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CHAPTER 44

Thursday Morning

      LUCY SLEPT about three hours. When she woke, it was daylight and a disheveled Doc. Swerengen was just leaving. He had arrived only to pronounce Uncle Bob dead and sign the certificate for Mr. Stern, the undertaker.

      Lucy didn't want to talk to Doc Swerengen. Instead she stood in the front room and watched while Mr. Stern and his helper carried Uncle Bob's body out on a stretcher and put it in the black van Mr. Stern used as a hearse. Tagg kept asking her to come away, but she chose to watch. When Mr. Stern's van finally drove out of sight, she went back to the screened-in porch and lay on her bed again.

      But five minutes later she was up, because visitors had started coming in: Mr. Schneider with his wife, and Pancho, and Pancho's two little sisters. Although they knew Mrs. Schneider only slightly, the plain little woman had brought along two of her black velvet chocolate cakes, "You'll have people come today," she said in her shy voice. "And you'll want to feed them something. So this will help out."

      The Schneiders only stayed a few minutes, but as they were leaving, Ricky arrived with Mr. Morganstern, followed by Mr. and Mrs. Domingues from the grocery store. Mrs. Domingues had brought along a huge circular tin of home-made cookies. Rudy Grosbeck also stopped by with his brother, who was the town barber. Lucy sat in the front room and received people as they came in, and Swan calmly fed each batch of guests with the food brought by the previous ones. Meanwhile, Bobby wandered around outdoors with Tagg, silent as a lost soul.

      The word had traveled fast. Clive and Bertie had arrived at dawn, at the same time as Doc. Swerengen, and Bertie stayed all morning, parked at the kitchen table, drinking tea all by himself, and alternately crying and eating Mrs. Schenider's chocolate cake. To everyone who passed by, he repeated how he was going to miss Old Bob like a brother, and how grieved he was that they had parted on bad terms.

      In the afternoon, Tagg went back to the feed store while Lucy, Bobby and Swan went down to Stern's Funeral Parlour, where Lucy and Bobby had papers to sign. Uncle Bob had wished a quiet funeral, they told Mr. Stern.

      Mr. Stern already knew that, he said. Years ago, soon after Mama's death, Uncle Bob had come in and planned it all out. He had also taken out a small insurance policy with a company represented by Mr. Stern's son-in-law. The payout was exactly enough to cover the cost of the casket, the burial plot, and the use of the funeral chapel for twenty-four hours. "Your uncle was a wise provider," Mr. Stern said. "His death is a sad loss to the community."

      He showed them to the chapel where Uncle Bob was laid out. "Closed coffin, just the way he wanted," he said as he walked noiselessly back the way he had come.

      The low, whitewashed room was dim, and it smelled like a place too long closed-in. The dark coffin lay on a long table at the far end of the room, with a large rubber plant at its head and a group of potted cactus at the foot. A record player on the floor a corner of the room was playing church music.

      There were a dozen folding chairs arranged in ranks of six, facing the coffin. Lucy sat down on the first chair in the second row. She stared at the dark coffin. Was he really in there? What did he look like now? She would never know. "I'll never see Uncle Bob again," she thought.

      She felt very out of place in this empty room. She was sluggish and heavy from too much emotion and not enough sleep.

      Bobby came and sat beside her. "I guess we should hang around here a while," he murmured uneasily. "I remember we did that when Mama died." Swan sat down on the other side of him and they waited in silence, listening to the record player grind out "Abide with Me." The next record was "The Old Rugged Cross."

      For almost half an hour they were alone. Then, at about one-thirty, Eustace Mallory appeared. He had driven all the way down to pay his respects. "Can't stay but a minute," he said, subduing his booming voice as best he could. "But hearing that your Uncle had passed away, I had to come by and tell you how sorry I am."

      He shook Bobby's hand and patted Swan on the shoulder. Then he kissed Lucy on the cheek. "Bear up," he told her gruffly. "Things'll get better — you'll see."

      He walked over and stood at the coffin for a few moments. He sighed, shook his head, "Poor old Bob," he muttered. "Known him a long time."

      Then he came back and shook Bobby's hand a second time. "Gotta get going again. Still got meat to deliver."

      At three, when school was over, two gray little schoolteachers crept in. Miss Tabitha Lindenberg had taught Lucy and Bobby when they were in the first grade, and her sister, Mrs. Viveica Martin had been their second grade teacher. And they had both known Mama well. Each one shook Lucy's hand in her own little white-gloved hand and whispered her sympathy.

      Soon after that, Joseph Pump arrived with Mrs. Arthur and Reverend Wayne, the minister of the First Baptist.

      Reverend Wayne wrung Lucy's hand and told her that if she ever needed spiritual counsel, she must be sure to call on him. He also assured her very kindly that he felt no more ill will over that incident with Uncle Bob which had taken place in the church several years ago. "No hard feelings here and none in the Above, I'm certain."

      Lucy thanked him.

      She felt very calm now. She had settled into an almost emotionless state in which she felt no grief. Neither did she feel much gratitude for the kind words. Every sentence and gesture seemed simply familiar, as if she'd been through all of this so many times before that all the feeling had worn away.

      That glaze of calm protected her as she thanked Reverend Wayne for his sympathy. And when Miss Viveica Martin whispered, "Such a pity — but then, it was inevitable; he was no longer a young man, now, was he?" Lucy agreed, and yet felt no pain.

      The one thing that surprised her was that all the guests seemed to think it was perfectly natural for Uncle Bob to be dead. That made it different from the last time she had been here; everyone had been shocked when Mama died.

      Tagg arrived at a few minutes after five, after having closed the feed store, and they all went back to the house together. In a subdued voice, Bobby asked Tagg how business had been that afternoon. "A little slow," Tagg answered. "But pretty steady."

      When they got home, Miss Peaches was sitting on the front porch with the baby asleep on her lap. Around her were his toys, his little suitcase, his insulated case for carrying a baby bottle, a paper sack containing his extra blankets, and a big bundle of diapers.

      "Where have you been," Miss Peaches demanded. "I was calling you all afternoon, and no answer. So I finally came over here myself to comfort my little girl and my son-in-law — and you weren't even at home!"

      "We've been at the funeral parlour," Swan said gently, reaching for the baby.

      "Oh. I guess I should of thought of that." Somewhat quelled by Swan's answer, Miss Peaches surrendered little Bobby and began gathering up the toys. Tagg picked up the rest of her parcels and they all went into the house.

      Once in the living room, Miss Peaches looked around and said, "But where's my Normalade?"

      "Normalade?" Swan answered nervously, "Oh, she's — I don't know. I guess I thought she was with you."

      Miss Peaches' large blue eyes grew even larger, and her fair, aging skin flushed as pink as the sweater she wore. "With me? No — I haven't seen her since I dropped her off for the dance last night." She looked from one to the other, condolences entirely forgotten.

      "Well, where could she be, I wonder." Swan had begun eying Miss Peaches as if afraid what her next question might be. "Let's see — I recall her talking to Charlie White . . . and then she hung around with the fellas in the band a while. And she did a lot of dancing . . . and I'm trying to remember who she . . . "

      "Stop it, Swan," Bobby cut in softly. "Miss Peaches knows good and well why Normalade's not here."

      "And how should I know?" Miss Peaches snapped, sounding very much like Normalade in a temper.

      "Because she packed up and moved back in with you yesterday," he answered coolly. "Because she's going to sue me for divorce. She told me so last night in no uncertain terms — and she also said she'd gone home to live with to you again. You knew all about it before I did."

      Miss Peaches sat down very suddenly on the sofa, her bluster deserting her. "Oh dear, she's gone and done it then. She said a some things yesterday, of course, but I really thought it was just temper. And then when she didn't come home last night, I thought you'd all made up again."

      Bobby shook his head. "No, she's left me."

      Her high color had completely faded, and she looked old now, under her paint. "I'm so sorry." Then she added, not very hopefully, "But maybe — if you give her a little time, you can still patch it up."

      "Not likely, now."

      For a minute or two nobody spoke. Then Miss Peaches got up and took the baby from Swan again. "Well, I guess she's gone off on her own a while, then." She gave Bobby a tragic look. "But I am sorry. I'd so hoped that things would work out for you two. What with the baby and all . . . "

      She began picking up the baby things from the couch. "I better go home, I guess."

      Tagg came over and took them from her. "Where do you want these, Ma'am?"

      "Put them back in the car," Miss Peaches told him sadly. And then to Bobby: "I'd like to look after the baby a while, if you'll let me. At least until after the funeral."

      "I'd be grateful," Bobby said.

      Tagg helped Miss Peaches get everything back into her car and she drove away.

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