He led her to the chesterfield and seated her before crossing to the table and building them drinks. A fresh bottle of whiskey and ice had been set out. Steve poured the alcohol and added an ice cube to each. A shot of soda finished the task. He remembered his talk with himself on the farm road, and his drink was more soda than alcohol.
The crystal glass clicked against her teeth when she took her first sip. She gave him another shaky laugh and attempted a smile. “Thank you,” Silene whispered and took another sip.
Steve sat next to her, and she grabbed his free hand with hers. The long, tapered fingers clasped his almost in desperation. He realized that she was at a breaking point and needed a release. She gave a shaky laugh when he asked with a purposeful double entendre, “Do you want to go to bed and take a nap?”
She leaned against the upholstered back and let out a deep breath. “I wasn’t sure you would let me in, after the fool I made of myself last time, Steve,” she said with closed eyes. “I seem to turn into a weeping mess every time I see you lately.”
Steve squeezed her hand, and she continued. “I needed this. Things have been so hectic. Preparations for the funeral, all the calls and telegrams. I love Catherine dearly, but she doesn’t handle these things well. Paul tries to help, but he is so worried about Catherine and the baby.”
“Baby? When did that happen?” a surprised Steve asked.
“Catherine? I guess you wouldn’t know. That’s why they came up. To tell Mother about it, but she was so upset about the marriage, they never got a chance. It is due in about six months.”
“Sorry to interrupt. Go ahead.”
“Where was I? Paul. He goes down to the office and is trying to keep the mills going.
“I have a good staff, and my second-in-command is handling things on the sales and merchandising end, thank God. Everyone is looking to me to do everything at the house, for the funeral, wake, everything. I could have sent one of the people from the farms to pick you up, but I needed to”—she hesitated and changed her mind before finishing—“get away.” Silene avoided his eyes by taking another sip.
“Stay here as long—oh, here we go again. Stay here. I will get another room. Get a good night’s sleep. Things will work out. I will help where I can. There. If I speak in short, slow sentences I won’t put my foot in my mouth.”
Silene moved and threw her arms around his neck, spilling her drink. She kissed him short and hard. Before he had a chance to respond, she pulled back, a smile on her face. A genuine stretch of her mouth, not hesitant or shy. She rose and grabbed a cloth that was folded next to the ice bucket. With quick dabs, she mopped at the spill.
“Thanks, Steve. I am better now. I don’t know what it is about you, but you know what to do to make things better.” She looked at him from under her perfect brows. “One of these days, Steve, you are going to break out of that shell and find there’s someone who can really appreciate who you are.”
He sat there with his mouth open and watched her walk out of the room. Her back was straight and her step sure. She was ready to face the world again—the strong, assured woman he had always seen. Silene paused at the door and blew him a kiss over her shoulder.
Chapter 21
The next morning, Steve was awakened by a stray shaft of sunlight shining through a gap in the curtains. He pried opened one eye enough to see that the clock showed nine fifteen. He rolled over and reveled in the fact that he would not have to get up for at least another hour.
After another few minutes, though, thoughts of Silene, Julie, and Susan drove him to the shower. He managed to shave without doing too much damage. With teeth brushed and hair combed, he decided that he would survive the day. He dressed and went in search of breakfast. His shoes stood gleaming by the door where he had placed them the evening before.
Steve detoured to the front desk. He asked the clerk if he would send someone up to retrieve his black suit and have it pressed. He flipped a coin to the bellhop before turning to the restaurant.
The room was crowded. Dress was somber, and he recognized a few individuals as being high in the party. There were several who looked like businessmen and businesswomen.
As he glanced around, he saw Buck enter the room wearing his tailored uniform. The captain pulled out a chair and ordered coffee from the waitress. “How are things, lover boy?” he asked innocently.
“Cut it out. She just picked me up from the station,” Steve snapped irritably.
“Come on. She met every train that came in yesterday. You have smitten our little Silene,” he said with a grin.
Surprised, Steve tried to collect himself. He had not even thought about how she knew which train he was on. “She was just being nice. Skip that ‘lover boy’ stuff or you’ll get smitten,” he snarled with mock seriousness, showing a clenched fist to the laughing Buck.
Their orders came, and Steve brought Buck up to date on the status of things in Hartford. The constable’s brow clouded when he described the motion in relation to the Chandler Constabulary. “I may do a little smiting myself if I ever see that shyster again,” he said angrily. “I’ll put my boys against any force in the state.”
Steve inserted innocently, “And girls?”
“Don’t you start. All my officers. Ruth can outshoot most of what’s out there,” Buck retorted. He took a sip of coffee and grinned. “Touché.”
Following breakfast, Steve visited the constabulary office. He greeted Ruth and Red. After a half hour of shoptalk, he returned to the hotel to change for the funeral.
Streets had been closed off for the funeral procession. He lit a cigarette as he stepped out of the hotel. The day had warmed up, and the light breeze did little to dispel the heat. He tugged his hat more firmly on his head and started for the Episcopal church down the street in company with most of Chandler.
The church was a formidable pile, taking up half a city block, with the graveyard next door. A low stone wall surrounded the plots, with lightly weathered gravestones and marble monuments dotting the grounds. In the center of the well-manicured lawn stood the Chandler crypt, freshly washed and gleaming in the sunlight.
The crypt was open, and Steve smiled at the angel standing above the doorway surrounded by mounds of flowers. Its left hand was resting on a stone shield, and the forefinger of its right hand was pointing at the sky, where its face was also turned. From what he had heard about Old Man Chandler, Silene’s grandfather, the statue was probably telling Saint Peter that someone important was on the way and to polish the Pearly Gates.
The hearse, a shiny black wood-and-glass horse-drawn carriage, sat in front of the steep stone stairs. It was hung with black crepe, and the four horses had black tack, with black ostrich feathers that bobbed as they moved their heads. The solemn driver was dressed in a black suit and wore a silk top hat with a wide black ribbon band. The tails of the ribbon hung down his back.
The streets were packed with people, many from the town and farms. Everyone had been given the day off, it seemed. Even the hotel had closed for the duration of the funeral.
Behind the hearse was a 1923 Franklin Town Limousine. The chauffeur held the door and helped Silene out. Steve’s heart lurched. Her chic dress fit her like a glove. Not tight and showy, but elegant. A round black hat perched on her golden hair, and a veil hung in front of her strained-looking face. The driver released her black-gloved fingers, and she moved aside, clutching her small handbag.
Silene looked around and saw Steve. She immediately moved to his side and placed a hand on his arm, a change from the death grip he was used to. “Stay with me. Please, Steve,” she whispered. He nearly protested that he was not a relation, but he nodded reluctantly and patted her hand.
They led the family up the stairs and into the church. A black crepe bow hung at the end of each pew, and black ribbon was strung across the rows reserved for family. Dark-suited ushers led the Chandlers down the broad nave.
Steve, who had not spent as much time in church as he—and his parent
s—thought he should, tried not to gawk like a country tourist visiting the big city for the first time. Light streamed through the stained-glass windows depicting biblical scenes. Sparkling colored light, contrasting with the solemn occasion, tinted the scene. The graceful arches held up the soaring ceiling painted with depictions of scenes from the Old and New Testaments. Surrounding a central piece portraying God on his throne, attended by cherubim and seraphim, were illustrations of biblical stories. Moses faced a burning bush. Joshua stood before crumbling city walls. Jesus sat upon a stool, while behind him listeners thronged. A stark scene of the Crucifixion faded into light, airy visions of the Resurrection and Ascension. Above the windows stood the Apostles, with scenes from their travels. An evil-looking Judas was shown slinking away at the end of the line. On the opposite wall, David, Solomon, Ruth, and Abraham were only a few of those immortalized. Scrolls and verses identified the figures. On the wall behind the altar, Christ was shown with his right hand raised and his left holding a shepherd’s crook. Pastoral scenes of peacefully grazing sheep framed him. Steve was impressed at the detail, and Silene had to urge him along. He glanced at her smiling lips as she whispered, “Dad spent a year searching for the artist. It took almost three years to paint, and Dad came here every week on his way home from the mill.”
The coffin was sitting in the center of the transept, surrounded by a sea of flower arrangements. More bouquets covered the chancel. A large easel held the painting of Mrs. Chandler that Steve had first seen in the woman’s office. The gilt frame was draped in the same black crepe as was present throughout the sanctuary. The rector stood next to Bishop Brewster at the altar, surrounded by deacons and clergy. Father Williamson from the Catholic church, which rivaled the Episcopalian building in size, was standing on the bishop’s other side. He was dressed in traditional funeral vestments. The pews filled; even the choir loft was packed. The side aisles held more mourners, and Steve knew that the steps and sidewalk in front of the church would be filled with those who could not fit inside.
During the ceremony, Silene never released Steve’s arm. She wept silently, and he handed her his own handkerchief when hers became a wad of damp linen. With the eulogies droning on and the sisters weeping on either side of him, Steve realized why he avoided funerals. Though neither of them spoke, there were plenty who did. Senators, representatives, governors, and every other politician who managed to get on the roster. Business associates and friends of the family. Apparently, Silene had drawn the line, and the flower show committee was not included.
The warmth and drone had nearly lulled him to sleep when the congregation rose.
The family followed the pallbearers out, down the stairs, around to the graveyard, and into the crypt. Every square inch of the cemetery was covered with mourners, as were the sidewalks. Once the graveside ceremony concluded, the crypt doors were closed. The large ornate iron key sealed the lock with a click of finality, and the attendees passed the family, extending their condolences. Steve earned curious looks as he stood by Silene. He smiled awkwardly and nodded to the few people he knew and accepted introductions to their wives or husbands.
Annette, Susanne, and Cookie gave his arm a squeeze as they passed, and Jeremy gave him a formal nod in greeting. Buck tossed him a knowing look and introduced Steve to his wife, a short, plump woman with red eyes and nose. She, obviously, had been a true mourner at the ceremony, not just a polite attendee. One of the last sympathizers caught Steve’s eye, and he groaned inwardly. Julie, sent by the paper to cover the event, extended her sympathies to the family and gave him a stony look, shifting her gaze pointedly to Silene. Maybe it was a coincidence, but Silene’s hand tightened on his arm as she thanked Julie by name. The two women had met when Julie interviewed the family regarding the flower show. From the looks that passed between them, Steve saw that battle lines had been drawn.
When the family was alone and the clergymen had gone to change out of their vestments, Steve found himself at the limousine. He helped Silene into the automobile and, as he started to step back, felt her tug on his hand. Short of yanking his fingers away there was no way he could refuse her silent invitation. He stepped in and settled himself on the seat next to her. Catherine and Paul Sullivan entered and settled in the rearmost seat. He could almost feel Paul’s glare burning into the back of his neck.
No one spoke on the way to the mansion and the reception, which Steve desperately wished he had been able to avoid. It looked like he was in for the duration. He sighed and stared out the front window past the driver. He thought about his disaster of a love life after the look Julie had given him and sighed again in resignation.
A large buffet had been arranged in the ballroom. A catering firm had been engaged to allow Annette, Susanne, Cookie, and Jeremy to attend as guests. To make matters worse, in Steve’s view, the drinks rule still held. Coffee, tea, juices, and other nonalcoholic beverages were all that were available. The family lined up again by the door, and the tedious process of welcoming guests began. Silene, her old grip renewed, was gracious, and Catherine made low murmuring sounds. Steve wondered if Paul’s look of disapproval was the only expression he owned. Julie politely shook Silene’s hand and turned away, back rigid, lips tight. Steve’s gaze followed the reporter. When he turned back, Steve saw a sad, lost look in Silene’s eyes.
The smug and knowing expression on Buck’s face made Steve feel like taking a poke at him to relieve the irritation. One of the politicians could not help whispering in his ear, “Looking for Crowder’s job, huh, Walsh?”
When the greeting line broke up, Silene walked the room, speaking to her guests. Steve’s arm felt numb, but she kept her hold. Jeremy brushed by him, and he felt a weight drop into his coat pocket. An exploring hand found the shape of a metal flask. He immediately steered Silene away from her current conversation.
“Where are we going?” Silene inquired, surprise on her lovely face.
“Quiet,” ordered Steve.
“But, my guests ... ” she protested.
“That’s not quiet,” he said and continued walking, folding her hand around his sleeve. Steve kept a strong grip on her hand and dragged her along.
He exited the ballroom and continued determinedly down the hall. Steve finally turned into Mrs. Chandler’s office. As he expected, there was a tea cart in the room. It contained several glasses, an ice bucket with tongs, and a bottle of seltzer.
He released her hand and walked to the cart, fishing the flask from his pocket. Silene closed the door behind them with a grin. She perched on the desk and retrieved two cigarettes from the rosewood box. Picking up the heavy silver lighter, she lit them and traded one of them to Steve in exchange for the drink he offered.
“Miss Chandler,” he said, raising his glass in salute.
She kicked off her shoes and rubbed one foot with the other. “Mr. Walsh,” she returned and took a large drink. “Oh, my feet hurt,” she complained.
Steve loosened his tie and unbuttoned his collar button. “Some woman got her revenge for high heels by inventing the necktie.”
He finished his drink and turned to replenish his glass. “Take some more of Uncle Steve’s Patent Medicine,” he said.
“I am going to recommend you for sainthood,” she said with a sigh, holding out her glass for a refill. “I haven’t had an opportunity for this. You saved my life!”
“If I did, I am your responsibility forever, according to an old Chinese custom.” Realizing what he had said, he hurriedly continued, “It wasn’t me. Double Jeremy’s salary.”
When he turned, he saw the speculative look in Silene’s eye.
“Your brother is pretty depressed,” he said to avoid the territory into which they seemed to be wandering.
She gave him a determined look and said firmly, “Francis is a murderer. It is difficult to face, but he killed Mother. We, as a family, will publicly support him, but Catherine and I have no intention of viewing him as a brother ever again. We will not see him, except in the
courtroom, and we have been to Nicholas Martin to determine how we can keep him out of our lives.” She took a hard, angry drag on her cigarette and exploded the smoke out. Steve thought her look boded no mercy for her errant brother.
A sharp knock interrupted them, and Paul stuck his head around the door he had opened without invitation. He ignored Steve and gave Silene a stern look. “Silene, you have guests who are looking for you. Catherine cannot be expected to do everything.” The door closed more forcefully than necessary.
Silene hopped off the desk and slid into her shoes. “I had better save Catherine from her constant labors,” she said sarcastically.
“Look, Silene,” Steve began, but she interrupted him.
“I know. I have monopolized all your time,” she said, a slightly guilty note in her voice. “Go ahead, Ju ... um, your friends are waiting.” Though she smiled brightly, there was a resignation in her glistening eyes that caused a lurch in his stomach.
“It’s not that.” He spoke to her back but did not know if she had heard him. Steve rarely cursed, but he spat out a few choice words as he followed her out.
Buck agreed to lend him his car, despite the threat in his wife’s eye. As he drove down the hill, Steve said to himself, “There are a real lot of women who just don’t seem to like you, Steve.”
When he got to the hotel, he ordered supper to be brought up to his room and requested a wake-up at six o’clock in the morning to give him time to catch the early train. In his room, he fixed himself a drink in the tallest glass he could find.
He sat in the dark after supper, changing his beverage of choice to water. He stared out the window into the night. He focused on his reflection in the glass and muttered, “Steve, old son, time to grow up. On the one hand, you have Julie. On the other hand, you have Silene. On the third hand, you could be a bitter old man with a mangy cat.” He organized his thoughts as he would in a case. First, he mentally created a list, carefully considering everything he knew. When he finished with Julie’s list, he created one for Silene. He had only known her for about a week, so this list was shorter and less concrete. The last list took longer to create. Steve had to argue with himself over several points, as to whether they were pros or cons. He had to put several under both columns, with “being alone” the most difficult for him. Steve enjoyed his freedom, but less so his loneliness.
The Rose Quilt Page 20