Brownstone

by Dean Kutzler

  “Bessie? What happened to Hilda?”

  “Oh, it has been some time Jack. Hildegard hasn’t been in our employ for over a year now. She went back to Germany to take care of her mother. I’m afraid she’s fallen ill. You’ll love Bessie. Paula Deen is her favorite cook! My kinda gal! There’s something to be said for a cook who’s not afraid of a little butter.”

  “Son, it’s good to see you,” Franklin Elliot gave a nod and a wink with steely eyes as he held his hand out towards Jack. Always proper business. It was the one thing Franklin could be counted on for, always proper business.

  “Dad, it’s good to see you, too.” His father’s handshake was just a bit too hard as he regarded him with apprehension.

  “How’s the journalism business been? There’s always a column waiting here for you in New York, son. When you decide to get serious,” he said cocking an eyebrow.

  “I know, I think I just heard one about to open up.” Jack was unaware of the slight curl his upper lip had taken.

  His father glared at him just before his mother interrupted and diffused the bomb before it went off. “Now Franklin and Jack, we’ll have none of that. It’s been way too long since we’ve all been together. Especially under the circumstances, we need to keep a civil head in order to get this unpleasantry out of the way.” Both her arms shot out towards them as she hooked each of their arms and towed them into the church foyer. Jack’s father shot her a look that he didn’t quite understand.

  Detective Scanlin, Gary Scanlin, was waiting inside. What better place to look for a murder suspect than at the funeral? “Jack, Mrs. Elliot, on behalf of myself and the entire department of homicide, you have our deepest condolences.” His hands were folded in front of him and he gave them a gentle nod. “Terry Elliot was an honorable man. Please know I have the whole department working on his case. I just want to reassure you that this injustice will not go on unpunished.” His sincerity was earnest as he turned from Jack and his mother and addressed his father. “I’m sorry, you must be Mr. Elliot?” He cocked his head to the side.

  “Yes, Franklin.” He reluctantly reached a hand towards the detective.

  “My condolences. You’re a hard man to reach, Mr. Elliot.” The detective ignored his hand and pulled out his notepad and pencil.

  “I do apologize, Mr. Scanlin. I’m a very busy man, but you are on my list of return calls.” His reply couldn’t have been drier as he pulled back his hand.

  “That’s Detective Scanlin. Just for the record.” He favored him the slightest smile. “Yes Mr. Elliot. Your office has assured me that you’ll return my call. But since we’re here now, can we chat a bit about your relationship with your brother?” Jack’s mother tsk’d in disapproval while Jack just turned his head in guilt.

  “Now, Detective—” Jack’s mother started, but was interrupted before she could continue.

  “That’s okay, Irma.” There was that look again. “Mr. Scan—ah, Mr. Detective Scanlin, I’m sure is a very busy man himself and I’m also sure that his job is a very stressful, difficult job. I think that I can speak on the behalf of my family that we appreciate your tenacity regarding my brother’s case. But this is neither the time nor the place, Mr. Detective Scanlin.” Mourners started filing in, turning their ears toward the conversation and lingering to lengthen their nosey intrusions. A Spanish man with medium length jet black hair slicked back like a mobster and a dark smudge over his right eyebrow, nervously nodded and continued into the church when Jack’s father frowned at his lack of manners.

  “By all means, Mr. Elliot,” the detective continued, hands in the air. “I do apologize. When you’re right, you’re right. This isn’t the time or the place and I surely don’t mean any disrespect.” Lowering his voice he said, “But if I may make myself completely clear, there will be a time and a place. Officially or unofficially.” Detective Scanlin, Gary Scanlin, placed his notepad and pencil back inside his coat pocket, bowed in condolence and left the foyer of the church.

  “My, my!” Jack’s mother exclaimed, fanning her face with the bulky clutch. “I appreciate his dedication and thoroughness, but did he really have to come make a display in the house of God?”

  “Technically, we’re only in the foyer.” Jack’s father corrected her, glancing in his son’s direction.

  “Let’s just go inside,” Jack was beginning to blush from the scene.

  As they walked down the gold and white checkerboard floor toward the front of the church, Jack felt the Blessed Mother’s eyes following him, judging him from her stained glass prison, set in the window of the wall. Hers weren’t the only. The slick-haired man sat in the back pew and blushed at his indiscretion as they passed by.

  Once they were seated in the front row by the sanctuary, Jack looked past his mother over at his father. Franklin Elliot was staring ahead, stern as ever, waiting for the sermon to begin. Regardless of the animosity between Jack and his father, his intention was never to sic Detective Scanlin on him like a rabid dog. He merely spoke the truth to the detective. Uncle Terry and his father had never gotten along and it seemed as the years passed, their liking for one another lessened, if not dissipated altogether.

  The sermon and ceremony that shortly followed were both beautiful and painstakingly long as these things go. But it was no surprise that many honorable people had shown up to pay their last respects to Jack’s uncle. He was a true pillar of the community, always getting involved and always giving back.

  Once the sermon was done, Jack rode with his parents in the family limo to the cemetery. The traffic on the ride uptown was unmercifully slow, which only added to the tension between Jack and his father. Even his mother’s chatty banter was unusually quiet.

  “Did either of you know about Uncle Terry buying a family plot in the Marble Cemetery?” Jack asked, in an attempt to break the ice.

  “I don’t believe he ever mentioned it.” His mother turned towards his father. “Did he honey?”

  “You’d know better than I would.” He snapped, with another look like the first two.

  “Well, I think it’s quite the noble gesture.” Jack said tugging on his goatee, confused at the misdirected tension. He couldn’t still be angry about the detective.

  “You would think that,” his father said with a huff.

  “And just what is that supposed to mean?” Jack was clueless.

  “A noble man doesn’t make important decisions for another man’s family. God rest his soul that I’m saying this on the day of his funeral. But what nobility gave him the right to decide where my family will be laid to rest? Do you really think he did that to honor his family? What choice do I have in this matter now? Can you answer that?”

  “Franklin, calm down, please. Your brother’s actions were only meant for good purposes, I’m sure. And besides that, God willing, we have a long way to go before we have to decide where we’ll all be laid to rest.” His mother was beginning to blush. Jack didn’t want for her to get upset, but he hadn’t started this, at least not intentionally.

  “Irma. Do you realize what it would look like for me to refuse his offer? Or better yet, how do you think it makes me look, having my younger brother making important, personal family decisions for me—without my consent or even my knowledge thereof? The trash rags will have a field day with it!” It was clear. His pride was hurt, but he was lashing out not only in anger, but remorse and jealousy. His only brother was gone and he’d never have the chance for a better relationship with him. He was jealous-jealous of the relationship his son had built with his brother, but more so of the fact that his son grew up to be more like his brother.

  “I’m sorry dear. I know you’re upset, we all are. Your brother was a fine man to this family and will be sorely missed by many in number. All I’m saying is that I’m sure your kin Terry didn’t mean any harm in his actions.” Her southern drawl was slipping in a bit heavy. “Besides, laaawd forgive me for saying this.” She looked up, miming the sign of the cross. “We’re not obligated
to go through with his wishes in death. But it’s a cemetery of famed history, in one of the world’s greatest cities. I think I read somewhere that the first person to be buried there was one of our very own founding forefathers, President James Monroe. The exclusivity alone brings honor. Please try to remember his gift in that manner and find God in your heart to forgive him.”

  Oh, the power of a mother’s words, even when spoken of other women’s children. Was it just the training from raising one’s own or was it instinctual? Maybe it was a combination of both. Jack’s mother always had a way with both men of this family, to an extent. But not today. The limo driver pulled down his cap and rolled up the privacy screen.

  “Honor? The ‘cemetery down the alley’? Really? How is overshadowing the legacy of your brother’s family in death honorable? I know we’d always been at each other’s throats, sibling rivalry, without a doubt, but this? This was just downright disrespectful. An alleyway. Typical Terry! Typical, typical Terry!” He was shaking his head and covering his eyes.

  Jack wasn’t letting his father bash his poor dead uncle like that. He wasn’t even in the ground yet. “Uncle Terry was a great man. How can you talk like that? Especially now, on the way to his funeral? He’s always struggled to bring this family closer. Oh, that’s right—I forgot. You were working late. Only an honorable man would understand such a noble notion as wanting to bring the family together!” He let it slip, but hopefully his mother wouldn’t catch on. Jack could talk his way out of it; what he said was vague. The last thing he needed was to hurt his mother.

  “Jack!” his mother yelled. “That’ll be quite enough of that! Your father doesn’t deserve that no matter how many waves are between the two of you. He is most certainly a hardworking, honorable man.”

  “That’s okay, Irma. Let the boy be. Let him go on. It’s the first time I’ve heard him sound like a man.” His father glared at him like he was a stranger.

  “Okay okay! Both of you!” She grabbed each of their hands. “We are a family in crisis right now. Mud slingin’ is best left for the politicians. If there can’t be peace amongst the two most important men in my life, then can we at least have silence, peaceful silence, until the proceeding is over? We don’t want to be that family at the funeral. The rags would love that, for sure, Franklin.”

  Jack’s mother quelled the storm, for now. But Jack didn’t take the dig to his manhood lightly. He’d always felt a sort of resentment from his father in regards to his sexual preference and now he had proof. What else could he have meant by his comment? Jack had to keep his temper in check. He and his father would have their words. Alone. Maybe he was right. Maybe it was time to man-up and let Mr. Franklin Elliot know just exactly what his son thought of his father’s honor. Especially about honor thy wife.

  The grueling uptown traffic finally broke and they were a few blocks from the cemetery. While the church ceremony had been open to friends, family and the public, the funeral proceedings were closed off. Due to the size of the burial ground, it could only be family members allowed. That meant just the three of them. The rest of the ride was quiet, but nothing could be said about the tension in the limo. Jack wanted to crack open the limo bar and down the first clear thing he could get his hands on, but he’d upset his mother enough for one day.

  The driver pulled up alongside the curb of Second Avenue, just past a strange funeral home that resembled an Italian restaurant. The cemetery was squeezed in between the odd funeral home and an apartment building. If you didn’t know exactly where it was located, you’d never have even seen it. And dear-ole-dad had been correct, the cemetery was literally down an old narrow alley. The alley entrances were blocked on either side by two newly restored black wrought iron gates. The first gate led down the alley from the street-side entrance to the second gate, allowing passage into the actual cemetery itself, which was housed in between the buildings. The street-side entrance gate had a sign over the top reading: New York Marble Cemetery Incorporated 1831. Gray clouds rolled over a blue landscape that was etched with skyscrapers between the tall iron bars.

  The gate had been left unlocked for the proceedings. A heavyset woman with blonde hair restrained in a red hair band, wearing less than casual clothing was seated in a green plastic lawn chair just beyond the gate. Uncle Terry must have spent a small fortune to make something like this happen, but Jack was beginning to see his father’s point. Noble attentions aside, this place was just a little underwhelming for the stature of this family. Jack shook his head, and his face reddened at the thought. That was his father talking; it’s the thought that counted. His family’s history was there and his uncle’s intentions were the only thing that really mattered.

  As the three of them approached the gate, the heavyset woman squinted at them and stood up. She reached around to release the chair stuck on her backside before she unlatched and opened the gate. Jack’s father sighed and his mother shot him a look, although a thin smile spread across her lips.

  “Welcome to the Marble Cemetery,” she said glancing between the three of them with a warm smile under rosy cheeks. “I’m Caroline DuBois. I’m one of the cemetery’s trustees and treasurer. My fourth great grandfather was one of the original vault owners. Please follow me,” she said, after she locked the first gate.

  She led them down the narrow alleyway and through the second gate, out across the lawn to their family’s vault. There were no gravestones or mausoleums on top of the neat half-acre of grass, just trees and minimal landscape. Ancient crumbling plaques made of Tuckahoe marble marked the cemetery walls where one hundred fifty-six family vaults laid buried ten feet below the ground in a catacomb-like structure in the East Village of Manhattan. The vaults themselves were huge single blocks of marble, painstakingly carved out to make rooms inside with burial drawers.

  A hole about ten feet deep had been dug out to reveal the entrance of the Elliot vault. A ladder protruded from the top that led down to the vault door. The fieldstone cap, which had covered and protected the entrance underground, was placed beside it and adorned with flowers. The ground above the actual vault had fresh, sparse grass atop of it. Barnabas Leibowitz, Uncle Terry’s estate lawyer, had said the vault was at capacity and needed expansion to accommodate the current family members, which meant the ground needed to be excavated and the marble vault expanded. Such an architectural undertaking must have been difficult to outsource. The last burial of this sort was over seventy years ago. Judging by the growth of grass, the expansion couldn’t have been made too long ago. It must have taken up until recently to find someone with the skill set to complete the job. This wasn’t done out of spite. It had been done with earnest intent.

  “Please allow me to extend our deepest condolences, on behalf of myself and the entire board of trustees for the loss of your family member.” She paused with her eyes closed and made a slight bow in courteous silence before continuing. “The last burial here was back in 1937. Terry was a fine gentleman and a great contributor to our beautiful cemetery. I met with him some time back to make the arrangements. I’m sorry it is so soon that he has been called by God. Despite the tragedy, we’re very happy and privileged to have him laid to rest here.” Of course they were, Jack thought. He could see the dollar signs form and float away from the words she spoke and disappear into thin air as she continued. “He will be laid to rest in your family vault amongst some of New York’s finest, such as all of the founding members of NYU, Mr. Varick and Mr. Scribner to name a few. It’s truly an honor.” She went on like she was hosting one of the cemetery’s tours.

  “Why, thank you, Ms. DuBois. This is—,” Jack’s mother looked around, “a pleasant little pasture of God’s green earth in a city of cement. Is that a peach tree?” she asked, narrowing her eyes and pointing off into the corner. Of course the southern belle would notice the peach tree. Jack’s mother prided herself on her southern Georgia peaches, but he didn’t have the heart to tell her they were originally from China.

  “Yes, Mrs. Ellio
t. We do the best that we can with what little resources we have to maintain the grounds.” She adjusted her hair band and a few loose strands whipped in the slight breeze. “The gracious donation that your brother-in-law made was a Godsend. Please, be seated. I believe Father Joseph is ready for the ceremony.”

  She gently gestured to the three green lawn chairs that surrounded the opening in the earth to the family vault entrance. In addition to the fieldstone cap, dozens of funerary flowers were arranged beautifully behind the entrance, cordoning off the section creating a more private space for the interment. Uncle Terry’s larger-than-life photo rested at the center on a worn easel. Father Joseph Allen and the groundskeeper holding Uncle Terry’s urn were standing next to his picture. As they took their seats, Caroline fetched the vault key and handed it over to the priest for the proceedings, and then respectfully took a seat behind Jack and his parents. A low rumble was heard from a darkening cloud above.

  The weather held out and Father Joseph’s graveside sermon was thankfully kept short. All the fire and brimstone was delivered back at the church by a different priest with bagpipes for lungs. They all sat with their heads bowed in a silent final prayer. When Father Joseph was done, he walked over from Uncle Terry’s picture and stood in front of Jack.

  “And now to lay one of God’s most prominent children, Terry Elliot-brother, uncle, beloved family member to rest,” Father Joseph held the vault key out towards Jack. All three of their heads snapped up in surprise.

  “Uhhm—“ Jack looked back and forth between the priest and his father. “Shouldn’t his brother, my father, have the honor of consecrating him to the ground?” Jack wasn’t sure how these things went, especially with this cemetery and the strange vaults.