set into the tufted silk above the woman’s head, not that she could see that head, but she knew it was there, she could just see a dash of flesh color against the gleaming white. Go on, Rowan, go up there.
Go up to the coffin. Is this more difficult than going into an Operating Room? Of course they will all see you, but they won’t know who you are. The constriction came again, the tightening in the muscles of her face and her throat. She couldn’t move.
And then someone was speaking to her, and she knew she ought to turn her head and answer, but she did not. The little girl with the ribbon watched her. Why wasn’t she answering, thought the little girl.
“ … Jerry Lonigan, can I help you? You’re not Dr. Mayfair, are you?”
She looked at him stupidly. The beefy man with the heavy jowls and the prettiest china blue eyes. No, like blue marbles, his eyes, just perfectly round and blue.
“Dr. Mayfair?”
She looked down at his hand. Large, heavy, a paw. Take it. Answer that way if you can’t talk. The tightening in her face grew worse. It was affecting her eyes. What was this all about? – her body frozen in alarm though her mind was in this trance, this awful trance. She made a little gesture with her head at the distant coffin. I want to … but no words would come out. Come on, Rowan, you flew two thousand miles for this.
The man slipped his arm around her. Pressure against her back. “You want to see her, Dr. Mayfair?”
See her, talk to her, know her, love her, be loved by her.… Her face felt as if it were carved of ice. And her eyes were unnaturally wide, she knew it.
She glanced up into his small blue eyes, and nodded. It seemed a hush had fallen over everyone. Had she spoken that loud? But she hadn’t said anything at all. Surely they didn’t know what she looked like, yet it seemed they were all turning to look at her as she and this man walked into the first room, and the message traveled by whispers. She looked closely at the red-haired girl with the ribbon as she passed. In fact, she stopped without meaning to, stranded, on the threshold of the second room, with this nice man, Jerry Lonigan, beside her.
Even the children had stopped playing. The room seemed to darken as everyone moved soundlessly and slowly, but only a few steps. Mr. Lonigan said:
“You wanna sit down, Dr. Mayfair?”
She was staring at the carpet. The coffin was twenty feet away. Don’t look up, she thought, don’t look up until you actually reach the coffin. Don’t see something horrible from a distance. But what was so horrible about all this, how could this be worse than the autopsy table, except that this was … this was her mother.
A woman stepped up behind the little girl, placing her hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Rowan? Rowan, I’m Alicia Mayfair, I was Deirdre’s fourth cousin once removed. This is Mona, my little girl.”
“Rowan, I’m Pierce Mayfair,” said the handsome young man on her right, extending his hand suddenly. “I’m Cortland’s great-grandson.”
“Darling, I’m Beatrice, your cousin.” Whiff of perfume. The woman with the iron gray hair. Soft skin touching Rowan’s cheek. Enormous gray eyes.
“-Cecilia Mayfair, Barclay’s granddaughter, my grandfather was Julien’s second son born at the First Street house, and here, Sister, come, this is Sister Marie Claire. Sister, this is Rowan, this is Deirdre’s girl!”
Weren’t you supposed to say something respectable to nuns, but this sister couldn’t have heard. They were shouting in her ear. “Deirdre’s girl, Rowan!”
“-Timothy Mayfair, your fourth cousin, we’re glad to see you, Rowan-”
“-glad to see you on this sad … ”
“Peter Mayfair, we’ll talk later on. Garland was my father. Did Ellie ever talk about Garland?”
Dear God, they were all Mayfairs. Polly Mayfair, and Agnes Mayfair, and Philip Mayfair’s girls, and Eugenie Mayfair, and on and on it went. How many of them could there possibly be? Not a family but a legion. She was clasping one hand after another, and at the same time cleaving to the beefy Mr. Lonigan, who held her so firmly. Was she trembling? No, this is what they call shaking, not trembling.
Lips brushed her cheek. “ … Clancy Mayfair, Clay’s great-granddaughter. Clay was born at First Street before the Civil War. My mother is Trudy Mayfair, here, Mother, come, let Mother through … ”
“ … so glad to see you, darling. Have you seen Carlotta?”
“Miss Carlotta’s feeling pretty bad,” said Mr. Lonigan. “She’ll meet us at the church-”
“-ninety years old now, you know.”
“-do you want a glass of water? She’s white as a sheet, Pierce, get her a glass of water.”
“Magdalene Mayfair, Remy’s great-granddaughter. Remy lived at First Street for years. This is my son, Garvey, and my daughter, Lindsey. Here, Dan, Dan say hello to Dr. Mayfair. Dan is Vincent’s great-grandson. Did Ellie tell you about Clay and Vincent and … ”
No, never, about anyone.
“-Gerald’s with her. Pierce stopped by. He saw her. She’s fine, she’ll be at the church.”
“Do you want to sit down, honey?”
“Are you all right?”
“Lily, darling, Lily Mayfair. you’ll never remember all our names, don’t try.”
“Robert, honey. We’ll talk to you later.”
“-here if you need us, Rowan. Are you feeling all right?”
I am. I’m fine. I just can’t talk. I can’t move. I …
There was tightening again of the facial muscles. Rigid, rigid all over. She held tighter to Mr. Lonigan’s hand. He said something to them about her paying her respects now. Was he telling them to go away? A man touched her left hand.
“I’m Guy Mayfair, Andrea’s son, and this is my wife, Stephanie, she’s Grady’s daughter. She was Ellie’s first cousin.”
She wanted to respond, was clasping each hand enough, was nodding enough? Was kissing back the old woman who kissed her enough? Another man was talking to her but his voice was too soft. He was old, he was saying something about Sheffield. The coffin was twenty feet away at most. She didn’t dare look up, or look away from them, for fear she’d see it accidentally.
But this is what you came for, and you have to do it. And they are here, hundreds of them …
“Rowan,” said someone to her left, “this is Fielding Mayfair, Clay’s son.” Such a very old man, so old she could see all the bones of his skull through his pale skin, see the lower and upper teeth and the ridges around his sunken eyes. They were holding him up; he couldn’t stand by himself, and all this struggle, so that he might see her? She put out her hand. “He wants to kiss you, honey.” She brushed his cheek with her lips.
His speech was low, his eyes yellowed as he looked up at her. She tried to hear what he was saying, something about Lestan Mayfair and Riverbend. What was Riverbend? She nodded. He was too old to be treated badly. She had to say something! He was too old to be struggling like this just to pay his respects to her. When she squeezed his hand, it felt so smooth and silky and knotted and strong.
“I think she’s going to faint,” someone whispered. Surely they weren’t talking about
“Do you want me to take you up to the coffin?” The young man again, the handsome one, with the clean preppie face, and the brilliant eyes. “I’m Pierce, I met you just a second ago.” Flash of perfect teeth. “Ellie’s first cousin.”
Yes, to the coffin. It’s time, isn’t it? She looked towards it, and it seemed that someone stepped back so that she might see, and then her eyes shifted instantly upwards, beyond the face on the propped-up pillow. She saw the flowers clustered about the raised lid, a whole jungle of flowers, and far to the right at the foot of the coffin a white-haired man she knew. The dark-haired woman beside him was crying, and saying her rosary, and they were both looking at her, but how in the world could she possibly know that man, or anyone here? But she knew him! She knew he was English, whoever he was, she knew just how his voice would sound when he spoke to her.
Jerry Lonigan helped her step forward. The handsome one, Pierce, was standing beside her. “She’s sick, Monty,” said the pretty old woman. “Get her some water.”
“Honey, maybe you should sit down … ”
She shook her head, mouthing the word no. She looked at that white-haired Englishman again, the one with the woman who was praying. Ellie had wanted her rosary in the last week. Rowan had had to go to a store in San Francisco to buy one. The woman was shaking her head and crying, and wiping her nose, and the white-haired man
