afternoon they all stood at the graveside while Father Dubert waved his censer and prayed in Latin. When he said
Amen
, they all replied
Amen
and crossed themselves, and then she and Claire took turns with the silver cup, and they scooped up earth and let it fall on Mother’s coffin. She crouched beside Claire and held her close. Nathan stood not far away with his head bowed and his hat in his hands. She avoided looking at him, but she was always aware of him; in her state of grief he was a distraction, and she wished he hadn’t come.
“Help me fend him off,” she whispered to Juliette, and from behind her black veil Juliette said, “Don’t worry about him.”
He had a car waiting and he offered them a ride, but she thanked him and said they’d rather walk, it was not far. Juliette motioned him aside, and after a few paces when Hélène looked back she saw them standing on the grass by the walkway, Nathan tall in a trench coat with a black mourning band on the sleeve and Juliette frail but still so very straight in a long black coat and black hat with the veil folded up now, and Juliette’s hand was halfway up and moving sideways in some firm gesture of refusal.
“He invited us for dinner,” Juliette said later, “but I explained that none of us is up to socializing. Still, he will be calling in the morning to say his adieus. That is something we cannot deny him.”
In the morning she and Nathan took coffee in the library. Juliette served them on the good sterling tray and then hovered in the background like a chaperone. Nathan sat in his chair, confident and with the familiar spark in his eyes.
He was doing well, he said when she asked him. He was working for the Egypt Antiquities Service, learning a great deal about that new field. He talked about the Valley of the Kings and the tombs, all the amazing treasures being unearthed there.
He said, “It’s giving me ideas for a lucrative business of my own, Helen. In museum pieces.”
“Not pianos any more?”
He shook his head.
“And how did you know about Mother?”
“Oh. I just heard, I forget from whom. Someone in Amsterdam, I think. Molnar is becoming quite a name.”
When he stood up to leave, he said, “If there’s ever anything I can do to help – anything. For old times’ sake, and because I always thought highly of your mother.”
He waited. “Helen? I want you to know that I am very happy for you. Your marriage, your lovely daughter. You in charge at Molnar now. Congratulations. I am glad things turned out well for you. They did for me too.”
“Yes, it sounds like it. I’m glad, Nathan.”
She walked with him downstairs and smiled and shook his hand at the door. He leaned and kissed her cheek.
“An interesting man,” said Juliette afterward. “More so than most. We have to admit that. But an adventurer, to hear him speak. Men like that do not make good husbands, Hélène. Strong, steady men do. Like your Pierre. You made the right choice.”
The pair of shoes that David Chandler brought in the early evening felt better than any she’d ever had on her feet. She sat on the chair by the coal fire and slipped them on and off, and on again. She stood up and walked to the window and back.
“Is there good support where you need it, Mrs. Giroux?”
“Yes. It seems very good, Mr. Chandler. Loose on top, of course, without laces, but firm where it matters.”
“If you step this way, we’ll pinch it where the laces will be. Make it snug around the ankles. The foot changes shape as we put weight on it. And it needs to be able to move forward a bit, maybe an eighth of an inch.”
“It feels very good.”
“Did you want hooks and eyelets, or just eyelets?”
“Perhaps just eyelets. That seems to be the fashion now.”
“It is. Very well then.”
“Shall we have our tea now, Mr. Chandler?”
“I would like that, Mrs. Giroux.”
She made tea, and when she brought the tray from the kitchen he was standing by the window
Amen
, they all replied
Amen
and crossed themselves, and then she and Claire took turns with the silver cup, and they scooped up earth and let it fall on Mother’s coffin. She crouched beside Claire and held her close. Nathan stood not far away with his head bowed and his hat in his hands. She avoided looking at him, but she was always aware of him; in her state of grief he was a distraction, and she wished he hadn’t come.
“Help me fend him off,” she whispered to Juliette, and from behind her black veil Juliette said, “Don’t worry about him.”
He had a car waiting and he offered them a ride, but she thanked him and said they’d rather walk, it was not far. Juliette motioned him aside, and after a few paces when Hélène looked back she saw them standing on the grass by the walkway, Nathan tall in a trench coat with a black mourning band on the sleeve and Juliette frail but still so very straight in a long black coat and black hat with the veil folded up now, and Juliette’s hand was halfway up and moving sideways in some firm gesture of refusal.
“He invited us for dinner,” Juliette said later, “but I explained that none of us is up to socializing. Still, he will be calling in the morning to say his adieus. That is something we cannot deny him.”
In the morning she and Nathan took coffee in the library. Juliette served them on the good sterling tray and then hovered in the background like a chaperone. Nathan sat in his chair, confident and with the familiar spark in his eyes.
He was doing well, he said when she asked him. He was working for the Egypt Antiquities Service, learning a great deal about that new field. He talked about the Valley of the Kings and the tombs, all the amazing treasures being unearthed there.
He said, “It’s giving me ideas for a lucrative business of my own, Helen. In museum pieces.”
“Not pianos any more?”
He shook his head.
“And how did you know about Mother?”
“Oh. I just heard, I forget from whom. Someone in Amsterdam, I think. Molnar is becoming quite a name.”
When he stood up to leave, he said, “If there’s ever anything I can do to help – anything. For old times’ sake, and because I always thought highly of your mother.”
He waited. “Helen? I want you to know that I am very happy for you. Your marriage, your lovely daughter. You in charge at Molnar now. Congratulations. I am glad things turned out well for you. They did for me too.”
“Yes, it sounds like it. I’m glad, Nathan.”
She walked with him downstairs and smiled and shook his hand at the door. He leaned and kissed her cheek.
“An interesting man,” said Juliette afterward. “More so than most. We have to admit that. But an adventurer, to hear him speak. Men like that do not make good husbands, Hélène. Strong, steady men do. Like your Pierre. You made the right choice.”
The pair of shoes that David Chandler brought in the early evening felt better than any she’d ever had on her feet. She sat on the chair by the coal fire and slipped them on and off, and on again. She stood up and walked to the window and back.
“Is there good support where you need it, Mrs. Giroux?”
“Yes. It seems very good, Mr. Chandler. Loose on top, of course, without laces, but firm where it matters.”
“If you step this way, we’ll pinch it where the laces will be. Make it snug around the ankles. The foot changes shape as we put weight on it. And it needs to be able to move forward a bit, maybe an eighth of an inch.”
“It feels very good.”
“Did you want hooks and eyelets, or just eyelets?”
“Perhaps just eyelets. That seems to be the fashion now.”
“It is. Very well then.”
“Shall we have our tea now, Mr. Chandler?”
“I would like that, Mrs. Giroux.”
She made tea, and when she brought the tray from the kitchen he was standing by the window
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