by Michelle Cox
Elsie was indeed so lost in her own thoughts for much of the service, that she was surprised when the concluding rite began. Fr. Michaels draped the white cloth over the casket, saying the church’s final words of farewell and blessing. The pall bearers, which included Clive, of course, and Randolph, assembled themselves at attention beside the casket and, at the signal, heaved it up upon their shoulders. The organ began to swell out under the strains of the recessional hymn “Love Divine, All Love Excelling,” and the procession down the aisle began. It was Alcott’s last journey. Fr. Michaels walked before him, accompanied by altar boys gingerly swinging thuribles of incense. Behind the casket walked the family, led by Antonia Howard, who was leaning heavily on Julia and sobbing quietly behind a stylish, short, black veil that covered her face. Elsie, herself caught up in the sadness of it all, tried valiantly to sing the hymn, but broke down finally as she tried to sing the last verse:
Finish then thy new creation;
Pure and spotless let us be.
Let us see thy great salvation
Perfectly restored in thee,
Changed from glory into glory,
Till in heaven we take our place,
Till we cast our crowns before thee,
Lost in wonder, love, and praise!
In her despair, however, her head bent as she cried, Elsie suddenly felt a gentle pressure on her arm and almost exclaimed aloud as her sorrow momentarily turned to joy. Henrietta had broken out of the rank of the procession to quickly embrace her and deposit a kiss on her cheek before she slipped back in line, but not before patting Doris and Donny on the head and winking at Jimmy.
Elsie smiled through her tears as she attempted to quiet the now agitated twins, hopping and squirming at the sight of their beloved sister and asking in loud whispers when they could see her. “Later,” Elsie whispered back as she helped them button their coats. “We’re going to go see Henrietta in her big house,” she told them, and though she knew it was probably wrong to feel happy at a funeral, she had to admit that she did—just a little.
On the short journey from the cemetery to Highbury, however, Elsie tried to prepare herself for the fact that she would probably see very little of Henrietta that day. She was sure Henrietta would be much too busy to talk at any length, but it would be a comfort, she told herself, just to see her.
The twins were fighting in the car. They were getting more and more rambunctious, and it had been difficult at the gravesite to keep them quiet. Fortunately, Nanny Kuntz, who was accompanying them for the day, had brought some biscuits with her and had sparingly passed them out between them, but not without a large helping of scolding. Ma was in the other car with the boys, which Elsie was grateful for, as she did not have the strength to quarrel with her further. Another nervous spell had come upon Ma at the cemetery, causing her in the end to seek refuge in the Packard for the duration of the service, leaving Elsie and Nanny to corral the kids at the back of the crowd. Donny and Jimmy had more than once attempted to run off among the gravestones, and Elsie had had to send Herbie out to collect them. She shivered as she watched him go, a desperately pale specter weaving his way between the graves, growing as tall and thin as Pa had been, despite having only just turned twelve.
Elsie was afraid that Ma would refuse to get out of the car, now that they had finally reached Highbury, so she breathed a sigh of relief when she saw Ma emerge from the Packard ahead of them and walk up the stone steps, gripping Eddie’s arm tightly as she did.
They were shown into the small ballroom, where Clive and Henrietta had had their engagement party, Elsie remembered correctly. Large tables had been set up and loaded with trays of beautifully displayed food. As she held the twins back from dashing across the room toward the food, Elsie looked around and noted how different it seemed from the night of the party. Then, it had seemed golden and glittering and ethereal almost; now it just seemed somber and dull. Still beautiful, to be sure, but muted somehow. She remembered, sadly, that it was here that she had first met Harrison, and her stomach clenched at the memory . . .
“Elsie!” she heard someone cry and turned to see Henrietta rushing toward her. Elsie could not help but smile as she embraced her lovely sister, dressed somberly in a simple black dress with a black lace collar with her rich, auburn hair classically pinned up. She seemed older to Elsie than when she had last seen her at the wedding, though it was just a short time ago, really.
Donny and Doris wriggled free of Nanny and ran to hug Henrietta awkwardly about the legs, followed closely by Jimmy. Eddie and Herbie, for their part, held back, eagerly watching the scene unfold, until Henrietta held out her arms to them as well, and they sheepishly embraced her. “Look how big you’ve all gotten!” she exclaimed brightly.
“Did you get us anything, Hen?” Jimmy asked excitedly.
“Jimmy! For shame,” Elsie hissed. “That’s not the first thing you say!”
“Why not?” Jimmy asked genuinely.
“Of course, I brought you all something. Later,” she whispered. “I hope you’ve all been good for Ma,” she said, finally looking over at her mother, whom she had successfully avoided acknowledging until now and who was seated, what looked to be uncomfortably, on a chair Eddie had found for her. “Let me go for a minute, so I can hug Ma,” she told her siblings, and they instantly released her.
Ma stood up unsteadily, and in a rare moment of affection, embraced Henrietta, albeit briefly.
“Hello, Ma,” Henrietta said. “How are you?” Though Henrietta’s tone was even, Elsie could tell by the look on her face that she was troubled by Ma’s appearance. Elsie looked over at Ma now too and tried to see her through Henrietta’s eyes. It was true that Ma was looking weaker and more fragile these days.
“Hello, Henrietta,” Ma said coolly. “I’m sorry about Mr. Howard. He was a kind man, more than most.”
Henrietta was about to respond when Clive suddenly joined them. “I see you’ve found each other,” he said with a sad smile.
“Oh, Clive,” Elsie said spontaneously, moving toward him. “I’m so very sorry. Sorry for everything . . .” she mumbled, not knowing what else to say, and standing awkwardly in front of him, feeling big and ugly.
Surprisingly, Clive’s response was to reach out and hold her in an uncharacteristically tight embrace. “We’ve all had a hard go of it lately, haven’t we?” he said to her quietly. He released her and gave her a sad smile, which Elsie recognized as the sort that only comes from deep grief. “You must come and stay with us for a time and cheer us up. Right, my dear?” he said, looking over at Henrietta.
“Yes, of course you should, Elsie!” Henrietta exclaimed. “We’ve so much to talk about, don’t we?” she asked gently.
Elsie looked from one to the other, small tears emerging in the corners of her eyes. They were both so good. Elsie wanted to say something more, but before she could think of anything, Ma hobbled up behind her, holding her hand out to Clive and obliging Elsie to stand aside.
“I’m sorry, Clive,” she said sincerely. “Your father was a good man.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Von Harmon,” Clive said tightly, clasping her hand with both of his. “Thank you for coming. This must be very trying for you.”
Ma ignored this comment and sighed. “Well, what a thing to come home to,” she offered instead.
“Yes, very hard,” Clive said quietly. “All good things must come to an end, however, as they say.”
“Yes, that’s true enough.”
There were a few moments of awkward silence during which Elsie again wished she could think of something to say.
“And how about all of you?” Clive asked, looking around at the assembled group. “How have you been?”
No one answered, however, and Elsie felt herself squirm in the silence. She knew that the children were still not completely sure about Clive—they had seen so little of him, and he was still like a stranger to them.
“As good as can be expected,” Ma finally answered for the
m in a gruff sort of tone. “Keeping busy.”
No one said anything else for several more moments until Clive finally spoke. “Well, if you’ll excuse me, I’m sure you have much to catch up on,” he said, giving Ma a deferential nod and Henrietta a quick, forced smile.
Elsie watched him slip away and approach another group now, possibly the Hewitts from New York, if she remembered correctly from the wedding. She truly felt sorry for him and wished she had been able to think of something clever, or at least comforting, to say to him. She could only imagine what was going through his mind today, and she fervently hoped her ridiculous situation did not add to his burden. But she couldn’t help but wonder what he must think of her.
With a sigh, she turned her attention back to Henrietta, who was asking Eddie and Herbie about school now. Elsie had initially thought she would never tell Henrietta or anyone what had really happened between her and Harrison, but now that Henrietta was indeed before her, so genuinely happy to see her and seemingly not upset or condemning or annoyed, Elsie longed to get her alone so that she might confess all, to pour her heart out finally to someone and, she had to admit, to not only be absolved, but also be comforted. While Julia had certainly done her best, it was not the same as having Henrietta to talk to, and she suddenly felt like one of the twins, wanting to clamor for her attention. Elsie tried valiantly, however, to control her desires, knowing that today was not the day for a conversation of the heart. She couldn’t possibly allow herself to be that selfish! And yet, she found her eyes traversing the room for perhaps any quiet corner in which they might have a chat, when they unexpectedly came to rest on the figure of their grandfather, making his way toward them with decided intent.
Henrietta must have noticed too, for Elsie saw her draw herself up at the old man’s approach, though Elsie also observed that Henrietta’s eyes remained locked on Eddie, listening to him intently, even as Grandfather arrived beside her. Elsie marveled at her confidence and her grace.
“Good day, Martha,” Mr. Exely said curtly as he came upon them, nodding at Ma, who had gone back to her chair once Clive had left them, and remained there, gripping the arms of it as if preparing herself to withstand a storm. She did not return his greeting. “Good day, grandchildren,” he continued, ignoring Ma’s slight and looking at each one curiously. “Henrietta,” he said, finally turning toward her, “I’m very sorry for your loss. Alcott Howard was a surprisingly good man of business, despite a few inconsistencies.”
“Thank you, Grandfather,” Henrietta said rigidly.
“Clive will take over now, though, I’m sure,” he said with a bit of a glint in his eye. “He’ll make a fine chairman. And in the meantime, you’ll be busy learning all you can from Antonia Howard, I have no doubt.”
Henrietta chose not to answer this but merely gave a small nod of acquiescence.
“I trust your voyage was satisfactory. How did you find Castle Linley?” he asked.
“How kind of you to ask, Grandfather,” Henrietta responded, a false smile about her lips. “The ship was very satisfactory, thank you. Castle Linley was quite charming and Lord and Lady Linley were of course very gracious,” she rattled off.
How on earth did she manage it? Elsie wondered. Such grace and presence of mind.
“It was quite an education, actually,” Henrietta added.
“No doubt it was,” Mr. Exley said, smiling falsely. “That’s what I like to hear, however. Always watching and learning. You should take a page from your sister’s book,” he said, turning his critical gaze upon Elsie. “That’s how you get ahead in this world,” he rasped with a little shake of his cane.
“Grandfather, that’s not what I meant.”
Mr Exley did not respond to this but merely curled his lips. “Speaking of education,” he said churlishly, as he turned to look at Ma, “there is a subject I wish to discuss with you, Martha, if you might be so kind as to name a day that would be convenient for me to stop.”
“You’re welcome to say what you have to say right now, Father,” Ma said without emotion, her first words to him since he had joined them.
Mr. Exley bit back a scowl. “It is a subject that will take some time to relate, Martha, and is, shall I say, of a rather delicate nature. I would speak with you in private regarding this matter, in your drawing room, preferably. I merely approached you at this moment to offer my condolences to Henrietta, here, and to ascertain a date most convenient to us both.”
“If you think for one moment that I will welcome you into my home, then you are sadly mistaken, sir.”
“Might I remind you who pays for that home?” he snapped.
“That is of your own decision. Not mine,” she answered coolly. “Say what it is you have to say, or not,” she said, drawing herself up in the chair as much as her rounded back would allow.
“Very well. I trust you will not make a scene,” he warned.
Ma did not say anything, but merely stared at him with pure hatred, though Elsie thought she detected a slight quiver about her eyes. She, too, was holding her breath at what her grandfather might say and, in truth, felt in danger of fainting, so weak of mind was she of late that she did not know how much more she could take.
“Very well,” he began. “I’ve arranged for the boys—all of them, except Donald, of course, to be sent to Phillips Exeter for the spring term. They leave the fifth of January.”
“No!” Elsie exclaimed and looked desperately at Henrietta, who for one quick second put her forefinger to her lips to indicate that Elsie should remain silent.
“What devilry is this?” Ma exclaimed. “You can’t take my children! You said that if we moved to Palmer Square they could stay at St. Sylvester’s! That’s what you said!” Ma cried, her voice rising. Elsie cringed as she saw several people look at them.
“Be quiet, woman! I warned you not to make a scene!” Mr. Exley hissed.
“Don’t tell me what to do! You lost that right long ago!” she said loudly.
“Let’s just say, circumstances have changed,” he said icily, looking at poor Elsie now in what could only be termed disgust.
Elsie’s face blanched and her stomach dropped, as if she had been struck. He must know! Oh, God, what was she to do?
“I’ve allowed certain things to evolve much too freely. It’s become clear that I must take them more in hand.”
“What do you mean by that? Speak plainly!” Ma snapped.
“Just that there have been certain indiscretions that have come to light—”
“Indiscretions?”
“Grandfather, please,” Elsie begged, unwanted tears filling the corners of her eyes. “Send me away, but not them!”
“What’s Phillips Ex-ter, Hen?” Jimmy asked innocently, tugging at Henrietta’s dress and looking up at her.
“It’s the finest boarding school there is,” Mr. Exely answered for her. “It’s in New Hampshire. All Exley men go to Phillips.”
“New Hampshire?” Herbie choked out, as if all his breath had left him.
“You mean I’ll have to go away and live?” Jimmy cried and looked on the verge of dissolving into a fit of panicked tears.
“Grandfather,” Henrietta said evenly. “I thought Jimmy was to remain behind for a year.”
“You knew?” Ma asked, incredulous and outraged.
Elsie looked at her as well, horrified. Had Henrietta betrayed them? How could she? she thought, feeling slightly dizzy. She tried to catch Henrietta’s eye, but Henrietta continued to stare at Grandfather.
“I’ve thought better of it,” Mr. Exley continued. “I’ve spoken to this Fr. Finnegan at St. Sylvester’s, and apparently James is not as behind as I first imagined. He’s quite able to attend Phillips.”
“But he’s so young,” Henrietta put in.
“Gerard attended at six.”
Jimmy began to wail at this point. “But I don’t want to go away and leave Hen and Elsie and Nanny and Ma!” he cried aloud, causing many people to look at them now, includ
ing Mrs. Howard.
Henrietta looked desperately around the room for Clive, but he was nowhere to be seen.
“Shhh!” said Nanny, bustling over from some remote corner, where she had apparently been seeking a few moments of quiet respite. “Come along, now! What’s all this fussin’?” she said as she tried to lead him from the room. “Sorry, madam,” she said in Ma’s general direction.
“I don’t want to go away!” Jimmy wailed, but he allowed himself in the end to be dragged from the room.
“See what you’ve done!” Ma snarled at her father.
“What more proof do I need that this child—that all of these children,” he said pointedly, again looking at Elsie, “are in need of more discipline? It’s quite shamefully evident.”
“Grandfather, I—” Elsie tried to say.
“As for you, Miss,” Mr. Exely said disdainfully, “from this moment on, you will go and live with John and Agatha, where a more careful watch can be kept upon you.”
“No, Grandfather, I—”
“I rather think we should continue this conversation later, wouldn’t you agree, Grandfather?” Henrietta put in hastily.
“What has she done?” Ma interrupted, suspicious. “Why are you singling her out? She hasn’t done anything! Or is this really yet another punishment for me?” Ma said, her voice rising again. “You’re still trying to get even after all these years, aren’t you, Father? But why? You got what you wanted in life. Can’t you just leave me in peace! Is it too much to ask?” Here she unexpectedly broke down in tears, which, though it was a funeral, drew attention, as the appropriate time for a public display of emotion had most probably been back in the church and not here at the reception, where, indeed a few men in the corner—Alcott’s business associates, presumably—were already happily indulging in a variety of toasts to Alcott, which were accompanied by, if not hilarity, then at least a measure of thoughtful good cheer.