Death In The Family, A - James Agee [45]
Thy will be done. And again she could think of nothing more. She got from her knees and without turning on the light or glancing towards the bed, went into the kitchen. The water for tea had almost boiled away. The water in the large kettle was scarcely tepid. The fire was almost out. While she was putting in more kindling, she heard them on the porch.
Hannah came in with her hands stretched out and Mary extended her own hands and took them and kissed her cheek while at the same instant they said, “Mary” and, “my dear”; then Hannah hurried to put her hat on the rack. Andrew stayed at the open door and did not speak but merely kept looking into her eyes; his own eyes were as hard and bright as those of a bird and they spoke to her of a cold and bitter incredulity, as if he were accusing something or someone (even perhaps his sister) which it was useless beyond words to accuse. She felt that he was saying, “And you can still believe in that idiotic God of yours?” Walter Starr stayed back in the darkness; Mary could just see the large lenses of his glasses, and the darkness of his mustache and of his heavy shoulders.
“Come in, Walter,” she said, and her voice was as overwarm as if she were coaxing a shy child.
“We can’t stop,” Andrew said sharply.
Walter came forward and took her hand, and gently touched her wrist with his other hand. “We shan’t be long,” he said.
“Bless you,” Mary murmured, and so pressed his hand that her arm trembled.
He patted her trembling wrist four times rapidly, turned away saying, “Better be off, Andrew,” and went towards his automobile. She could hear that he had left the engine running, and now she realized all the more clearly how grave matters were.
“Everything’s ready here in case—you know—he’s—well enough to be brought home,” Mary told Andrew.
“Good. I’ll phone, the minute I know. Anything.”
“Yes, dear.”
His eyes changed, and abruptly his hand reached out and caught her shoulder. “Mary, I’m so sorry,” he said, almost crying.
“Yes, dear,” she said again, and felt that it was a vacuous reply; but by the time this occurred to her, Andrew was getting into the automobile. She stood and watched until it had vanished and, turning to go in, found that Hannah was at her elbow.
“Let’s have some tea,” she said. “I’ve hot water all ready,” she said over her shoulder as she hurried down the hall.
Let her, Hannah thought, following. By all means. “Goodness no, it’s boiled away! Sit down, Aunt Hannah, it’ll be ready in a jiff.” She hustled to the sink.
“Let me ...” Hannah began; then knew better, and hoped that Mary had not heard.
“What?” She was drawing the water.
“Just let me know, if there’s anything I can help with.”
“Not a thing, thank you.” She put the water on the stove. “Goodness, sit down.” Hannah took a chair by the table. “Everything is ready that I can think of,” Mary said. “That we can know about, yet.” She sat at the opposite side of the table. “I’ve made up the downstairs bedroom” (she waved vaguely towards it), “where he stayed when his poor back was sprained, you remember.” (Of course I do, Hannah thought; let her talk.) “It’s better than upstairs. Near the kitchen and bathroom both and no stairs to climb and of course if need be, that is, if he needs a nurse, night nursing, we can put her in the dining room and eat in the kitchen, or even set up a cot right in the room with him; put up a screen; or if she minds that, why she can just sleep on the living-room davenport and keep the door open between. Don’t you think?”
“Certainly,” Hannah said.
“I think I’ll see if I can possibly get Celia, Celia Gunn, if she’s available, or if she’s on a case she can possibly leave, it’ll be so much nicer for everyone to have someone around who is an old friend, really one of the family, rather than just a complete stranger, don’t you think?”
Hannah nodded.
“Even though of course Jay doesn’t specially, of course she’s really an old friend