two of them had built, the life now forever sundered, forever shattered, was like knives to Lucien. He had to gather himself before he could go inside.
Nicole and Leonard O'Doull were already there. So were Charles and his wife. One by one and in small groups, the rest of his children and his wife's relatives and his friends came in. There was plenty to drink and plenty to eat; the womenfolk in the family had been cooking since Marie died.
'Thank you all,' Lucien said. 'Thank you all very much for coming. Thank you for caring for Marie.' His face twisted into a characteristically wry grin. 'For I know you certainly would not have come for my sake.'
'Certainly not, mon beau-pere, ' Dr. O'Doull said. 'We all hate you.'
For a moment, Galtier took him seriously, being too emotionally battered to recognize irony. But then even he saw the smile on his son-in-law's face, and those on the faces of his other loved ones. He wanted to smile, too, but ended up weeping once more instead. He felt mortified all over again, and angrily turned away from Dr. O'Doull.
'It's all right,' said the American who'd become part of his family. 'No one thinks less of you for it. Here. Drink this.' He gave Lucien a glass of applejack.
The homemade spirits went down Galtier's throat without his even noticing them. He had another glass, and another, all with scant effect. He felt too much already for applejack to make much difference. For the next half hour or so, he thanked everyone who'd come to his house to say good-bye to Marie.
'What will you do now, Papa?' Georges asked him. 'Do you know yet?'
'What can I do?' Galtier answered. 'I'll go on as best I can. If I don't feed the animals tomorrow, who will? If I don't take care of the farm, who will? The work doesn't do itself. You always thought it did, but it doesn't. Someone has to do it. If no one does it, it doesn't get done.'
'But…' His younger son gestured. 'How can you do all the farm work, and then do all the housework, too?'
'Electricity helps,' Lucien said. 'With electricity, everything is quicker and easier. And I was in the Army a long time ago. I know how to keep things tidy-unlike certain people I could name.'
Georges didn't rise to that, which proved how solemn an occasion this was. He just asked, 'And while you were in the Army, Papa, did they also teach you how to cook?'
'No, but then, who cares?' Galtier answered. 'I am the only person I'll be cooking for. I won't starve to death. And if supper is particularly bad one night, I can always throw things at the clumsy fool who fixed it.'
He made his son laugh at that, and thought he'd tricked Georges-maybe even tricked himself-into believing everything was, or at least soon would be, all right. A few minutes later, though, Georges sprawled in a chair, hands over his face, weeping with as much heartbreak as Lucien knew himself.
What will I do? Galtier wondered. For all his glib talk, he had no idea. At the moment, he didn't particularly want to go on living himself. Maybe that would change as time passed. He'd heard it did. He'd heard it, but didn't particularly believe it. Why not me? he wondered, as he had ever since he'd found Marie in the kitchen with tears running down her face.
He'd hoped Father Guillaume would have an answer for that, but no such luck. It would have to wait till he saw God, as Marie was seeing God now. If He doesn't have a good answer, I'll give Him a piece of my mind.
Nicole came over to him. She looked achingly like her mother, though she was a few inches taller; Marie had been a little woman, not much over five feet. 'She's gone, Papa,' she said wonderingly. 'I can't believe it, but she's gone.'
'I know,' Lucien said.
'I love you,' his oldest daughter said.
He hadn't heard that from her for years. He suspected it meant, I'm afraid I'll lose you, too. 'And I love you, my dear,' he said, as if to reply, I'm not going anywhere. But that wasn't really for him to say. He looked up to, and past, the ceiling. Don't You argue with me, he told God, and dared hope God was listening.
'A nother Inauguration Day,' Nellie Jacobs said. 'Dear God, where do the years go? First one I can recollect is President Blaine's, back in 1881. I was just a little girl then, of course.'
'Well, I hope to heaven Hosea Blackford does a better job than James G. Blaine did,' her husband answered.
'He'd better,' Nellie exclaimed. 'A few months after Blaine got elected, the Confederates were shelling Washington. I've been through that twice now. It had better not happen again, that's all I've got to say, because I don't think anybody could be lucky enough to live through it three times.'
'I don't look for a war any time soon,' Hal Jacobs said. 'I don't see how we could have one. The Confederates aren't very strong, and we're prosperous. I still think the stock market is sound, even if the money trouble in Europe has set it hiccoughing.'
'I'm glad it's hiccoughing,' Nellie said. 'It let us buy those shares of the Wireless Corporation for a lot less than they would have cost us a couple of months ago.'
'Buy on the dips,' Hal said wisely. 'Buy on the dips, and you can't go wrong.'
'That's what they say,' Nellie agreed. 'It's worked out pretty well for us so far. I just wish we'd been able to start out when we were a lot younger.'
Hal shrugged. 'For one thing, we didn't have the money. For another, the market was a lot riskier in those days-it would crash every few years. And then the war came along, and we were too busy to worry about it for quite a while.'
'Too busy? Well, yes, a little bit,' Nellie said. Hal pinned his Distinguished Service Medal on the breast pocket of his black jacket. With his white shirt, black cravat, and black homburg, the medal's ribbon gave his outfit the only dash of color it had. Nellie nodded approval. 'You look handsome,' she told him, and he did indeed look as handsome as he could.
'Thank you, my dear.' He always seemed to glow a little when she paid him a compliment. And he returned the favor: 'You are as lovely as always.'
'Oh, foosh.' Nellie had heard too many compliments from men over the years to trust them or take them seriously. Men complimented women because they wanted something from them-most often one thing in particular. She put on her Order of Remembrance, then turned her back on her husband. 'Fasten the ribbon at the back of my neck, would you, Hal?'
'Of course,' he said, and did. Then he kissed the back of her neck, too. She'd more than half expected him to do that, and she let him get away with it. By his relieved expression, he'd wondered if she would.
'Are you ready, Clara?' she called.
'Yes, Ma,' her daughter answered from the room across the hall. 'Is it time to go?'
'Just about,' Nellie said. 'And don't forget your coat.'
'Do I have to bring it?' Clara said. 'It's not cold out.'
She was right. The weather was springlike, even though spring still lay two and a half weeks away. But Nellie answered, 'Yes, take it. I'm bringing one, too. You never can tell what it'll do.' Clara grumbled, but she couldn't complain too hard, not if Nellie was also bringing a coat. And Nellie knew she was right. She also had an umbrella, though the sun shone brightly for now. No, you never could tell.
They walked toward the Mall, for the parade of bands and companies of soldiers and-since this was another Socialist administration-gangs of workers who would precede the new President Blackford's inaugural address. They had a spot picked out-right in front of the rebuilt National Museum of Remembrance, and not far from the platform where the new president would speak. Edna and Merle and Armstrong would meet them there if they could fight their way through the crowd.
They wiggled forward till they stood in the second row in front of the museum. Nellie could see the platform, which was already filling with dignitaries. 'We made good time,' she said.
'Yes, we did,' Hal agreed. 'We'll be able to see everything, and we won't have any trouble hearing the president talk.'
Clara chose that moment to announce, 'Mama, I have to go.'
'You always have to go,' Nellie said in no small exasperation. She sighed. 'I'll take you into the museum. Hold our places, Hal. Do the best you can.' Her husband nodded. She took Clara's hand. 'Come along with me, young lady. Why didn't you go before we left? That's what I want to know.'
'I did,' Clara answered with a child's self-righteousness. 'I have to go again.'
The line for the women's powder room at the Museum of Remembrance was as long as Nellie had feared it
