The Price of Innocence (The Legacy Series) (2 page)

Suzette stepped back and with a light tap of her knuckles, knocked softly.

“Papa? Papa?”

When no answer came, she thought perchance her father had left early for work. She walked to the sitting room to see if his jacket had been removed. It remained exactly where he placed it the evening before, hanging on the coat rack by the front door.

A sense of dread clutched her heart. She turned quickly around and ran across the wood floor toward her father’s room. Her bare feet slapped against the floorboards.

“Papa? Are you in there? Can you hear me?”

Suzette knocked feverishly, but no answer came. Her hand trembled when she reached for the metal doorknob. Slowly, she turned it to the right. When the latch released, Suzette pushed the door open just enough to poke her head around the edge and peek inside. The curtains remained closed, and the room was dark and quiet. Suzette stood motionless for a moment, while her eyes adjusted to the lack of light. Finally, they rested upon her father’s figure in bed.

“Papa, are you all right?”

After the silence persisted, she pushed the door wide open and hesitantly walked to his bedside. Dressed in his overnight gown, he lay prostrate, with his face buried in the pillow. She looked at him and realized his chest neither rose nor lowered. Frantic over the lack of movement, she knelt down at his side and placed her hand upon his back.

“Papa!” she cried. “Papa, wake up!”

The touch of his cold, stiff body spoke of death, and Suzette quickly withdrew her hand in horror of the discovery. She sprang to her feet, stumbled backwards, and brought both hands to her mouth, to catch her horrified scream.

Panicked, she fled out of the bedroom and ran down the hallway crying hysterically. Unsure what to do next, she paced back and forth in a distraught state of mind, until a moment of clarity returned. She exited the apartment and swiftly ran to her neighbor’s door. With both fists, Suzette pounded on the wooden barrier, begging for assistance in a desperate, sobbing voice.

“I need help! Please, I need help!” Her hot tears burned her cheeks. A moment later, the door swung open.

“My word, child! What is the matter?” Monsieur Pelletier looked astounded over Suzette’s frantic actions. His wife stood by his side wide-eyed.

Suzette gasped. “It’s Papa. I can’t wake him up!” Sobs choked her throat. “I . . . I . . . I think he’s dead.”

“Oh my God, Suzette!”

He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and swiftly headed toward their apartment. His wife, Adele, followed closely behind, shaking her head.

Suzette led them to her father’s bedroom and then stood by the door, terrified to enter. She watched Monsieur Pelletier approach the bed.

“Edgar? Edgar!”

Monsieur Pelletier received no response and bent down to touch the cold, rigid body. He nodded his head and turned to Suzette with an empathetic look.

“He’s dead, I’m afraid.” Not wishing for her to gaze upon death, he took the wool blanket and pulled it up until it hid her father’s body underneath.

“I’m terribly sorry, Suzette. He must have died in his sleep. God rest his soul.”

He reverently made the sign of the cross, along with his wife, Adele. Suzette stood frozen in the doorway, unable to move. She sobbed loudly, and Madame Pelletier drew near to her side. Suzette buried her head in Adele’s shoulder and lost herself in grief.

“There, there, Suzette,” Madame Pelletier offered in motherly comfort, while stroking her back. “It will be all right. Your father is in heaven now. Don’t despair.”

Her words brought little comfort to Suzette’s heart. Anxiety tightened her chest, choking the air from her lungs, and she wondered if she would perish, too.

Monsieur Pelletier placed his hand upon her shoulder. “It must have been a stroke or a heart attack. God is merciful. He probably died peacefully in his sleep. Your father was a good man.”

“You should arrange for the body to be taken somewhere, William.” Adele’s eyes pleaded for her husband’s help.

Suzette abruptly pulled from her embrace. “What do you mean take his body?”

“Well, he can’t very well stay here, dear. We’ll help you arrange for a parlor to attend to his remains.” A look of panic spread across her face, and she inquired if Suzette had others to help her through this difficult time.

“Do you have family here, dear? Is there anyone who can help you?”

“No,” replied Suzette, her face sullen and shocked. “There is no one except my aunt and her husband, but they moved to the Americas years ago.”

“Oh, I see, dear.” She turned to her husband and implored him to do something. “Go on, William. Get your hat and coat and take this child with you to the funeral parlor for arrangements. Please!”

“Yes, of course.”

He put his arm around Suzette and encouraged her to get dressed. Suzette stood paralyzed as she looked at the body of her father. Her audible sobbing had turned to silent tears that rolled freely down her flushed cheeks. Overcome with shock, Suzette realized she could no longer inhale any air. Black spots danced across her field of vision, and she floated into darkness and into the arms of Monsieur Pelletier standing nearby.

* * *

Muffled voices, footsteps, and clanging noises echoed in the recesses of Suzette’s mind, eventually bringing her back to consciousness. She opened her eyelids and blinked a few times, until she focused on the white plaster ceiling above her bed. After a quick glance down at her body, she discovered herself wrapped up in a blanket. Her pounding head rested upon a pillow.

Her first waking thoughts gave way to confusion. Why was she there? Like a cold bucket of water splashed in her face, the shock of her earlier discovery came flooding back.

She flung the covers off her nightgown-clad body and ran out of her room down to her father’s bedchamber. She pleaded like a child the entire way.
Please, God, let it be just a terrible dream
. When she entered the doorway, an empty bed greeted her swollen eyelids, and the sick realization returned.

Suzette stood shrouded in grief for a few moments, and then turned and wandered into the kitchen. The floor shift beneath her feet, as she fought a sickening dizziness. Monsieur and Madame Pelletier were speaking to one another unaware of her arrival. She stopped in the doorway and exhaled in anger.

“Where is he?”

“Oh, dear, you’re up.” Madame Pelletier came to her side and gently brushed the unruly curls from her face. “Are you all right? We were worried about you. Grief overcame your senses, and you fainted.”

“Yes, I’m all right. Where is he?” she demanded again.

Monsieur Pelletier placed his hand on her forearm in reassurance. “He’s at the funeral parlor down the street, Suzette. I took the liberty of having their staff take your father’s body from the apartment to a more appropriate place.”

Gone. They had taken her father away, and Suzette felt lost.

“You’ll have to go there later today, dear, and make the arrangements,” Madame Pelletier informed her. “Don’t worry, though. My husband will go with you, so that you don’t have to do this horrible task all alone.”

“I don’t want to be alone,” Suzette replied, as a tiny tear trickled down her cheek.

“Are you sure there is no one to help you, Suzette? Maybe a friend, perhaps, or your father’s coworkers?”

“I don’t think so,” she answered, trying to think of anyone she knew. “Perhaps people at work, but my father never spoke of anyone in particular.”

“Well, what about friends? You know, people your father visited.”

“We rarely socialized with others. He said he was always tired when he came home from work, and we just kept each other company.”

“The Parish, perhaps? What about Father Joseph? I’m sure he will help you during this difficult time.”

“Yes, yes, I’m sure he would help me,” she agreed. Suzette turned and looked at Monsieur Pelletier. “What should I do next?”

“I’m afraid, my dear, much needs to be done. You should dress, have something to eat, and then we’ll go to the funeral parlor to discuss the matters that need to be arranged.”

“All right, then,” she responded, acting like an obedient child. She felt dependent upon her neighbors for help and guidance. Suzette had never dealt with such ominous matters before like funeral arrangements. Her mother died when she was a small child, and her father took care of all the details of her burial.

Bewildered, Suzette returned to her room to dress and closed the door for privacy. She stood in front of her long mirror with a blank expression upon her face. Her eyes were red, and her complexion looked pasty white. Suzette’s wretched appearance confirmed what she felt inside—a part of her had died, too.

Her hands shook as she reached for the hem of her nightgown, pulled it over her head, and let it fall to her feet. Naked, cold, and alone, she stood shivering, stripped of all that she had loved. It would take some time before Suzette would be ready to accompany Monsieur Pelletier to the funeral parlor to take care of her father’s remains, because once again hot tears streamed down her cheeks.

Chapter Two

  “Mademoiselle, I am so sorry for your loss.”

Suzette looked at the man who stood before her dressed entirely in black. His facial expression appeared sympathetic, but she wondered if he truly felt compassion, or if his words were merely routine in nature. Wary of his sincerity, Suzette refused to politely acknowledge his greeting.

Monsieur Pelletier had escorted Suzette to the funeral facility were they had taken her father’s remains. Upon entering the building, she felt death greet her at the door. It felt reminiscent of the cold presence that followed her in the dream the night before. She shuddered over the similarities.

The surroundings, pleasantly decorated with palm plants, green settees, and landscaped art on the walls, did little to comfort or soothe her nerves. The manager appeared to notice her distrustful demeanor, and then attempted again to make her feel welcome.

“Monsieur Lefevre, at your service.” He turned to Monsieur Pelletier and acknowledged his arrival with a nod. “Please, Mademoiselle Rousseau, follow me.”

Monsieur Pelletier gave Suzette a reassuring look, and she followed the man clothed in black through a narrow hallway that led to his office.

“Please, have a seat,” he said, motioning to a chair in front of his mahogany desk.

Still dazed, she sat and glanced around the room and then loudly inquired about the whereabouts of her father’s body. “Where is he?”

A bit surprised by her demanding question, he cleared his throat before answering. “He is in our deceased holding area, Mademoiselle. I assure you we have treated his remains with the greatest respect.”

Embarrassed over her loud outburst, she sheepishly replied, “Thank you.”

“Now, let us talk of funeral arrangements, shall we?” The director opened a black notebook. He picked up his quill and dipped it in the inkwell on his desk ready to write the arrangements for the sale.

“Casket . . .” he said, in a businesslike manner. “We have a large selection of caskets, at varying prices.”

“Prices?” Suzette squawked.

“Yes, prices, Mademoiselle Rousseau.” After seeing the panicked look on her face, he replaced the quill in its holder, folded his hands on the desk in front of him, and leaned forward.

“Let me ask you a question before we go further. How much can you afford? If I know what you can spend, then I can show you items that are in that price range.” He tilted his head and glanced over at Monsieur Pelletier with a smile.

Suzette didn’t know the answer. Her father took care of financial matters, and she knew nothing about his private affairs. He gave her an allowance for clothes and shoes when she needed them. Other than that, the amount of money now in her possession was a complete mystery.

She turned to her neighbor and confessed her ignorance. “Monsieur, I do not know where my father kept his money or where he banked. I have nothing inside my purse but a few coins. What should I do?”

Monsieur Pelletier was not surprised. Suzette’s naivety was quite evident, and no doubt her father shared nothing about household finances. Edgar probably never revealed any of his private affairs. As a matter of course, men never discussed money matters with wives or daughters.

He patted Suzette’s clenched hands in her lap to give her reassurance.

“My wife and I will help when we return to your apartment. We’ll look through your father’s papers and see if we can find any financial records, money, or what bank he may have frequented.” He looked at Monsieur Lefevre and offered a suggestion.

“Perhaps, Monsieur, you might show the lady your lowest prices possible for now. When we find more information about her financial situation, we will visit again to finalize the burial arrangements.”

He sat straight up in his chair and reclaimed the quill in his hand. “A very good idea, Monsieur. Very well then.”

After clearing his throat once more, he continued to discuss possible arrangements. “Mademoiselle, does your family possess a plot or crypt?”

“We have no crypt. My mother is buried in a plot, in the Père-Lachaise Cemetery.”

“Is that a common grave or perpetual?”

“I don’t understand,” Suzette replied confused.

“When did your mother pass away, might I ask?”

“Twelve years ago, Monsieur.”

“And do you still visit her grave today, or has it been removed?”

Appalled at the question, she responded in outrage. “No, Monsieur, her grave is still there, with a large marker.”

“Ah, then your father must have purchased the plot in perpetuity.” It was obvious by the look on her face that she was still confused over his statement, so he explained further.

“Those who cannot afford to purchase plots in perpetuity are buried in common graves that are exhumed after five years, and their bones relocated to the ossuary.” Giving her a moment to take in the information, he continued. “Since your father purchased the plot in perpetuity, it means your mother will not be exhumed. That is a choice now you must make for your father. Do you understand?”