Her Poor Albert
Albert didn't deserve a nice funeral, even if she could afford one.
It wasn't that Albert was a wicked man. He was an all right man. Neither good nor bad. He didn't deserve Heaven or hell. If there was somewhere between, Albert was the perfect candidate. He was neutral. Good enough, but not bad enough.
Nellie was desperate for a husband by the time she met him. She looked for romance. There was one once. But he tired of her and ran after another girl. Nellie tried to remain indifferent. Her parents wanted her out. Especially her poor mother, who married off her younger brother faster than Nellie. They would be better off once she was out of the house.
So Nellie made herself look nice. Her friend Sarah helped her pick out necklaces and dress patterns men would seek after. Nellie always felt awkward in the tight bodices, but if it would get the men to come, she'd wear a size three times tighter.
She met him at the fish market. Eel pie was for supper that evening and according to her mother, Nellie was good at finding which eel was the best. Though, Nellie knew her mother wanted her out to meet someone. As Nellie combed through the sellers, a man approached her.
He was large. Everything about him was square. Square jaw. Square nose. He turned to Nellie, and she turned to him.
"Would you help me with picking one out, miss?" he asked.
His voice was gruff and his posture was rigid.
Nellie accepted.
They found one quickly. Rather, Nellie saw an eel that wasn't bruised and was actually dead and called it a day. The sun was setting. Her ma needed her eel.
"Thank you," the man said, "I'm Albert Lovett."
Nellie studied him, narrowing her eyes as if she was looking for a good eel. "Nellie Curtis."
Some days later, Mr. Lovett found her again. Nellie never asked why. But they visited in the front room, as her younger siblings played by her skirts. Stomping feet interrupted their conversation. Near the end of the visit, her mother came from the kitchen, carrying a plate with a pie. She handed it to Mr. Lovett. As he chewed, she prattled on.
"Nellie made this, yes she did, sir. She's an awfully good cook and even better baker. Try it. It's good, ain't it?"
Mr. Lovett agreed.
It wasn't a pleasant visit by any means. In fact, it was almost awful. Mr. Lovett wouldn't come back after hearing the little ones recite, "Mary, Mary How Does Your Garden Grow?" an infinite amount of times. But that was all right. She didn't need Mr. Lovett. He didn't need her.
Yet he came again. This time, he eyed the baby with mashed-up potatoes on her cheeks and offered to go on a walk instead. Nellie accepted.
They talked about the weather and pies. Albert (she could call him that now, they decided) considered opening a pie shop. Nellie urged him to. Without dreaming, she would take place in his fantasy.
Albert kept coming. He did for three months until he proposed.
Nellie didn't love him. She was certain Albert wasn't in love with her. But she accepted. Love comes later.
Their wedding was plain. Just as they were. There were vows and rings, and Nellie became Mrs. Lovett. They performed their material duties as if they were a handshake. It satisfied them enough. There was no honeymoon. They were unnecessary and expensive.
They opened the pie shop. Customers strolled in and out as they did. Benjamin Barker moved into the room above the shop. Nellie fell head-over-heels in love with him. Not that she'd ever say something like, "Head-over-heels". But the saying described her passion perfectly. She should've waited. Benjamin Barker brought home Lucy. Married her months after that. Little Johanna came along within a few months.
But the arrival of Johanna to the Barkers got Nellie thinking. What about a baby? They had a wedding, a shop. Might as well add a baby to the mix.
"Albert," Nellie said one evening by the fire. She set her knitting to the side. "What about a baby?"
"What about a baby?" Albert asked, turning the page of his newspaper, before peering over it at her, "You're not having one, are you?"
"No. But don't you think we should? The Barkers had Johanna. Don't you think we should have one, too?"
At the mention of the Barker and their baby, Albert frowned. He muttered something about Johanna's birth. He was still bitter about the occasion taking place in the room above the shop, which he rented out to them. It was still his.
"Do you want one?"
"One might be nice." Nellie cocked her head. "They could help in the shop once they're old enough."
Albert frowned some more. He folded his newspaper. Nellie sat up straighter.
"All right," he said, "Let's have one."
They began trying. They began failing. No matter what they tried, Nellie's courses still came. Albert was ready to give up. But Nellie was frustrated. She should be able to have a baby now. Why, this was the prime time for her. She was going to have a baby whether or not the universe liked it. Nellie sat Albert down and told them one more time. They would try one more time.
And it worked.
Nellie's courses didn't start. Not for two months. She consulted a midwife, and she confirmed it. She was pregnant. They were going to have a baby. What nice news.
But the fates were against her again. A week later, Nellie woke up to a pool of blood on her nightgown.
After some sighs and a few tears, they moved on. There would not be a baby.
Mr. Barker was shipped off to who knew where. Lucy poisoned herself. Nellie only learned the story in short details, but she knew enough. She'd been mopping since they sent Mr. Barker away. It only got worse after whatever happened at that party. Until she swallowed the bottle of poison whole and Nellie found her. Judge Turpin came later with flowers. Only to find a madwoman and screaming baby.
Albert hardly paid attention. In the evenings, Nellie chatted to him about the events of the day. The strange customers. Albert sat in his chair and read the paper. He didn't even tell her about the stories in there. Not that she cared, but it would've been polite. Soon, it was Nellie running the shop by herself. Albert's arthritis (which he insisted he had for years) flared up.
There was a cry one day. While Nellie was cleaning off the counter. She ignored it. But another came. Like a little bird falling from a tree branch, only the cry was louder. Painful. Nellie ran to the back.
The doctor couldn't save him.
Life found Nellie in front of an open tomb as a priest rattled on about whatever. She was alone. No one else knew or cared about Albert. This was the best funeral money could afford. It wasn't close to being nice.
Albert was dead. Nellie shed a few tears over it. Mostly over the financials. Albert always took care of that part. Who was going to repair the chairs when they got wobbly?
He was an ordinary man, with no outstanding qualities and no terrible actions, nothing to shed too many tears over.