The Property of a Lady - Elizabeth Adler [59]
The first time she had seen her, Sofia had been on her way to an official court reception; she was wearing a gown of gold lace with a long royal-blue train trimmed with ermine. Diamonds sparkled at her throat and ears, a coronet of diamonds and rubies crowned her rich black hair, and she had carried a beautiful ostrich-feather fan. Now this great princess was reduced to the simplicity of death where jewels played no part and clean white linen was all that was needed.
“We’ve done all we can, Missie,” Rosa Perelman said. “Now you’ll have to be sending for the mortician.”
Missie looked at her blankly. “Mortician?”
“The funeral parlor,” Rosa explained patiently, “to see about the coffin and the burial.”
Missie hadn’t thought as far as a coffin and a funeral. She had no idea how much such things cost, but whatever it was, she didn’t have the money.
“If it’s money,” Rosa said, reading her thoughts, “then you’ll just have to contact the city welfare. She won’t be the first around here to go to her rest in a free pine coffin. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
Missie glanced despairingly at Father Feeny. Sofia had been afraid to attend St. George’s Orthodox Russian Church on East Seventh Street, and had taken to worshiping at St. Savior’s instead, and he knew and respected her. “She is right, my dear,” he said, placing a sympathetic hand on her shoulder. “But I give you my word the old lady will be buried with dignity. She will have her mass before they take her to Potter’s Field.”
“Potter’s Field?” Missie repeated, puzzled.
The women standing around the bed glanced apprehensively at each other; obviously the girl knew nothing about life—or death.
“The common graveyard, my dear,” Father Feeny explained. “But you must remember that in the eyes of God all men are equal. Sofia is in heaven, and it is only her mortal remains that will be taken to a pauper’s grave.”
Missie flung herself to her knees by the bed. They were planning to bury the Dowager Princess Sofia Ivanoff in a pauper’s grave! “No,” she screamed. “No, no! You don’t understand. She must have a proper burial, and High Mass. I’ll find the money somewhere.”
Shaking their heads and whispering to each other, the women filed from the room, leaving her alone with the priest.
“You must not let these things trouble you, my child,” Father Feeny told her. “You are only a young girl, and you have a daughter to look after. Let the old lady go to her rest without any more worry. I myself will call the welfare for you, it will all be over quickly.”
“Never.” Missie sobbed. “Never, never, never….”
Father Feeny sighed as he knelt beside her to pray. When he had finished, he rose to his feet and said, “I’ll come tomorrow morning and see to everything. Meanwhile, the church is always here to comfort you, my child, and remember that we believe in life everlasting. Tonight I shall say a prayer for Sofia’s immortal soul.”
Missie remained on her knees for a long time. Rosa Perelman had volunteered to look after Azaylee, and she was alone with Sofia. Her bitter tears gradually changed to a frown of worry as she wondered where she would get the money to bury her. There was only one answer.
The saloon was brightly lighted and busy. A crowd of men leaned up against the long polished bar while the whores queened it at the tables, sipping whiskey and laughing raucously, and a few poor women with shawls thrown over their pinafores sipped port and lemon in an attempt to blur the hard edges of their existence. Someone was playing popular tunes on the piano and a pall of blue cigarette smoke swirled and eddied beneath the flickering globes of the gas lamps like the fog off Ireland’s shores.
O’Hara was behind the bar, pouring whiskey and pulling pints as fast as he could while a harried-looking young woman collected empties and