Chapter Seven

In the event of the death of a loved one, family members must be prompt in planning a memorial and funeral service. Whereas once it was seen as proper to host services in one's home, now it was deemed distasteful. It is imperative that the deceased member's church hosts the event. It is imperative that the funeral service be worthy of the deceased member's wealth level. It is common for higher-class members of society to have larger, more opulent services than those of lesser means. In the day, or days, leading up to the service, it is customary for immediate members of the family to receive visitors to express their sympathy or to receive letters saying such.

-Mary Smith, "Death and Mourning Etiquette"

Elizabeth escorted me quickly out of the bedroom, but not before the image of Mother was engrained into my mind forever. We quickly made our way to the parlor where she sat me down and joined beside me. We each sat in silence for a long time. I didn't know what to say, and I assumed she didn't either. We each let quiet streams of tears run down our cheeks.

I could faintly hear the doctor and Aunt Edith upstairs talking, possibly figuring out what next steps to do. I turned to Elizabeth then, suddenly realizing she was now the head of our family.

She looked strong, like she had been preparing for this. The wetness on her cheeks didn't make her seem weak. Her jaw was set strongly and she barely showed any signs of distress. I was in awe of her in that moment.

It may have been minutes later but it felt like hours when the doctor and Aunt Edith eventually came downstairs. She was still visibly shaken, but the doctor wished her well and told her to contact him if she needed anything. He gave Elizabeth and I a stern nod before leaving the house.

Edith stayed a moment in the doorway, watching him leave before slowly turning into the parlor room to us. Her eyes and nose were a puffy red and her dress was a crumpled mess in her hands. She walked into the room and sat in the chair she must have been sitting in before. She pushed her tea away and sighed, staring into the empty fireplace.

Again, all of us were silent, unsure of what to say but all knowing that Mother was upstairs, lifeless.

"I'm so sorry girls," Aunt Edith said a few minutes later. She still didn't look at us, but her voice was sympathetic. "The doctor thought she had more time."

Elizabeth shook her head. "What happened?"

Edith sighed, now turning to look at us. "She began to take a turn for the worse late last night. Ethel went to extinguish the fire in her room's fireplace but realized your mother was having a harder time breathing." My heart tightened, wanting to hear but at the same time wanting to run out of the room. "She was nearly gasping for air. She woke me and I sent her for the doctor right away. He got here around dawn. By then the bout had settled somewhat but she was still having difficulty."

"Was she awake?" I asked quietly.

Edith shook her head. "The medication he gives her is very strong. She felt no pain. Diana, I wanted to give you and your sister one more day together before bearing this heavy weight on either of your shoulders so I told Ethel to call on you tomorrow to pay your final respects but…"

My throat was constricting and I wondered if that was what Mother had felt. My eyes stung and my vision blurred.

"She held on for you, Diana," Edith said. "I'm sure of that. She knew."

It was those words that cracked my final wall and the weight of everything crushed me down. I closed my eyes and let the water from my eyes fall onto my new dress; the dress I had bought to impress Mother.

The rest of the day was a flurry of people coming in and out of the house. Ethel had left to get the people to come and take Mother's body away before we had first arrived. It turns out, Mother had died just a few minutes before we walked in. After her body was taken away to be prepared, Ethel went back out to get our mourning dresses from a specialist shop. Since Elizabeth and I had just gotten measured at Bergdorf Goodman, we knew our measurements right away. The dresses would be ready in the following morning to begin our mourning process.

Elizabeth offered to take me home with her, but I declined and decided to stay with Aunt Edith at Gramercy. I didn't want her to be alone in such a large house by herself. She didn't say so, but I knew she appreciated it. While Elizabeth was closer to Mother, I had always been closer with Edith.

It wasn't until late at night that Ethel had finally finished everything she needed to and came back to prepare a late supper for Edith and I. While we waited, Edith and I continued to sit in the parlor.

"I'm so sorry it happened so quickly, Diana," Aunt Edith said. "I know you had wanted to spend more time with her."

I looked down at my lap, where my hands were wringing together. I focused on them so as not to cry yet again.

"It's okay," I told her. "I got to say what I needed to."

"You're not staying, are you?" she asked suddenly.

I swallowed, unsure. "I wasn't going to, no."

"Well," she said, lying her skirt down flat, "Whatever you decide, I'm happy you did come."

I glanced up at her. She was gazing into the fireplace once more.

"Come with me," I blurted out.

"What?"

"Come with me, back to Europe."

"Oh, Diana…"

I hadn't even thought about it before I said it, but now that I did I thought it was a wonderful idea. Edith had always felt trapped here to take care of her sister but now she didn't have to stay.

"I have a ticket for two weeks from now. We can be on a boat together, away from here."

She gave me a half smile. "It's a lovely thought, dear. We shall see, won't we?" Then she looked away back toward the fireplace and her smile was gone.

Supper was tasteless, or maybe it was because I didn't have the emotions to process what I was eating. All I knew was that I was eating. Both of us ate in silence and retired upstairs close to midnight. The day would begin early with visitations from many people I had hoped never to see again.

When I got to the top of the stairs, I looked at Mother's door. It was closed, and I was terrified to open it and see the ghostly image of her on that bed again. I knew of course she wasn't there nor would her ghost be but the image alone of her in that bed earlier was enough to deter me away that night. I instead found my way back to my old room. I opened the door and was shocked to see it had remained the exact same after all these years. The pink walls, the white fur rug, the vanity mirror – all of it, each drawing a specific memory in my mind from years past. The only things different were the pillows and blankets on my bed. Where before they were a disgusting bright shade of pink, now they were brilliantly white with yellow daisy patterns.

On the bed, Ethel had laid out a nightgown for me, probably one she had bought while she was out. I quickly changed, though it took me a minute or two to get out of the corset myself. Once I was in bed in the darkness of the room, I found it relatively easy to fall asleep.

I woke up to the sound of my bedroom door opening. Ethel walked inside and hung a few dresses in my wardrobe and laid a black crepe dress at the foot of my bed as quietly as she could. For a moment, I wondered what the dress was for but then I remembered the previous day's events and curled tighter into a ball in the bed. Startled, Ethel jumped back from the bed.

"Oh! Sorry, Miss, I didn't know you were awake. I was trying to be quiet," she said.

"What time is it?" I asked.

"A little before six. You still have some time before you need to be up. Miss Edith isn't awake yet. The dresses were just delivered so I thought you might like them right away."

I nodded. "Yes, thank you. Has the paper been delivered yet?"

"Just now, yes."

"Can you bring the society page up, please?"

"Of course," she said, nodding and leaving the room.

While I waited for Ethel to return, I raised myself up and wiped my eyes to wake myself up further. I yawned and stretched my arms above my head, getting a few satisfying pops out of my shoulders. I looked down at the dress at the edge of my bed and reached out to touch it lightly. This was the style of dress I would wear for three months, and that alone made me cringe. Plus, Elizabeth had only just ordered those new dresses for us to wear.

How selfish was I that I was upset I wouldn't be able to wear my new dresses because Mother had just died? Shouldn't I be more devastated at that?

Ethel interrupted those thoughts when she entered back into the room and handed me the piece of the paper I had asked for. Sure enough, front and center was an article about Mother. The title read, "Fundamental Socialite Dies After Long Consumption Battle."

I wiped my eyes again to get the blurry sleepiness to go away and read out loud, "It is with our deepest sympathies that we regret to inform the passing of an important member of our elite community, Mrs. Louisa Holland, widow to Mr. Edward Holland who passed away a decade ago. She was diagnosed with consumption some six months ago but did not make it public until just four months ago. Mrs. Holland was a prominent figure in our community and was known for her deep love of traditional family values. She is of course the mother of Mrs. Elizabeth Cutting, married to Theodore "Teddy" Cutting and mother of two lovely children, and Miss Diana Holland who abruptly moved to Europe seven years ago and remains unwed. Mrs. Louisa Holland had an adventurous spirit and lively personality and is sure to be missed. Funeral arrangements are yet to be made, but the family will be receiving visitors over the next couple of days that wish to extend their feelings of sympathy or share loveable stories of this passed significant society member."

The article was written by Samuel DeBeauvier, a name I had never heard of before. While I had wished he didn't mention me, he did so in the quickest of ways, which I was grateful for.

It suddenly occurred to me that Henry would be visiting today. Of course he would – he was Teddy's closest friend and Teddy was Mother's son-in-law. And if he was remarried, he would be bringing his new wife and potential new children. I felt more awake than I had ever been this early in the morning. I set down the paper and brought my knees up to my chest.

I wasn't ready to meet him or whoever was in his life now. Then again, I probably never would be. I had always hoped to slip into New York, see my family for two weeks unnoticed by the public, and slip away just as quietly as I had come. I should have known it wouldn't be that easy.

I got out of bed and flew down the stairs. Maybe there was a way I could get out of receiving visitors that day. I could say the loss was just too soon and I wasn't ready. Ethel had said Edith wasn't awake yet, but perhaps I could go to her room and convince her in her drowsiness to let me be absent. Edith's room was on the first floor of the house next to the old parlor. I knocked on her door and waited for a sign from inside to come in.

"What are you doing?" Edith asked, popping up next to me. I nearly jumped in surprise.

"Oh. Ethel said you weren't awake yet–" I stopped myself and took a deep breath. "I can't do it today. I can't receive visitors."

"And why not?"

"I'm not feeling well," I feigned, making my voice weak.

"Diana," Edith sighed, visibly annoyed, "if you think I can't see passed your charade, you've thought me a fool. You're not ill."

"Please, Edith!"

"Don't think I don't know what – or who – this is about." She turned and went towards the kitchen, back where she had come from.

I sulked after her, my steps lighter on the old floors. "I can't see him, Edith."

She spun around quickly. "I love you, child, you know that. But this is getting foolish. That boy nearly knocked poor Teddy over when you first came to visit your mother. I fear for that boy if you continue to brush him off as you do."

"Please," I begged, my voice lower and more desperate now, "don't make me do this. Not yet. I'm not ready."

Aunt Edith gently placed her hand on my arm, attempting to comfort me. "My dear Diana, if there is one thing this loss as taught me, it is that one is never ready to take an uncertain step in life. Despite being prepared for months for this moment, losing Louisa was and still is a shock to me." It felt odd to hear someone use Mother's first name instead of calling her Mrs. Holland. But I guess, as her sister, that's what Aunt Edith was used to saying. "In my experience, you will never be ready. Not now, nor ten years from now. In a way, perhaps this passing is a blessing. In this capacity, he will only be able to extend his condolences. Anything beyond so will be considered inappropriate."

I swallowed a large lump in my throat. "Do you hate me?" I asked. "I feel so stupid. I'm making this situation about me. You're the one that lost a sister. You knew Mother longer than any of us." I tried to put myself in her shoes, imagining if Elizabeth had died. Of course, there was a time when I thought it was true. Edith wasn't so lucky as to have her sister actually be alive again like I did.

A sweet, small smile grew on her lips. "I could never hate you, my sweet Di. As I said, I had been preparing for this moment for a long time. But my sister brought two beautiful, young women into the world and her spirit lives on in you both. That's something I'll forever be grateful for."

"So there's no way I can excuse myself today?" I asked.

"Absolutely not," she said quickly before turning around and continuing into the kitchen. She took a seat at the table and Ethel began serving us both breakfast.

As the sun continued to rise, Edith decided it was the time we should begin to get ready to receive visitors. Elizabeth would be arriving soon with Teddy and the kids. I wondered how much she would tell her children; they were still so young. I would hate for them to learn too soon just how cruel life – or death, really – was.

Edith gave Ethel instructions to help me get ready first. She helped me bathe and she set my hair unto a simple low bun at the base of my neck. She tightened the corset around my ribcage tightly, nearly choking me in the process. The crepe dress she fitted over me was cut low but had lace flowing up the chest and into the collar to retain modesty. The long sleeves were larger from the shoulder to the elbow and from the elbow to my wrist it was fitted. Ethel fitted me with black lace gloves – really the only type of addition that was allowed. Any jewelry or excessive clothing was considered inappropriate and in bad taste.

When Ethel left to attend to Edith, I took that time to sit at my vanity. If Henry was going to visit that day, I had to make sure I didn't look the mess that I know I would become when he walked in the room. I pinched my cheeks, adding a slight rose color to them. I used the pins on the dresser to pin back any stray hairs. I wanted to look every bit the Diana I was when I left all those years ago. I wondered what he would think when he saw me. Did I look older? Did time age me well? Did it age him well? Of course it did, he was Henry Schoonmaker. Time was always kind to his family. In fact, it was once a rumor that Aunt Edith and Henry's father once had a fling, long before Elizabeth or I were born.

Someone knocked at my door and I told them to come in. Elizabeth walked into the room, in a dress almost exactly like mine. If only I had blonde hair like hers, we would look like the same person. Except for her eyes. They were still red, like yesterday, but managed to be dry.

"You look beautiful, Di," she said to me.

I stood from my vanity. "No one compares to you, Lizzie." We embraced each other tightly. "I'm so sorry about yesterday, everything I said. I don't know what I was saying."

Elizabeth let me go and shook her head. "Oh, nonsense. That's in the past now. Are you ready? We've already started to receive calling cards for today."

I nodded and we held each other's hands and walked down the stairs. Teddy was kneeling and talking to the children who were happily laughing. Good, I thought, they don't know. That, or they didn't have much grasp of what was actually going on. I envied them. When Teddy saw us, he stood and showed a sad smile to me. At the bottom of the stairs, he hugged me tightly.

"I'm so sorry, Diana," he said in my ear as he embraced me. It still startled me how calm I was through all this. "How are you?" he asked as if seeing me for the first time in a long time again.

I nodded. "I'm good, thank you."

"Let's not dawdle in the foyer. The guests will need somewhere to walk to. Come, come," Aunt Edith said, descending the stairs.

Delores came out of the main parlor and ushered the kids away. She led them through the hallway, into the kitchen, and out the back door, presumably to the stables to play with the few old horses that still remained.

All the rest of us walked into the parlor and took our familiar seats. Anna brought out tea for us but none of us really wanted it so it all went untouched.

My heart raced as we waited for the visitors to arrive, wondering who would be the first and dreading if it was anyone I knew. I didn't want to focus to be on me – I knew they would ask about Europe and my life since I left, but they would have to keep it brief. I wished to be invisible to everyone.

The first few to arrive were old friends of Mother's who had hardly attempted to visit her or reach out to her for years. I only recognized one or two of them myself from when I was much younger. The rest of their names rang no bells in my mind. They brought their old husbands and children who were Elizabeth's and my age or older. They passed on their condolences to all of us and left relatively quickly. They were doing what was customary, nothing more. Once pleasantries were exchanged and the proper, "I'm sorry for your loss" were said, silence would fall in the room before they would bring up some mundane topic or another, which was usually asking me about my adventures in Europe. I stealthily evaded the topic each time. A few minutes of quiet small talk would ensue before they would politely excuse themselves and leave.

The first few hours were dreadfully boring and each visit was like the last. By the time afternoon came, I was convinced no one of the younger generation was going to come at all, namely Henry.

When it was time for lunch and the guests had momentarily ceased, we all went into the kitchen where Ethel served a thin soup. Teddy was talking to Elizabeth about setting Mother's affairs in order – since she was now the one in charge of the household until Keller came of age – and Edith was discussing dinner preparations with Ethel. I ate my soup in silence.

Someone knocked at the front door and Ethel excused herself from Edith's conversation.

"Tell them to come back in an hour after we've finished eating," Edith called after her.

Figuring it was another calling card, I focused on my soup. I ripped a piece of sourdough bread and dipped it into the juices. I could hear some vague mumbling coming from the front door before it was shut again.

Ethel walked back in, trying to hide a smile from her face, but the flush in her cheeks was more difficult to hide. Whoever it was at the door had made some sort of impression on her.

"Who was it that made you so red?" asked Edith, her eyebrow raised.

Ethel handed me a card. It had my name scrawled on the front in an identifiable hand. I knew immediately who it was.

"Mr. Schoonmaker," Ethel answered. "He said he was much too busy to stay but he had written a letter to Miss Diana."

I stared at the letter in my hands, unsure of whether to open it or not. Maybe my dreams had come true – maybe I wouldn't see him, at least not that day. A deep sigh of relief overwhelmed my body and my shoulders visibly shrugged.

"Diana?" Elizabeth called. "Do you want to go to the library to read it?" Her voice was soft, kind.

I looked up at her, and then at Edith. They each, with a serious expression, nodded. I quickly used a napkin to dab my mouth before nearly sprinting to the place I once found sanctuary. For some reason, I closed the thick, wooden door behind me. This felt like something I needed to do in private, away from anyone who could read my expressions.

I sat in Father's chair and turned it toward the window to catch the light. My fingers traced my name over the front of the letter, feeling where the pen had indented on the paper – a paper he had touched, a paper he had written a letter to me. With a deep breath, I opened the letter and read.

My dearest Diana,

I've only just now read about your mother's passing. I'm so sorry for your loss, though I guess you're hearing that a lot lately. I know I did when my father died. I'm probably the last person you want to hear it from, so I'm writing you this letter.

I'm sorry for my abruptness yesterday. I really do apologize for my actions. It's just- I had just heard you were back in New York. From the papers. Do you know how hurtful that is? Not even Teddy told me, and I know he must have known before everyone else.

I just need to see you. There are so many things we need to talk about. I would rather you hear everything from me than someone else. I am probably the last person you would want to see because of it all, but there's more to it that you know. Please don't be upset. You're still my true bride.

Yours,

Henry Schoonmaker

I stared at the last paragraph, reading it over and over again. Why would I be upset? What would I hear from someone else? Perhaps he had remarried which, yes, I would be a little sad about, but that's what I wanted him to do. And that's not even including the last sentence.

"True bride," I whispered. If he had remarried, why would he still call me that? He fell in love with someone else – he shouldn't be calling me that.

The letter felt impossibly short. I read it over once more just to make sure I hadn't missed anything. I flipped it over and saw nothing else. Just the dreadfully short letter I had read. I even held it up to the light from the window to see if there was some sort of invisible ink. Ridiculous, I know. But something felt as though it was missing.

I left the library with the letter tucked into the pocket of my dress's skirts. I saw Elizabeth tying on her hat and putting on her gloves. Teddy was beside her, gathering the children with Delores.

"You're leaving?" I asked.

"Yes," Elizabeth replied, "we have to finish making arrangements for tomorrow. I'm sure you and Edith can handle the rest of the day's visitors."

Tomorrow. The funeral.

I nodded. "Oh, okay."

"Are you alright? What was in the letter?" Elizabeth said.

Teddy looked at me as well, a serious and cautious look on his face. I shook my head. "Nothing, really. Just how sorry he was about Mother."

Her eyes lingered on me, not quite believing what I said. Then she pursed her lips, deciding against pursuing it further.

"We will try to be back tonight before it gets too dark to receive any last visitors. If it gets to be too late, though, I'm afraid we will have to call it a night. Will you be staying here again?"

I nodded. "I think that would be best."

"We'll have Anna send over your things then," Teddy said.

He and Delores nudged their kids out of the front door with Elizabeth following. When they were gone, I saw Edith was still in the kitchen talking to Ethel. There was still some time left until we would be receiving again, so I went upstairs.

Mother's door looked heavier than ever. The dark wood seemed as though it would weigh a thousand pounds to open, but with a simple twist of the crystal knob, it swung open easily. Inside it was dark as usual, but the eeriness of the silence made it seem darker. I could feel the energy drain out of me the second I took a step inside. My steps were quiet on the old floors, only creaking in certain spots. I inched closer to the bed, still afraid to see the figure of her lifeless body lying there, but the bed was made. Pillows were fluffed with thick, heavy blankets tucked underneath them – everything looked as though she was just out for the day and would return. My fingertips went along the sheets, feeling them. It wasn't long ago that she was in them. They felt warm, as if she was still there. I swore I could even feel the indent she left in the mattress from her body sleeping in the same position every night on the same side of the bed. She always slept on the left, even after Father died.

The curtains were drawn. I walked to them and opened one slightly, squinting at the bright light shining through. I had to blink a few times.

People we walking on the street – men on their way home from work, women strolling through Gramercy, some pushing carriages with young infants inside.

Just moments ago, Henry was walking on that street. Had I looked out, I would have seen him. His odd letter to me only made the urge to see him stronger. Maybe that was his intention. If only there were a way for me to see him without him seeing me – I just wanted to see him happy again. Then I could leave in peace after everything with Mother had settled.

I stayed at the window a little longer until I saw a familiar face walking up our steps.

None other than our old maid, Lina.