her mouth wide. “Look, my teeth are black!”

  “Mine are red,” Lucy shouted. “Oh, I’m bleeding, help me, I’m bleeding to death!”

  “Call for the doctor,” I yelled. “Call for the nurse!”

  Rosie, Eunice, and Jane joined in for the third line. “Call for the lady with the alligator purse!”

  Lucy staggered about, gasping as if she were dying. Our laughter rang against the brick walls of the houses. “Oh, no, it’s the flu!” Rosie screamed. “Enza got Lucy!”

  Just as Lucy fell down dead on the sidewalk, a door flew open and a woman came out on the front step. “Stop that noise this minute. Don’t you girls have any respect? People are sick in this house. They need rest!”

  For once, no one had anything smart to say, not even Rosie. Lucy leapt to her feet, and we all ran across the street and around a corner.

  Ahead of us, a horse-drawn hearse waited in front of a house with a funeral wreath on its door. We stopped so fast we almost fell over each other. I tried to look away, but my eyes took in every detail—​the hearse’s ornate carvings, its shiny black paint, the sleek black horses, the black plumes on their heads, the driver in his black top hat, black overcoat, and white gloves.

  Two men dressed in black came down the front steps carrying a coffin and slid it into the back of the hearse. The horses shuffled their feet and showed the whites of their eyes as if they knew death was in the box.

  Rosie and Jane bowed their heads and made the sign of the cross. Lucy, Eunice, and I whispered a prayer.

  The family followed the coffin down the steps. Mother, father, and two girls, all four dressed in black. Supported by her husband’s arm, the woman sobbed into a handkerchief. They climbed into a black carriage behind the hearse. Slowly, with great dignity, the horses walked past us. We watched the procession until it disappeared around a corner.

  “Oh, mercy, that’s the Jenkinses’ house,” Jane whispered. “Their son is my brother’s age.” She looked at us. “He wasn’t with them, just his big sisters. Do you think Charlie died?” Her voice dropped, and she began to cry.

  We gathered around Jane to comfort her. When she stopped crying, we walked slowly toward home. No one laughed, no one sang about Enza or the lady with the alligator purse. We passed two more funeral wreaths.

  At one house, three women dressed in black knocked at a door. A woman with a sad face welcomed them inside. “Thank you for coming,” the woman said as the door closed behind them.

  “It’s a viewing,” Eunice whispered. “The dead person is right there in the parlor, so people can view him.”

  “Oh, no, that’s awful. I could never go in a house and see a dead person in a coffin.” Jane reached for my hand. Hers was cold, but I held it tightly. Enza had come to Mount Pleasant, bringing death with her.

  “Have any of you seen a dead person?” Rosie asked.

  “When my grandma died, I was only five,” Lucy said, “but my mother made me kiss her goodbye. She was cold and hard, like a statue.” She shuddered. “I had nightmares for weeks afterward.”

  “I saw my Uncle Bert,” Rosie said. “We had the wake at our house. Everybody talked and told stories and sang. It was a big party. They ate enough to feed the city of Baltimore, Ma said, and the men got so drunk they could scarcely walk. They forgot about poor Uncle Bert all alone in the spare room. I went in and looked at him, but I was too scared to get closer than the doorway.”

  Jane, Eunice, and I had never been to a viewing, much less seen a dead person, so we had no stories to add.

  We walked another block before coming to the corner where we split up to walk our separate ways home.

  “Wait a minute,” Rosie said. “I have an idea.”

  We turned to her, all four of us, and waited. Rosie hesitated a moment, almost as if she thought we might not like what she was about to say.

  “I was just thinking about my uncle’s wake and all the food—​especially the cakes and pies and cookies and candy. Yes, chocolate candy, the kind that comes in fancy boxes, and some are delicious and others you spit out when nobody’s looking.”

  We nodded. Everybody knew that kind of candy. It appeared at Christmas usually. Just thinking about it made my mouth water.

  “Well.” Rosie paused again. “What if we went to viewings and pretended we knew the dead person? Just think about all the sweets we’d get.”

  “Oh, Rosie, no,” Jane said. “We can’t go to a viewing just to get sweets.”

  “We’d be taking advantage of people.” That’s what I said, but I really meant I didn’t want to see dead people or be in the same house where someone died of the flu—​what if their germs were still in the furniture and the drapes and the carpet and maybe even the refreshments?

  “We’d be pretending to know the dead person,” Jane added. “And that’s the same as lying.”

  “We won’t be doing anything wrong,” Rosie said. “We’ll tell people how sorry we are, we’ll talk about how nice the dead person was, we’ll make the mourners feel better. That’s not taking advantage, that’s not lying.”

  “We’ll be polite and well behaved.” To demonstrate, Lucy lowered her head piously.

  Eunice nodded. “And then we’ll have some refreshments and leave.”

  “And just think of the money we’ll save if we get free candy instead of buying it at the corner grocery,” Rosie said.

  Eunice looked at Jane. “Nobody said you have to come with us. Or you either, Annie. You can spend your allowance on candy if you want to.”

  She and Lucy stood on either side of Rosie, their arms linked with hers. I gave Jane a worried look. “We didn’t say we weren’t coming, we just—”

  “You’re just scared to see a dead person,” Rosie said.

  Jane and I drew clo
ser together. In the look that passed between us, we read each other’s minds. If we backed out of Rosie’s plan, Lucy and Eunice would take our places as Rosie’s best friends.

  “Think of the cakes,” Eunice said, “and the cookies.”

  “And the chocolate candy with caramel or nougat in the middle.” Rosie smacked her lips.

  Think of the coffin, I wanted to add, standing in a dark corner, its top open so everyone can see the dead body. Think of the flu germs in the cake.

  “So everyone is in?” Rosie asked.

  Jane and I nodded slowly. We were in, mainly because neither of us wanted to be out.

  “Well,” Rosie said, “it’s almost suppertime. Read the obituaries tonight. Tomorrow we’ll pick which houses to visit.”

  Rosie ran down Prospect Street toward home. The rest of us turned the corner and headed up Hill Street. Eunice and Lucy chattered about the sweets we’d have, but Jane and I said little. I sensed she was just as worried as I was.

  After Eunice and Lucy went their way, Jane squeezed my hand. “Do you think we should meet them tomorrow?”

  “If we don’t, Rosie won’t be friends with us.”

  Jane sighed. “We have to stick together, don’t we?”

  “We won’t look at the dead person, we won’t even get near the coffin,” I said. “We’ll just eat a cookie and leave.”

  “Maybe she’ll change her mind,” Jane said. “Maybe we won’t have to do it after all.”

  We both knew there was no chance of that. Once Rosie made up her mind, it stayed made up. And besides, she loved sweets. How could she resist the opportunity to get them for free?

  I waved goodbye to Jane and trudged down Portman Street alone. It was almost dark. A cold wind stirred the fallen leaves. They seemed to rise up and follow me, tip tapping like ghostly shoes on the sidewalk, whispering among themselves.

  I walked faster, suddenly afraid of the leaves scurrying at my heels. I wanted to look over my shoulder, but I was scared of what I might see following close behind me. It was as if the ghosts of Enza’s victims had risen from their graves to carry me away with them, far from my home, my parents, my friends, my life.

  Tomorrow I’d say no to Rosie. I wouldn’t go near the dead, not for all the free sweets in the world.

  Seven

  HE NEXT DAY I came downstairs dressed for school only to be told Pearce Academy was closed until the flu ran its course.

  “The department stores on Main Street are closed too,” Mother said, “and so are the churches and movie theaters. No Liberty Bond parade this weekend either.”

  I sat down and stared at her. “No school?” I’d worked past bedtime on the report due today. Now it seemed I might as well have read Riders of the Purple Sage instead.

  “Two hundred and eighty-nine people died in Philadelphia yesterday.” Mother wrung the dishcloth in her hands, letting the water drip on the floor. “That’s almost three hundred people in one day, Annie.”

  I stirred sugar into my oatmeal. When I swallowed the first spoonful, my throat felt scratchy. I was tired, listless. Appetite gone, I pushed my bowl away.

  “What’s wrong, Annie?” Mother asked. “Don’t you want your oatmeal?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t feel well. I think I’m getting sick.”

  Mother felt my forehead, her way of checking my temperature. “You’re as cool as a cucumber,” she said with a smile. “You’re worried about the flu, aren’t you?”

  “It comes on very quickly, you know.”

  “Yes,” Mother said. “But we mustn’t dwell on it. It’s bad for you.

  “Maybe we should wear flu masks. Lots of people have them now.”

  Mother laughed. “Don’t be silly. Your father says those things are worthless. That flimsy little piece of gauze won’t stop germs.”

  Still feeling a little uncertain about my health, I returned to my room and changed into play clothes. Perhaps I’d take it easy today. Stay home. Rest. I’d tell Rosie I couldn’t go to any viewings because I was sick.

  I’d no sooner curled up with Purple Sage than I heard the doorbell chime. Mother called upstairs to say Jane was there. I laid the book down as Jane came running up the steps.

  “We’re supposed to meet Rosie and the others at noon in front of 28 Prospect Street,” she told me.

  “How do you know that?”

  “Rosie telephoned. She tried to call you too, but Mrs. Cooper was hogging your party line with gossip about the flu.”

  Now was the time to tell Jane I wasn’t going, but if I stayed home and everyone else went, they’d think I was scared. They might tease me. They might even stop being friends with me. Then what would I do?

  So I followed Jane downstairs. Mother stopped us at the door to ask where we were going.

  “Oh,” I said, trying to sound casual, “we’re meeting Rosie, Lucy, and Eunice at the park.”

  It was the first time I’d ever lied to Mother, and I was shocked to discover how easy it was.

  “Have fun,” Mother called after us. “It’s a lovely day. Enjoy the sunshine and fresh air.”

  As soon as the front gate closed behind us, Jane asked, “Are you scared?”

  “Oh, perhaps little bit.” Another lie—​I was terrified. “Are you?”

  “Yes,” Jane said. “I’m not going near the coffin. I’ll sit on the other side of the room. I doubt I’ll be able to eat anything. It’s just not right.”

  “We could always say we’re not going.”

  “We have to go, Annie. We said we would.”

  Holding hands, we walked toward Prospect Street. “Do you think we’re dressed all right?” Jane asked.

  We were both wearing play clothes. My dress was dark blue with a dropped waist and a sailor collar, and Jane’s was black and white plaid with a pleated skirt. We wore long black stockings and high-top button shoes, and our hair was combed and held back with ribbons tied in big bows.

  “I hope so,” I said. “We can’t very well go out to play in our Sunday best.”

  No matter how slowly we walked, we came to Prospect Street. Rosie, Lucy, and Eunice were waiting in front of a house with a big black wreath on the door. We paused and took a deep breath. While we hesitated, several mourners passed us and climbed the front steps. They knocked softly. As the door opened, the murmur of voices drifted out of the house.

  “Look sad,” Rosie told Jane and me. “Tell Mrs. O’Neil how sorry you are to learn of her daughter’s passing—”

  “Don’t say death or dying,” Eunice butted in. “It’s rude.”

  Rosie led us up the steps. “I hope they have something good, chocolates maybe,” she whispered, and then knocked softly.

  The door opened, and a woman with a kind but sorrowful face welcomed us inside.

  “We are so sad about Agnes,” Rosie said. “We’ll miss hearing her sing in the church choir.”

  “Thank you, dear.” Mrs. O’Neil pressed Rosie’s hand between hers.

  The parlor was crowded with people, all strangers to us, speaking in low voices. Followed by Lucy and Eunice, Rosie approached the coffin, which rested on a platform in a little alcove that might have been designed exactly for that purpose. She pinched my arm and gave Jane and me a warning look.

  I glanced at Jane, and she at me. With a small shrug, or perhaps it was a shiver, Jane walked slowly to the coffin with me close behind. Rosie stood beside it, looking like a statue in the cemetery, her head slightly lowered and a pious expression on her face. All she needed was a pair of wings sprouting from her shoulder blades.

  Although I lingered behind Jane and did not look too closely, I glimpsed a pale but beautiful face, eyes closed, hair arranged in a swirl of dark curls across a satin pillow. Agnes didn’t look exactly alive, but she didn’t look exactly dead either. In truth, she was not as scary as I’d imagined she’d be. I felt overwhelmingly sad to see her lie so still. My eyes brimmed with tears, and I turned away.

  “There, there.” A woman gave me a
little hug. “Don’t be sad, dear. Agnes is at peace with the Lord.”

  At first I thought she said Agnes was at the beach with the Lord, and I stared at her in amazement. Then I understood and lowered my eyes.

  “Would you like some cake?” the woman asked.

  I followed her to a table covered with an embroidered cloth and laden with food—​slices of yellow cake with rich chocolate icing, dozens of sugar cookies, gingersnaps, and dainty madeleines, a big crystal bowl of red punch.

  “Help yourself, sweetheart.”

  I wasn’t hungry, but to be polite, I took a small slice of cake and retreated to a corner as far away from the coffin as possible.

  Jane joined me. She’d taken a piece of cake and a cookie, but like me she toyed with the food.

  Across the room, Rosie was talking to Mr. and Mrs. O’Neil about Agnes and her lovely voice that no one would ever hear again and wasn’t that the saddest thing.

  “How does she know so much about Agnes?” I whispered to Jane.

  “She read the obituary,” Jane whispered back.

  The next time I looked her way, Rosie was talking about Agnes’s charity, how she gave to the poor and helped with fundraising for wounded veterans coming home from Europe, and volunteered in a school for immigrant children.

  “I plan to use Agnes as a model,” Rosie told the weeping O’Neils. “I will do my best to emulate her and take up charity work myself.”

  Lucy joined us, her face flushed with suppressed laughter. “I think we should leave before I lose my self control and burst into a fit of giggles.”

  Eunice tugged at Rosie’s arm and whispered something to her. “Oh yes, oh thank you for reminding me, Eunice.”

  Turning back to the O’Neils, she told them once again of her admiration for Agnes and apologized for needing to leave. “I have a dental appointment,” she told them.

  The O’Neils hugged Rosie and thanked her for coming and claimed her remarks had done them a world of good. The crowd of mourners looked our way and smiled tenderly. I could almost hear them thinking what sweet, well-behaved girls we were.

  Once we were outside, I took a deep breath. “How could you tell them all those things, Rosie? You never saw Agnes O’Neil until today, and her lying in her coffin, at that.”