Mildred Pierce - James M. Cain [56]
"There's a couple of things, Lucy."
Mildred took her to the bedroom, wrote a number on a piece of paper. "Will you call my mother for me, and tell her? Say I'm all right, and the funeral is tomorrow at twelve, and—be nice to her."
"I'll do it on my phone. Anything else?"
"I have no black dress."
"I'll get one for you. Size twelve?"
"Ten."
"Veil?"
"Do you think I should?'
"I wouldn't."
"Then no veil. And no hat. I have one that's all right. And no shoes. I have them too. But—gloves. Size six. And I think I ought to have a mourning handkerchief."
"I'll have everything. And—"
"What is it, Lucy?"
"They'll be dropping in now. People, I mean. And—I'll probably pull something. I just thought I'd tell you, so you'll know I had a reason."
So a little while later, Mrs. Gessler was back, and certainly pulled something. By then, quite a few people were there: Mrs. Floyd, Mrs. Harbaugh, Mrs. Whitley, Wally, and to Mildred's surprise, Mr. Otis, the federal meat inspector, who had seen the notice in one of the afternoon papers. Letty's contribution was tea and sandwiches, which she had just begun to pass when Mrs. Gessler came in, hatted, gloved, and carrying a gigantic set of lilies. With a wave of the hand she dismissed the florist's driver, and finding the card, read: "Mr. and Mrs. Otto Hildegarde—oh, aren't they beautiful, just beautiful!" Then, to everybody in the room: "You know, the couple Mildred visited over the weekend, up at the lake. Lovely people. I'm just crazy about them."
Then Mildred knew that there had indeed been talk, serious talk. But she also knew, from the look that went around, that now it was squelched, once and for all. She felt a throb of gratitude to Mrs. Gessler, for dealing with something she would have been helpless to deal with herself. Bert took the lilies outside, where he spread them on the lawn. Then, coupling up the hose, he attached the revolving nozzle, so they were gently refreshed by the edge of the whirling spray. Other flowers came, and he set them out too, until there was a canopy of blossoms on the grass, all glistening with tiny drops. There was a basket of gladioluses from the Drop Inn, which touched Mildred, but the one that made her swallow hardest was a mat of white gardenias, to which was attached a bluebird card, reading:
Ida Anna Chris Makadoulis
Ernestine Maybelle Archie
Ethel Laura Sam
Florence Shirley X (Fuji)
As she was fingering this a hush fell over the room, and she turned to see Mr. Murock's assistants carrying Ray in the door. Under Bert's direction, they set up trusses near the window, arranged the casket, and stepped back to permit the guests to pass by. Mildred couldn't look. But then Mrs. Gessler caught her arm, and she was looking in spite of herself. In the setting sun, a rainbow was shimmering over the spray, framing Ray's head. This broke Bert up again, and most of the guests tip-toed silently out. But it left Mildred unstirred. There was something unreal about Ray's appearance. The hot flush of the last few minutes was gone, also the animation of life, also the deadly pimple. All that remained was a waxy pallor that suggested nothing but heaven, which Bert was now babbling about for the fourth or fifth time.
Letty served the rest of the sandwiches for supper, and Bert and Mildred ate tremulously, silently, hardly tasting what was put in front of them. Then Mr. Pierce and Mom arrived, with Veda, and after viewing Ray, came back to the den. Then Dr. Aldous arrived, a tall, gray, kindly man who sat near Mildred, and didn't put her on the defensive at all for not being a member of his church. Then Mom and Dr. Aldous were in an argument, or rather Mom was, with Dr. Aldous having little to say, and Mr. Pierce correcting Mom on a number of points of ritual. The trouble was that Mom, who had been originally a Methodist, only joining the Episcopal Church after marrying Mr. Pierce, was somewhat confused as to the service that was to be used tomorrow. As Mr. Pierce told her, she had the burial service,