and very frank and kind in his brusque and ignorant way, though he was educated they said, and affected the common air, so to speak, because he’d come from the back streets, and his father had been a fireman.
Oh, so like the boys of Mary Beth, Ancient Evelyn had thought, but that was all she remembered of that wedding, all she remembered of Deirdre’s daughter. They’d taken Ancient Evelyn home early when Alicia had been too drunk to stay. She hadn’t minded. She’d sat by Alicia’s bed as always, saying her beads, and dreaming, and humming the songs that Julien used to play in the upstairs room.
And the bride and groom of last year had danced in that double parlor. And the Victrola was hidden in the library wall, and no one would ever find it. She herself did not think of it, or maybe she would have gone to it, as all the others sang and drank and laughed together. Maybe under that roof, she would have wound it again and said “Julien,” and to the wedding he would have come, an unexpected guest!
Hadn’t even thought of it then. Too afraid Alicia would stumble.
That night, late, Gifford had come upstairs to Alicia’s room at Amelia Street. She’d put her hand on Ancient Evelyn’s shoulder. “I’m glad you came to the wedding,” she’d said so kindly. “I wish you would come out again, more often.” And then she had asked. “You didn’t go to the secret place. You didn’t tell them?”
Ancient Evelyn had not bothered to answer.
“Rowan and Michael will be happy!” Gifford had kissed her cheek and gone off. The room stank of drink. Alicia moaned as her mother had moaned, determined to die at all costs, be with Mother.
Washington Avenue. Yes, indeed this was it. Over there, the white-shingled Queen Anne house same as always. It was the only one left on any of the four corners, of course, but it was the same, very same.
And here the florist. Yes, she had been about to buy the flowers, hadn’t she? For her darling girl, her darling…
And look, the strangest thing was happening. A little bespectacled young man had appeared in the doorway of the florist, and he was speaking to her, was he not? Time to listen over the rumble of the traffic.
“Ancient Evelyn. That’s you. I hardly recognized you. What are you doing so far from home, Ancient Evelyn, come inside. Let me call your granddaughter.”
“My granddaughter’s dead,” she said. “You can’t call her.”
“Yes, ma’am, I’m sorry, I know.” He came to the edge of the little porch. He wasn’t so young, really, she could see that now, and she did know this young man, didn’t she?
“I’m so sorry about Miss Gifford, ma’am. I’ve been taking orders for flowers all morning long. I meant I’d like to call Miss Alicia to come and get you and take you home.”
“You think Alicia could come to pick me up, shows what you know, poor boy.” But why speak? Why speak at all? She had given up this sort of feisty foolishness long ago. She would wear herself crazy today going back to this sort of chatter.
But what was this man’s name? What on earth was he saying now? Oh, she’d remember if she tried, who he was, and where she’d seen him last, or most, and that he’d come with a delivery or two, or that he’d waved to her in the evening as he walked along, but was it worth it to remember such things? Like following the string back through the labyrinth. Oh bother! Oh stupid bother!
The young man came down the steps.
“Ancient Evelyn, won’t you let me help you inside? How pretty you look today, with that lovely pin on your dress.”
I’m sure I do, she thought dreamily. Hiding in the body of this old woman. But why say such things to hurt the feelings of an innocent man, an unimportant man, even if he was hairless and anemic? He didn’t know how long she’d been an old woman! Why it had started not long after Laura Lee was born, in a way, her walking the wicker baby carriage all the way up here and round and back around the cemetery. Might as well have been old.
“How did you know my granddaughter died! Who told you?” It was astonishing. She wasn’t certain now how she herself knew.
“Mr. Fielding called. He said to fill that room with flowers. He was crying when he called. It’s oh, so