CHAPTER 67
Maggie
Papa and I are getting the viewing parlor ready for an afternoon service when the front doorbell rings. It’s the week before Christmas and Willa’s at school, so I offer to answer it. Papa, who always wanted me to think of my job at the funeral parlor as temporary, is nevertheless happy that I’m no longer preparing to move to Manhattan.
He was only momentarily disappointed when I called off the wedding. When I explained to him that I’d only ever and always loved Jamie Sutcliff, he understood. He understood probably better than anyone, because that’s how he felt about Mama. He still loves Mama. Her being gone hasn’t changed anything.
Palmer, on the other hand, did not take the news as easily as Papa did. God knows I never wanted to hurt Palmer. I tried to tell him this. I tried to explain that I would only be injuring him further if we went through with our plans to marry. I could never return the love he had for me. He should not want to marry someone who could not. I’ve heard nothing from Palmer since I called off the wedding, not that I would expect to. He returned to Manhattan angry and disappointedand wounded. But at least he has not called or written begging me to change my mind. I believe he will move on from me to love another. I am counting on it.
Jamie isn’t one to rush anything, so even though I know I’ll be marrying him someday, there is no ring, there is no wedding date, and he hasn’t come to Papa like Palmer did. We are becoming acquainted with each other on the ordinary, day-to-day level. So in the meantime, I am still Papa’s assistant.
I pass through the kitchen and into the entryway. I don’t recognize the man who stands on the other side of the front door glass. I wonder if he is a visitor who’s been given the wrong time for the funeral today. I open the door, and a swirl of frigid air blows past me. I ask if I can help him.
He takes off his hat. “Yes, ma’am. I’d like to speak to Thomas Bright, if I may.”
“Is my father expecting you?”
The man turns the hat by its brim. “No, he’s not.”
“Oh. And you are?”
“My name’s Cal Dabney.”
For a long moment I can only stand and stare at Alex’s father. I know the blood drains from my face because I feel it.
“Look, I’m not here to raise a fuss over what happened. It was a long time ago and nobody’s to blame.”
“What do you want?” My voice sounds stiff.
“Are you one of the girls? Are you Maggie?”
I nod once.
“I just want to talk to your father.”
I open the door wide, a silent gesture for him to come inside.
“May I take your coat?” I say, mechanically.
“I don’t reckon this will take long.”
I show him to the sitting room. Papa and I have let the morning fire die down and the room is chilly. Unwelcoming. Cal Dabney doesn’t seem to notice.
I excuse myself and retrace my steps to the viewing parlor. When I tell Papa who is at the door, he says, “What does the man want?” I recognize the fear in his voice.
“He said he just wants to talk to you. He said it wouldn’t take long.”
I return to the sitting room with Papa. Cal Dabney is looking at the family photographs on a table by the bay window. Alex is in one of them.
Papa thrusts out his hand. “I’m Thomas Bright. How do you do?”
Alex’s father shakes Papa’s hand. “Cal Dabney.”
I start to leave the room, though I am planning to stand where I can hear everything being said. But Cal calls out to me.
“You don’t have to go. It might be better if you stay.”
“Is Alex all right?” I ask as I turn back around. “I mean, Leo. Is he all right?”
