Eastland (10 page)

“Are you ready to go inside?” Karel stood on the Victorian’s
wraparound porch, studying me. His anger over Lars’s
appearance tonight had subsided. He once again looked like the
sweet, devoted Karel I’d come to care so much about.

“Almost.” Karel may have recovered from that scene with
Lars, but I needed a minute to catch my breath. I leaned on
the porch railing, taking in the almost circus-like spectacle up
and down the block. The crowd had overgrown the sidewalks,
spilling out into the streets, making access difficult for delivery
trucks and visitors’ carriages. “Never in my wildest dreams
could I have imagined something like this.”

Karel? How do we say good-bye?”
“I had my time with her this afternoon before visitation
began. I asked for her forgiveness. For leaving her below.”
I turned to stare at him. “And did she give it?”
“I think so. At least I felt more at peace after our conversation.”
Karel crooked his elbow. I slipped my arm through his. “Now it’s
your turn to talk to her.”
“What if I get mad?” Mae had made promises to me. Fifty
years worth.
“That’s okay. Just tell her how you feel. I promise, you’ll feel
better.”
I couldn’t feel any worse. Or more anxious. Except perhaps,
tomorrow. When we would bury her.
I took a deep breath. “I’m ready.”
My heart thumped wildly as we walked into the house
together.
The formal parlor was stifling to the point of being claustrophobic; the air heavy with the thick, overpowering perfume of
dozens of flower arrangements. The block of ice hidden in the
wooden bier cabinet melted into the tin catch tub with a steady
drip, drip, drip. I tried to match my racing heart to the rhythmic
beat, slowing my breaths until my pulse no longer thundered in
my ears.
Mr. Koznecki, elegant in black tails, his handlebar moustache stiffly waxed, stood near the arched entry, talking quietly
to Mama and Father Raczynski. Gracie sat sideways on one of
the colorful tapestry pillows scattered about the cherry wood
window seat. She peered out at the street, one cheek pressed
against the glass of the massive bay window. She had on a threequarter length, white lace dress with a black satin sash. Her long
ringlets had been pulled back and bowed into a ponytail with a
wide, purple ribbon. Mae would have loved the look.
“Where’s your mother?”
Karel motioned toward the divan.
Their velvet brocade sofa, which normally faced into the
parlor, had been switched around to face the bay window and
a casket far more elaborate than any I’d seen tonight. Mae’s
pine coffin had been painted a brilliant white and embellished
with intricate wooden carvings, gold-plated handles, and a gold
crucifix on the side.
“Mother’s been waiting for you. You go see her. I want to check
on Father.” Karel gave my hand a squeeze before hurrying away.
I willed myself to remain composed and teetered toward
the divan. Turning my back to the coffin, I knelt beside Mrs.
Koznecki. Slowly, and with an effort that seemed painful, she
looked down at me. Her eyes were bloodshot from crying, her
nose red from wiping. Her bottom lip quivered.
“Mrs. Koznecki … I … I …” My head dropped onto her lap.
She bent over me, stroking my hair. We both sobbed. I don’t
know how long we stayed like that, but eventually I felt a hand
on my shoulder.
“I will stay with her.”
I stood and crept aside. Mama sat next to Mrs. Koznecki and
put her arm around the despondent woman. Mrs. Koznecki sank
into Mama’s caring embrace.
Gracie came up next to me. “Do you want to see her now?”
We held hands as we moved together toward the white coffin,
the claustrophobic room tightening its grip on me like a python
going in for the kill. With each step, my chest constricted.
“She looks beautiful.” Gracie rested a hand on the white
linen lining of the casket. “Like an angel.” She stared up at me
expectantly, waiting for me to look at Mae. But I couldn’t lower
my head. My neck had stiffened with fear. “Don’t worry, Dee.
Father Raczynski told me this is only her earthly remains. Mae’s
soul is free now.”
A child was consoling me? With catechism I knew by heart?
If Gracie could do this, I could too. I sank onto the padded
kneeler.
The casket was at chest height now, but still I couldn’t make
myself peer inside. I took in air and forced it out slowly until my
breathing returned to nearly normal. I lifted my eyes.
Mae was as white as her coffin, her unique lavender eyes
closed for all eternity. Her cheeks had been rouged far more than
her usual light blush, and her lips had been painted ruby red, a
shade Mae never would have worn in life. Though her hair had
not been crimped, she did have a natural wave that helped to
soften her appearance. She’d been dressed in her favorite plumcolored suit with the swirly pattern that had always reminded
me of peacock feathers. The skirt had the modern three-quarter
cut that showed off her shapely ankles. She wore pale-purple silk
high heels, the pointed toes covered in a rich, eggplant-purple
brocade.
“What do you think?” Gracie asked softly.
Mae had always been a “looker,” and now, even in death, she
commanded admiration.
“You were right. She’s angelic.”
I leaned in closer, inspecting her for signs of bruising, but her
skin was flawless. There were no wrinkles of fear, no contortions
of terror, and absolutely no black-and-blue marks. Her expression seemed serene. I collapsed in relief. My hands landed on
hers, and before I could stop myself, I shrieked and burst into
tears. Mae was as stiff and hard as Mama’s ironing board.
Karel came rushing across the room.
“I … don’t want … to remember her like this,” I sobbed.
“Then don’t. Think about how she lived, not how she died.
Mae is still alive in our thoughts.”
I put my hand on my watch. And in our hearts.
“C’mon. Let’s give Dee some privacy.” Karel took Gracie’s
hand, and they quietly disappeared.
Mae and I were alone.
“This is hard, you know.” I sniffled and stopped crying.
“Harder than you can imagine.”
I waited, but she did not respond.
“You’re free, damn it! But I’m still here. Working. Waiting.
Trying to breathe.”
That brought on a small smile. Perhaps Mae was smiling, too.
“You told me last Friday that the day of the picnic would be
the best day of our lives. Maybe, in the end it was for you. But
what about for me?”
I stared at her, begging her to answer as images bombarded
my brain.
Karel reaches for my basket. I feel the heat of his approving
stare as he eyes me up and down. Lars rubs my arms as though
he might set me on fire. He smiles, his turquoise eyes catching
mine
.
At Iroquois Memorial, I step forward to tell Mrs. O’Hara
about her Katy. I brave my way up and down the rows at the
Armory.
“Okay, okay. So maybe you weren’t entirely wrong about that
day. For either of us.”

Mama and I arrived forty minutes early for the funeral Mass
at St. Mary’s of Czestochowa Wednesday morning. Given the
number of people at the wakes last night, I had anticipated
standing room only like at Christmas or on Easter. Yet far more
people than I could possibly have imagined had come today to
say their final good-byes. Hundreds of mourners sat shoulder to
shoulder in the hardwood pews with the overflow turned away
to wait outside in the rain.

This three-story, orange-brick building that served as both
church and school had only been consecrated seven years ago,
and already the structure was too small for our growing parish.
Father Raczynski had plans in the making for a larger, gothic-style
cathedral with twin spires, but that would probably not be built
for years. We would have to make do with what we had today.

The newspapers had dubbed this day Black Wednesday, the
official day of mourning in Chicago. Businesses, schools, and
churches throughout the city and suburbs had been draped in
funeral bunting. St. Mary’s was no exception. Long streamers
of black, purple, and white cloth hung over the altar, around the
supporting pillars, and along the side walls. The stormy, dismal
light streaming in through the tall windows seemed to match the
dark mood of the mourners inside.

Father Raczynski had underestimated the number of coffins.
Twenty-nine, not twenty-five, caskets had been arranged along
the communion rail or perched across the tops of the first three
pews. All six members of the VandeKipp family had been laid
out together, tallest to smallest, in expensive-looking walnut
caskets donated by Mr. Drojewska. Next to that last, tiny walnut
coffin rested a white casket with a gold crucifix on the side. I’d
hoped to sit in our usual Sunday spot up front, because then, I’d
be close to Mae. But today Mama and I would not have a choice.
We’d sit wherever we could find two seats together.

“Here, Mama.” I slid into a polished pew three rows up from
the back of the church. “This is the best we can do.”
Mama genuflected. The quick up-and-down motion of bending on one knee made her long, black chapel veil flutter around
her face. She crossed herself and eased in beside me, placing
her wet umbrella on the concrete floor beneath our pew. I did
the same with my umbrella and then settled myself on the padded kneeler. Beside me, Mama began her Rosary, her muffled
French prayers fusing with the hushed conversations and the
all-too-frequent outbursts of sobs. I fidgeted with the bobby
pin holding the small, round chapel veil in my hair, and tried to
focus on my own prayers.
Maybe it was the strong scent of incense in the air or maybe
my nerves, but I quickly became nauseated. Mama rubbed my
back until my queasy stomach quieted, yet not even Mama’s
comforting touch could erase my dread. Today would be my last
day with Mae. Soon she’d be buried in the ground. I would never
see her mischievous grin again. I’d never have to listen to one
of her cockamamie stories or tolerate her off-pitch singing. No
more of her complaints about our chief, Mr. Hofstedder.
From now on ’til forever, I’d have to walk to and from work
all by myself.
“Dee, pssst,” a small voice buzzed.
Gracie waved to me as she shuffled up the side aisle. I returned the wave, hoping to catch Karel’s attention as he came up
behind her. But as soon as I saw him, I knew Karel had no time
for me today. Mr. Koznecki, who even at the wake had managed
to look his dapper best, appeared to have changed overnight.
His handlebar moustache hung limp on his drained, colorless
face. He leaned on Karel for support as if the simple act of walking was more than he could manage.
I glanced back down the aisle, waiting to see Mrs. Koznecki.
But she never appeared.
“Where is she?” I whispered to Mama when Mae’s entire
family had taken their seats. “Where’s Mrs. Koznecki?”
“Too much for the Mama,” my own Mama said. This was all
too much for anyone. I shot to my feet.
Mama tugged on my sleeve. I sank back down.
How would I ever get through this day? But I’d been plagued
by the same doubts yesterday, yet somehow I’d made it through
the wake. Thanks in great part to Karel, but also to …
I twisted in my seat hoping to see Lars.
“Churches are open to everyone,” he’d said last night. So
maybe he’d be here.
My eyes darted across the pews, combing all the heartbroken
faces. But seconds later, I had to give up my search when the
pipe organ in the choir loft began to play.
Mass had started.
Conversation ceased while the sound of weeping rose in
anguished anticipation. I touched the watch dangling from its
golden bow and then remembered the other accessory I’d worn
today. After seeing Karel’s regal-purple waistcoat at the wake,
I’d fashioned a length of lavender ribbon into a bow and pinned
it above my watch.
Now I had two keepsakes of Mae to see me through this day.
The Archdiocese of Chicago had sent Bishop Rhode to assist in the memorial. Father Raczynski usually said Mass in
Polish for the predominantly Polish community of St. Mary’s,
but today the service would be recited in the traditional Latin.
The choir sang as the bishop, majestic in his crimson robe and
tall hat, led a procession of priests up the center aisle to the
altar. Under any other circumstance, an appearance by Bishop
Rhode would have been the cause of much celebration. But this
morning, people barely seemed to notice. Heads hung under the
oppressive weight of so much grief, while the mournful sounds
of crying nearly drowned out the organ.
Deep down below the panic and pain, I knew Mae was not in
that white coffin. Her spirit could not be contained by wood and
nails. I closed my eyes and imagined her soaring through the
heavens with wild abandon. My soul yearned to fly with her, but
my time had not come. I’d been one of the fortunate survivors.
But right now, right here, without Mae by my side, I didn’t feel
the least bit lucky.
I followed along with the Mass, standing and sitting and
kneeling on cue. From memory, I recited the prayers, my head
bowed, my hands pressed together. By all outward appearances,
I was at this service. My body was present, but my mind had
slipped away.
When Bishop Rhode told the congregation to “Go in peace,”
I stood, unable to bear one more moment of overwhelming sorrow or suffocating incense.
“Sorry, Mama.” I pushed past her. “Meet you outside.”
I made my way out of the pew and down the left-hand aisle.
I burst out the wooden double doors.
Hundreds of people waited outside the church. I rocked
back, startled by the sight.
“Keep the landing clear for the Bishop!” A red-jacketed usher
snapped his fingers at me. “He’ll be out after Mass for a final
blessing.”
The usher shooed me down the concrete steps, onto the
walk, and into the rain—without my umbrella. I’d left so quickly,
I’d forgotten it under the pew. I removed my delicate chapel
veil before it could get too soaked and tucked it into my pocket,
all the while scanning the somber audience for any sign of a
Merchant Marine. I knew it was foolish to think I might find
Lars in a gathering this large. Yet, despite the mass of humanity
attending the wakes last night, Lars had somehow found me.
But after two minutes of standing outside, I’d had enough
rain. I wandered around the church and along the alley, taking
shelter under the peaked roof of the church’s garage. I leaned
against the wood-frame structure to rest.
Po-poppp!
I jerked up. Had I been shot? I was checking my
arms for blood, when I saw a coal delivery truck, black smoke
trailing from its exhaust pipe, heading up the alley straight
toward me.
“Outta the way, young lady!” the driver barked.
His truck backfired again as he passed. I scrambled aside.
He parked his fuming vehicle behind the hearses, wagons,
motorcars, and trucks already lined up along the curbs. Some
of the larger trucks bore the insignia of Marshall Field’s or
Western Electric. With nearly seven hundred funerals in and
around Chicago, hearses had to be scarce. Horses must have
been hard to come by as well, because some of the wagons had
been hitched to mules.
I hurried around the church in time to see Bishop Rhode
coming out the double doors.
“May God bless and keep you today.” He sprinkled holy
water on his rain-wet flock. He made a quick sign of the cross
and fled back inside.
Pallbearers appeared, carrying the twenty-nine caskets to
the waiting vehicles. Grieving families followed. I watched until
Karel and his father came down the steps.
Karel’s once-vigorous complexion had turned waxen over
the past few days. Lines crisscrossed his forehead. His lips appeared dried and cracked almost to the point of bleeding. His
carefully slicked-back hair looked greasy and unkempt. The
carefree bachelor of last Saturday morning had died as surely as
if he’d drowned in the Chicago River.
Karel settled his father into the family’s green coupe behind
the white hearse. I hurried to him.
“Dee! I’m so relieved to see you. What an ordeal.”
I took his hand, enfolding it in mine. “I know. I’m here for
you.”
But did I really understand the depths of his pain?
All week, I’d been consumed with the loss of my closest
friend, but Karel had lost a sister. Someday, maybe, I might have
another friend, but he would never have another sibling. Mae
was his one and only. My chest tightened at the thought. I began
to cry, but not for me this time. For him.
“We’ll make it through this.” Karel managed a smile. “We’ve
been through worse.” He raised my hand to his mouth and
kissed my knuckles. “What would I do without you?”
“You won’t have to find out. I’ll stay by your side all day.”