by Sally Quinn
She had started out with her black veil drawn over her face but Willie had complained loudly, “Mommy, I can’t see you,” and pulled at the veil until she pushed it back over her tiny black pillbox. Finally he had climbed into her lap, put his arms around her neck, and given her a wet kiss right on the mouth that smeared her lipstick. Outland tried to get him to leave her alone but Willie seemed to sense that she was sad and instinctively wanted to help her out. Annie Laurie was a mess, sobbing most of the way to the cathedral. Sadie was trying very hard not to be irritated with her, but Annie Laurie seemed to be wallowing in her grief. Oddly, rather than make Sadie more emotional, Annie Laurie’s wailing served to strengthen her.
Sadie’s mother had given her several white lace handkerchiefs. “Every lady should have them,” said her mother, not intending a reproach. They were already in damp little balls, not from tears but from her perspiring hands. Ceremonies of any kind always made her sweat, made her heart race, made her adrenaline pump, made her cry. Sometimes it was embarrassing. A retirement ceremony for someone she hardly knew would have her in a state. Yet this was the most intense physical reaction she had ever experienced. Despite the debilitating heat she had been having such chills that she had been sitting outside on the Truman balcony wrapped in a blanket rather than stay inside in the air-conditioning. Even now her teeth were clenched to keep from chattering. Still, she perspired. Her hands were like melting ice cubes.
If only she could get through the next few hours, through the church ceremony and the burial at Arlington, then she could collapse.
As the door to the limousine opened at the side entrance, Toby Waselewski, her Secret Service agent, leaped out of the car and was standing there, ready to assist her, waiting to take Willie under his wing when he began to squirm. The bishop was standing on the steps in his imposing purple robes to embrace her and lead her up the stairs. She pulled her veil over her face and got out of the car.
There was such a swirl and swarm of people it made her momentarily dizzy and she worried she might faint. Willie was tugging at her hand and Outland—strong, gorgeous, lovely Outland—was supporting her with his arm firmly under her elbow.
It wasn’t until she was well inside the cathedral that she looked up and saw the rose window, the circular stained-glass morality play she had studied when she first began coming to the cathedral with Rosey.
The top of the window, twelve o’clock, represented heaven, she had been told. The bottom, six o’clock, was hell. She had been so amused that day, thinking how primitive religion was. Now all she could think of was her own sin and her punishment. She had been unfaithful to her husband. She had committed adultery and the Lord punished her by taking her husband away.
This was six o’clock in spades. She wasn’t all that sure how much she believed in the Lord—up until now, that is.
Hers was a just and fitting punishment, after all. Could there also be a redemption?
She walked over the green-and-brown marble floor, stepping lightly over the cross and into her brown leather seat on the right side of the front row, flanked by her children.
She sank to her knees to pray.
Dear God. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me. Please help me. Don’t punish me anymore. I can’t bear it. You’ve made your point. I don’t mean that to be flip. I want to be a good person. I genuinely do. I’ve been selfish. I don’t want to hurt anybody anymore. I just want to make people happy. I’m so afraid, God. I’m afraid you’re mad because I don’t know whether I really believe in you. But I try. I’m afraid you’re so mad you’ll… I can’t bring myself to think this because maybe you haven’t thought of it yet…. I’m so scared you’ll take Willie away from me. She stifled a sob. It was only a matter of seconds before she would lose control. She had to finish this prayer. It was too important. Just because he’s Des’s son and not Rosey’s. But you really can’t do that. You just can’t. I know people say that the Lord doesn’t give you any burden you can’t shoulder. I think I can shoulder this one. Barely. But Willie, losing Willie, I couldn’t take that. I’ll be a really good mother. I’ll go to church and I’ll teach him about you. This sounds so stupid trying to make a deal, to bargain with you, but I don’t know what else to do. I feel desperate. I can’t take back any of the terrible things I’ve done. You’ve shown me about punishment. Help me now to redeem myself. Amen.
She sat back up on her seat and put her arm around Willie, her precious Willie. That mop of black curly hair, those long black eyelashes and dark eyebrows, that half-curled lower lip and those mischievous eyes, the fruit of her sins. Kill him and her sins would be eradicated? No. No. She had paid enough already. She put her arm around him and held him as tightly as she could, staring at the cross in front of her.
God is good. God is good. She chanted under her breath. Ward off evil. God is good.
A surge of organ music broke her reverie. The people behind her were standing up and she realized that the coffin was about to be carried down the aisle. The coffin. Not Rosey. What an impersonal word. She turned slightly to her left. Enough so she would be facing the aisle but not so much that anyone could see her face through the veil. They had decided to allow TV cameras in the church but only in the back. None were allowed in the front or facing her or the congregation. There had been a major controversy about it, and she had finally acquiesced. Rosey was the President. People should be allowed to mourn like the others in the church.
It was Cotes’s face that caused her to begin to break down. Cotes, listing under the weight of the coffin, his face bright red with strain and grief, the perspiration pouring off his brow, was trying so hard. But when he saw her standing there, in black, clutching Willie’s hand, his whole demeanor crumpled and he started to cry.
She could hear G. and Miz G., Rosey’s parents, crying softly behind her. Cotes was like a second son to them. For the first time in her marriage she felt sorry for them. Their grief was as real as her own.
The coffin was set in front of the altar, between the pulpit and the lectern. Behind the rood screen sat members of the clergy from all faiths, and the choir. The cathedral was packed. There were over a thousand people and yet there was utter silence except for muffled sobs and coughs.
Try not to concentrate on Rosey. Try not to think of him in the coffin. Look at the stained-glass windows, they each tell a story. Look at the state flags…
“Mommy, it’s Daddy in the box. I want to see my daddy,” said Willie and started straining at her hand. This time she didn’t have the strength to deal with him. As she felt his hand slip from hers, she saw Outland pick him up and hand him to Toby. He was standing unnoticed behind a huge column just to the right of the altar. Toby motioned as if to say he would take him out the side door but she shook her head. She wanted Willie there. She was scared to let him get too far away from her.
Her glance went back to the coffin. Suddenly she felt overwhelmed with grief. Rosey, tall and handsome and elegant and loving, was lying in that coffin. Her husband. Her heart seared with pain against her chest. She wanted to run up to it and throw her body on the coffin and scream and wail and cry and keen. Somehow that would be more fitting that this horrible Anglo-Saxon control she was forced to exhibit. For the first time, she understood suttee, the Hindu custom of wives’ flinging themselves on their husbands’ funeral pyres. Her life was over. Rosey was her life and now he was dead. She wanted to die, too.
She didn’t die. She stood there tall and erect, in control except for the silent tears. No shrieks of anguish. Very Widow of the President. The country would be proud.
Most of the ceremony was a blur. People kept kneeling and standing, reaching for the Book of Common Prayer, then the Hymnal. She concentrated on the green-and-rust needlepoint kneelers with their yellow crosses, their leaves and pinecones. How many hours and bleeding fingers did they represent?
They were singing now.
“Oh God, our help in ages past, our hope for years to come. Our shelter from the stormy blast an
d our eternal home…”
The bishop, tall and imposing, was standing in the pulpit.
“I am the resurrection and the life saith the Lord; he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live; and whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die.”
“I believe. I believe,” she chanted under her breath. Take no chances.
“Let us pray.”
She bowed her head.
“Oh God, whose mercies cannot be numbered, accept our prayers on behalf of thy servant William Rosewell Grey and grant him an entrance into the land of light and joy.…”
He already lived in the land of light and joy. He loved his life, his job, his wife, his children… his children, my child whom he loved as his. Except for the pain I caused him. She could hear a soft giggle from Willie on the other side of the column and Toby’s gentle, “Shh.”
“The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures, he leadeth me beside the still waters, he restoreth my soul. He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake…”
“I have never really heard these words before,” she said to herself. “Let them be true.”
“… Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever. Amen.”
I promise.
Cotes was approaching the lectern. Had she known he was going to speak? Of course. Why had she allowed it? She wasn’t going to make it through this. She could tell. She reached for Outland’s hand.
She could see Cotes shaking as he took out the piece of paper he was to read from. She took a deep breath and tried not to look at the coffin. Where to look? Not at Cotes, certainly. Try to concentrate on something else. It will be over soon. Nothing worked, not the stained glass or the flags or the benches or the marble-patterned floor.
All she could think about was Rosey, lying dead in that box. And his beautiful birthday present.
“I would like to dedicate this poem to Mrs. Grey, whom the President loved with all his heart,” said Cotes, then nodded to Sadie.
She caught her breath. She hadn’t expected this.
“If I should ever leave you whom I love,” Cotes’s voice wavered as he began to read.
To go along the Silent Way, grieve not,
Nor speak of me with tears, but Laugh and talk
Of me as if I were beside you, for
Who knows but that I shall be oftentime?
I’d come, I’d come, could I but find a way!
She let go of Outland’s hand to wipe her eyes under her veil. She had abandoned all efforts at control now. Cotes continued.
But would not tears and grief be barriers?
And when you hear a song I used to sing
Or see a bird I love—Let not the thought
Of me be sad, for I am loving you
Just as I always have… You were so good
To me….
Cotes paused to compose himself.
Outland had to put his arm around his mother.
So many things I wanted still
To do…So many, many things to say to you…
Remember that I did not fear… It was
Just leaving you I could not bear to face…
She was crying now.
We cannot see beyond… But this I know;
I loved you so—’twas heaven here with you.
Oh God, I can’t stand it, she said to herself. I can’t stand it.
She didn’t have much sense of the rest of the ceremony. It was mercifully brief. A prayer, then “The Battle Hymn of the Republic.”
Then the bishop was coming to escort her out to the right.
Toby was standing at the door with Willie in his arms.
Willie strained to get away from Toby and into her arms, and she took him and held him. Then, with Willie in her arms, she emerged into the sodden daylight of Washington summer, to the waiting cameras and her limousine.
She started to put Willie down but he gently touched her veil and lifted it up to see her tear-stained face.
“Mommy sad?” he asked softly.
“Yes, Willie,” she answered. “Mommy very, very sad.”
6
“So this is the hot spot,” said Allison.
i Ricchi was packed, as usual, and the bustle of waiters and customers in front made it seem even more crowded.
She and Walt Fineman were seated at one of the tables in the center, which afforded them a good view of everyone who came and went.
i Ricchi was very pretty, light, and airy, with lots of glass in front, walls painted to look like old Italian stucco, trompe l’oeil vines done in muted pastels. There was a large pizza oven at the back of the front room that emitted a warm glow despite the air-conditioning.
“It’s a good day for power lunches,” said Walt. “It almost never happens anymore, since everybody cut out expense-account lunches. Half the town is here. You can feel the energy in this room, the jockeying for position. I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s wild.”
“It’s desperate, it’s frantic is what you mean,” she said. “Not like an ordinary transition. This is happening so fast. Nobody is prepared for it. Now everything is up for grabs. All of Rosey’s people are history and Freddy Osgood’s rubes own the town. It would be funny if it weren’t so awful. Look at them. Trying to maintain some sense of decorum in the wake of an assassination, all the while glad-handing and sucking up as if there were no tomorrow. God, I love Washington. I’d forgotten how much I love it.”
“Great. Because you’re coming back.”
“Excuse me.” Allison nearly choked on her Virgin Mary.
“I said, you’re coming back.”
“Wrong, Walt. Warburg promised me four years in London. I’ve only been there a little over three. Am I doing a lousy job? Is that it? Besides, if you think I’m coming back to sit on the foreign desk and deal with that little shit Muchnick, forget it. I’ll go work for the New York World first.”
Walt was smiling. “You’re coming back to be assistant managing editor for national affairs. The third most powerful job on the paper—in case you need to be reminded. You will be the first woman to ever hold that job—as if I need to tell you.”
“As you pointed out, Walt, I’m coming back.”
“God, you’re an easy lay.”
“I couldn’t help overhearing that,” said a tall, white-haired man approaching the table. “And I’m shocked, totally shocked that you would say such a thing about this virtuous woman here.”
It was Howard Heinrich, lawyer, lobbyist, socialite, ladies’ man, pol, and super source. One of the most powerful and well-connected men in Washington. Heinrich was professionally outrageous.
“However, just in case it might be true, how about dinner tonight, lovely lady?”
“Oh, Howard, promise you won’t tell anybody what you just overheard,” said Allison in mock distress.
“Who would I tell?”
Howard had sat down, nodding to his lunch date who was leaving. He motioned to the waiter and asked for another cup of coffee, never asking either Allison or Walt if they minded.
“I couldn’t help noticing that you were having lunch with Freddy Osgood’s new chief of staff,” said Allison innocently. “An old and dear friend, I presume?”
“Precisely,” said Howard.
“I suppose he’ll have to do for a lunch partner while Sadie’s in mourning.”
“Poor woman,” said Howard, lowering his eyelids for a moment.
“How are you going to handle this one, Howard? I know Sadie’s not all that fond of the Osgoods. You won’t want to seem disloyal, especially now.”
“I know, it’s a problem,” he said, not quite catching the sarcasm in Allison’s voice. “I discussed it with her on the phone this morning. She’s in pretty bad shape. But then it’s only been two weeks. Anyway, I told her that Washington is a tough town. Power is all that matters. She’s going to have to ge
t used to all these disloyal sons of bitches who worked for her husband. Now they’ve got their noses halfway up the Osgoods’ redneck asses. The Osgoods are not unaware of what’s going on either. I had a long talk with them about it last night over dinner at the White House in the family dining room. They can’t believe how many close friends they suddenly have.”
“Are you ready to order?” The waiter appeared just as Heinrich was delivering his one-two punch.
“Well, I won’t keep you,” he said, jumping up from his seat. “As a matter of fact, I see someone over there I wanted to say hello to.”
Before they had a chance to even guess, Heinrich managed to get it in. “Shirley Walker. An old girl of mine.” He lowered his voice. “I hear she’s about to be made head of the Environmental Protection Agency. Big job. Rosey never gave much of a damn about the environment, but Freddy Osgood’s extremely high on it. Anyway, good to see you.”
Heinrich was about to break his neck to get over to Shirley Walker’s table. And not a moment too soon because Allison and Walt had barely been able to contain themselves.
“Jesus, what a piece of work,” said Walt. “That was beautiful. One of the best I’ve ever seen.”
“I’m in awe,” agreed Allison. “The guy has no peers. The most skillful power fucker I’ve ever seen in my entire experience. He takes my breath away. It’s like watching one of the old masters at work. He is a true artist. I only appreciate him more after being away for two years. We don’t have anything comparable in London. But then the stakes aren’t as high. To be El Supremo you have to operate in the power capital of the world.”
“What I don’t understand,” said Walt, “is what’s in it for him? What does he want? He’s already loaded. He’s one of the most powerful lawyer/lobbyists in the country. He doesn’t want a job. He does much better freelancing. He’s had and still has the ear of every President since I can remember. So what does he want?”
