Cemetery Silk (4 page)

“If you all will excuse me I think I'm going to lie down for a while. I'm suddenly very tired.”

“Of course, Mother. Will you be okay?”

She nodded her head and walked slowly back to the house. Cassie ran ahead of her and opened the screen door to the porch. She gave her grandmother a swift embrace and ran off toward the lane that led to the back field.

I sat alone on the sunny afternoon patio with my thoughts whirling. Maybe a nap was the best thing when your brain was on overload. But I knew I could never sleep. Who would have ever suspected something like this? Certainly none of us could have imagined it, not in a million, not in three million years. That would be a year for every dollar. Wow! I thought, that is a lot of money. How does a man get that kind of money? Especially a man like William who was so quiet and unassuming. He had only held one job. He had never traveled outside of the state. When his parents went to visit relatives in Germany, William was in school and declined the invitation to accompany them.

That must have been it! He must have inherited a good deal of the money from his parents. I had heard him tell stories about his father, a good stout German who had come to Louisville with his family in the 1800s.

His grandfather was a successful merchant who opened several dry goods stores. When William's father decided to strike out on his own, he had purchased a barge and gone down the river selling whatever the farmers needed. After meeting a Scottish farmer's pretty daughter, he married her and settled down. The small coalmining town where they lived had neither dry goods store nor bank. He furnished both for the next few decades.

According to what I could remember of William's stories, it was his mother's thrift as well as his father's success at making money that made their life so comfortable. She had sustained them during difficult times, most notably when the bank went under during the depression.

William had grown up in that little mining town, and when he showed no real talent for merchandising, his father sent him to school to study bookkeeping. He came back and worked for the bank for the rest of his life.

Ernest Dibber was the young man William trained to replace him at the bank when he retired. Dibber was a tax specialist, too. He'd probably prepared William's taxes: the only other person in the world to know how much money William really had. My neck started to prickle as the hairs stood on end. There was something really wrong here!

I heard the screen door slam shut and looked up to see Mother coming back outside. She looked more disheveled than I had ever seen her and more distraught than I thought possible.

She knelt in front of me and clasped my hands tightly in her cold fingers.

“Paisley,” she whispered hoarsely. “Paisley, don't you see? Ernest Dibber was the only person who knew about William's money. Now that money is all his. I think he coerced William into writing that will and then murdered him! Maybe, he even.…”

I managed to cushion her head from the hard concrete as she sank slowly and gracefully down in a dead faint.

Chapter Four

Mother's regular physician, Ed Baxter, was recovering from open heart surgery, and the only other doctor in town, a younger man named Winston Wallace, was taking his calls. I explained my concerns about Mother to his nurse, and the doctor came out within the hour. After staring much too long at Cassie as she returned from her walk in the field, her tee shirt clinging with sweat, he allowed himself to be hustled into Mother's bedroom.

She sat propped up in her bed wearing a soft lavender cashmere bed jacket. Her face was very pale but she had managed to comb her hair and make herself presentable. She held her chin up and smiled, knowing that everything that happened here would be gossip in town tomorrow.

Mother was angry at me for calling the doctor, but at the same time I could tell she was a little frightened and needed some reassurance that all was physically well.

I have to admit that Dr. Wallace seemed to know his business even though I could not stand his condescending manner. He gave Mother a quick but professional examination. Her heart, blood pressure and pulse were all checked and pronounced to be normal. Then he sat beside her for awhile talking softly and asking her questions about her health. After a few minutes, he patted her hand and stood up. He carefully adjusted his jacket and then his trouser pleats. I'm sure he thought, as he preened in front of us, that he was a handsome figure of a man. His clothes were obviously expensive but just this side of flash instead of class. A shiny, gold Rolex hung grandly large on his right wrist and a heavy gold bracelet banded the left. I tried to see if he had a real suntan or used makeup on his smooth, round, face but I didn't want to get any closer. His aftershave was overpowering.

“You're doing just fine, Mrs. Sterling,” he pronounced. “I can understand your having a delayed reaction to your cousin's death. You're such a tower of strength for your family. Dear lady, you need time to do your own grieving. Your granddaughter certainly seems to be healthy enough, as well as your daughter. Let them take care of you for a while. I'm going to prescribe a mild sedative which I urge you to take tonight and at least for the rest of the week.” He waggled his finger at her. “Now quit shaking your pretty little head.”

I knew she hated that as much as she hated being talked down to. Poor Dr. Wallace didn't know he was cutting his own throat. This was, no doubt, the last time he would be seeing my mother in a professional capacity.

“No one wants to take medicine but sometimes we need it. You must get some rest. Let your little chickens take care of you for a change.”

He smiled pontifically and beamed in my direction. I wanted to go for his throat but I settled for the prescription he held out instead.

Mother thanked him weakly. She was playing Camille to the hilt, and I began to regret that I had ever summoned medical advice. But she only played roles from a position of strength. He had reassured her that her heart was still pumping and all was well. She was feeling better already. God help us for the next few days! The good doctor had given her a mighty weapon: Camille was here to stay.

I decided to have the pharmacy deliver the sedative instead of taking time to shower, change, and drive downtown for it. I needed some rest and quiet, too.

I got rid of Dr. Wallace and paid off the delivery boy at almost the same time. Mother took the pills in a limp hand. She made quite a show of having trouble swallowing them, but she did snuggle back in her pillows and get comfortable almost immediately falling into a deep and restful sleep.

I stayed a few more minutes to make sure she was all right and then headed toward my room and a long hot shower.

The afternoon had turned as grey as our mood and the evening brought clouds and rain. I could hear the loud boom of thunder in the distance even under the shower. By the time I finished bathing, the temperature had dropped enough to make my wet skin stand up in goose bumps.

I hurried out of the bathroom and searched quickly through the walnut chest. I found a pair of old flannel pajamas and a sweatshirt and shrugged them on gratefully. I was hopping on one foot and pulling a thick sock on the other when Cassie tapped at the door.

The blessed child had a tray of steaming hot cream of tomato soup with cheese melted on top. It was her favorite meal. We turned the gas logs on low and sat on the rug in front of the hearth happily slurping soup and dunking Saltines in the melted cheese.

“I looked in on Gran before I came. She's fine. Her color is back to normal, and she's sleeping quietly.”

“Thanks, Cassie. I really appreciate the supper, too.”

I sat back and leaned against the ottoman and patted my stomach.

“Just what the doctor ordered.”

We looked at each other and laughed. We laughed and laughed, and then we laughed some more. I finally held up my hands in surrender.

“Stop,” I gasped. “Please let's stop or I'll upchuck my soup.”

Since Cass was eight months old and had her first giggle fit, she and I had to agree to stop laughing together, for neither could stop while the other continued.

She wiped her eyes on a paper napkin.

“What a creep! Where did he go to medical school? Mom, you have to promise me! If I ever get sick here, you will take me out of town to the doctor!”

“Only if you make me the same promise!”

We shook hands solemnly and sat back to gaze in the fire. The thunder was getting closer, but from long experience with late summer storms here on the farm we could tell by the sound that it would be moving farther north of us. The heavy rain would most likely fall all night but there would be no dangerous high winds. The outside work would have to be put off until the grass was dry, so tomorrow would be a day to work inside. I would encourage Mother to stay in bed so I could have my way with her house. Maybe even move some furniture around. My mood began to improve even more.

The room was warm and cozy, the low flames of the gas logs the only source of light, giving the room a soft rosy glow. I pulled a pillow off the bed and Cassie lay her head down on it in my lap. I stroked her dark hair gently back from her pale forehead and let my mind wander.

“You don't think Gran really believes William was murdered, do you?” she asked echoing my thoughts as she often did. “I mean, I hate that creep Dibber, but that would be just too awful.”

I thought for a moment of what I could say to put her mind at rest. It was instinct, a mother's desire to make the nightmares go away. The truth was I could not believe it myself. I knew Mother didn't really believe it either, or she would insist that we go to the police.

“Of course not, sweetie. Nobody has killed anybody. It's just too bad that we didn't realize what was happening to William. He seemed normal over the phone, but he must have been going downhill really fast. His so-called ‘dear friend and neighbor' just took advantage of a sick old man whose family was too busy to visit him often enough. We have some blame in this, too, you know.”

She sighed, “I know. I could have written more often. And I only called him once last semester. He seemed so grateful. Poor old thing, he must have been so lonely after Abigail's death.”

She sniffed and wiped her nose on her pajama sleeve. I kept my mouth shut, unlike my mother. Besides, that is what washing machines were for.

“Do you think he knew how much we loved him? He didn't mention us in the will at all. Don't you think that was odd? I mean you and Auntie Vel were like their own children to them, at least I always thought so.”

“I thought so too, Munchkin.”

It was now time for my waterworks to begin. Oh what the hell, what was good for her nose was good for mine, too. I wiped.

There were just too many sad imponderables about this whole situation. I held her for a long moment and vowed not to ever again leave love undeclared. Might as well start now.

“I love you, Cass. You are the most wonderful daughter in the world.”

She laughed softly in my hair.

“I love you, too, Mommy.”

It had been a long time since I had heard that. I went to bed happy that night in spite of everything. Ain't love grand?

The next morning I was up at six o'clock and raring to go despite the fact that I had gotten up twice during the night to check on Mother. This farm life was agreeing with me. I had twice the energy and stamina I had a month ago, and I had actually lost seven pounds! I could stand a few more months of this life. Too bad I had to return to New York so soon.

I vowed to make the most of the next two days. I would see that the house was in good shape, and try to help Mother line up someone to help outside until Billy was back on his feet. More importantly, I would make Mother divulge her financial situation to me and arrange to help her.

Cassie was still asleep when I tapped on her door, but she mumbled in agreement when I whispered that breakfast would be ready in fifteen minutes.

Mother was still not stirring so I let her sleep on while I put the kettle on for tea. I searched the pantry for something yummy and easy to prepare. I finally decided that pancakes would be perfect, and blueberry pancakes would be even better. I blessed those wonderful little people who create mixes. In ten minutes the pancakes were coming off the griddle, and the tea was brewing in Mother's squat and ugly little Brown Betty. Mother always says it's the only teapot one can truly count on.

I arranged a cup of hot tea and a plate of pancakes with just a tad of syrup on a breakfast tray. I had the Wedgwood china, a linen napkin, and a sterling silver spoon. There was also a slice of lemon and a small bowl of raw sugar crystals. What could be missing, I thought as I placed the tray on her lap?

“Be a darling, Paisley, and bring me some of that wonderful pear butter and maybe, well, never mind.”

“What is it, Mother?”

“No, I don't want to be a bother”

“Mother, please tell me what you want now. I know if you don't ask me now you'll want it later, so just let's get it over with.”

“No, no, dear, it's too much trouble, and you have so much planned for today.”

How did she know? Did she have some kind of radar?

“What plans? It's raining. We can't do anything until the rain stops.”

“I'm sure you and Cassie have something planned, don't you?”

“Mother, I bet you could really eat a bigger breakfast, is that right? How about a nice shirred egg with cheddar on top just like you used to make for me? And some more pancakes, or maybe some buttered toast?”

“And some bacon, perhaps. There is some lovely Virginia bacon in the.…”

“I know,” I sighed. “I know.”

I trudged back to the kitchen. My energy was already reaching a low ebb, and it was only six forty-five. Twenty minutes later, I had the eggs, pancakes, preserves, and bacon on the tray with some fresh hot tea and toast.

My perky little ponytail had wilted, and I had a least two grease splatter burns on my hand and one on my cheek. I hated cooking and I was in a foul mood. I also knew that this was just the beginning. There would be no rest for the weary until Mother had decided she had punished me enough for calling the doctor.

When I got back to her room, I found that she had gone back to sleep. At first I was furious. I considered slamming the tray down on the night table hard enough to make her jump out of bed, but she looked so much better. The strain was already gone from around her eyes and mouth. She had that gift of a true Southern woman: to look years younger after a good night's sleep. I put the tray down softly, grabbed the toast, and tiptoed out. I closed the door to her bedroom and her sitting room behind me.

Cassie was in the kitchen pouring honey over plain vanilla yogurt in slow golden squiggles.

“Wow, that looks good.”

“It's certainly better for you than all that bacon you cooked and burned. There's grease everywhere! Just breathing the air in here could give you a coronary. Really, Mom, you have to learn to eat more sensibly.”

I looked down at the half-eaten toast corner in my hand that was my entire breakfast.

“You are absolutely right, dear. I'll try and do better.”

I went to get the cleaning supplies from the storeroom under the stairs. My daughter had always been extremely respectful of that spooky old closet. Meaning she always had some excuse not to go under there. This time Cassie said she would find some nice background music on the radio. I did not argue. I just hoped that I would not have to mop and dust to some heavy metal screech that would drive me insane.

I dragged all the mops and brooms and brushes and pails into the front hallway and dumped them in the middle of the Oriental rug. I started sorting through the buckets to find wax and dust cloths and was pleasantly surprised to hear the rhythmic strains of Glenn Miller coming from the living room.

“Wow, Mom! They have the big band channel.”

To the TV generation there were no stations, only channels.

“I love this stuff, don't you, Mom. Did you ever hear of a group called The Andrews Sisters? They are just the greatest.”

Amazed and bemused I swung and swayed behind my daughter as we mopped and waxed and dusted to the tunes by which her grandparents courted. We had a ball. Cassie and I made each other wax and polish everything until we were ready to arrange the furniture in the living room to suit ourselves. We had seen the room look exactly the same way all of our lives. We itched to move things around now that we had a chance.

Try as we might, moving and pushing and sweating, we had no luck. The two big yellow flower print chintz sofas did not look good anywhere except in their long accustomed places on each side of the fireplace with the low Queen Anne table in between. And so we moved everything back from vase to rug and plopped down on freshly plumped yellow down cushions to marvel at our industry. I hopped back up immediately when a sharp poke in the rear called a broken sofa spring to my painful attention. Cassie leaned back and stretched, dreamily unaware of my predicament.