Candle for a Corpse

by Marilyn Leach

  “Sorry,” Edsel Butz said sheepishly. “I’ll just go to the back garden then.” He tried to step diligently but cracked some candles underfoot. He kept moving until he was out the back door, leaving a trail of wax.

  “How could she think in a lifetime these would all be used?” Lillie mused out loud. “It is an odd place to keep them.”

  “Not at all. Look.” Berdie acted it out. “Step into the hallway from the door. Turn the switch, no lights, pull out the drawer, light the candle, and Bob’s your uncle.”

  “I see what you mean, yes.”

  By the time, the women had replaced the table and had all the candles collected and placed in a box, the electrician returned.

  “Need to go get the taller ladder at the shop. Be back presently,” he assured. And Edsel was gone without incident.

  “Lantern light it is for a while longer.” Berdie was getting restless. “Not so easy in half shadows, is it, Lillie?”

  “I admit I’d love the heat on,” she replied.

  It couldn’t have been four minutes, when there was another knock at the door.

  “That was fast.” Lillie’s brows shot up.

  Not waiting for an invitation, Ivy Butz sprang in the door, holding a takeout tray full of Styrofoam cups in one hand, little Duncan on her hip, and daughter Lila behind. “Isn’t it a lovely morning? Tea anyone?”

  “Ivy.” Berdie was surprised to see the woman. “How kind.”

  “Lila’s got the scones.”

  Only a year younger than Lucy, Lila Butz looked like she might be twelve. A miniature Ivy physically, plus glasses, her personality was a polar opposite of her mother’s. Shyly, Lila lifted the scones bag without making any verbal acknowledgements.

  When Ivy put her wee Duncan on the floor, he made his presence known with a coo and an overwhelming smell that only babies in nappies can conjure.

  “Has Duncan been in the peanut butter?” Berdie squinted against the aroma. At the same moment, she was glad all the furniture was upright, that the room was certainly more safe and orderly for a wee one. “Here.” Berdie took the tray from Ivy and sat it on an end table near the fireplace.

  “Thought you might need a bit of a warm-up.” Ivy’s eyes roamed the room, apparently unaffected by Duncan’s offenses. “We were on our way to see Dr. Honeywell. Lila’s got a cold, out stargazing in the deep of night again.”

  “The aurora borealis are coming active, mother.” Lila wiped her nose with a tissue.

  Ivy bent forward to see into the kitchen. “Is”—she paused—“my husband still about?”

  “You just missed him,” Lillie answered and removed the finger from in front her nose, “but he promised a quick return.”

  Ivy’s cheerful visage now looked as if someone had stolen her colorful Christmas cracker from off her plate.

  “He’ll be back before you can finish a scone,” Berdie offered. Truthfully, a scone didn’t sound appetizing at the moment, but Berdie could see those familiar wells of tears coming to the disappointed woman’s eyes.

  “We’ve this whole lot for the jumble shop.” Lillie pointed to the boxes of goods, making a poor attempt to redirect Ivy’s focus, acting as if the entire village didn’t know Edsel had temporarily moved from home. The choirmaster grabbed a wall plaque from a box and took it to Ivy. “Isn’t this lovely?”

  Lila stepped the bag of scones to Berdie, who was adding cream to the hot teas. The young lady was taken in by something on the mantel. In fact, she became almost animated. She laid the scones aside and stood at the fireplace, rolled one of the Advent candles a half twist, and smiled. “Look! The phases of the moon.”

  Berdie and Lillie both came close.

  “See,” she said and pointed, “waxing, full, and waning.”

  Berdie thought a moment. “If there was a fourth candle, Lila, what would follow?”

  “Nothing. It’s the new moon you see, the dark face of the moon.”

  Berdie’s eyes snapped open. “The dark side.”

  Ivy stood upright. She held the plaque close to her chest. “I want this plaque.” The woman sounded almost desperate. “How much?” She rummaged through her coat pocket. “Here’s a pound.” Tears started to tumble down her cheeks.

  “A pound?” Berdie’s head was not in the conversation with Ivy. “Lillie, I need to go upstairs. Can you aid Ivy?”

  Lillie breathed through her mouth and tried to answer all at once. “But how?”

  Berdie was out of the room, running up the stairs, Ivy’s daughter Lila behind her. They stopped on the landing.

  “Two pounds then,” Ivy bellowed up the stairs.

  “You shouldn’t come in, Lila, the room’s not sorted. Stay here,” Berdie urged. “But may I borrow your tissue?”

  The inquisitive teen frowned and handed over the tissue.

  Berdie entered the room and, using the tissue, picked up the candle. She peered at the bottom. “Dark side indeed,” she breathed.

  Berdie heard steps race up the stairs, and Lillie’s agitated voice sounded on the landing. “Lila, come.”

  “Let go of me. What are you doing?” Lila’s voice was elevated.

  Berdie put the candle down and returned to the landing. “What’s going on, Lillie?”

  “Ivy’s left, and in such a state. She scooped up Duncan but has forgotten her daughter.”

  “Let go,” Lila reiterated.

  From the bottom of the stairs, Berdie could hear a distressed Ivy screech, “Lila!” But now she heard another voice, a man’s.

  “Get out of the house!” It was Mr. Raheem.

  “My daughter!” Ivy sounded panicked. “Lila!”

  “I’ll get your daughter. Please stay outside!”

  Berdie watched the man leap the stairs two at a time.

  “You must get out!” he yelled. He grabbed both Lillie and Lila tightly by their arms. “You, too, Mrs. Elliott, now.”

  Berdie took one step and an odor seized her nostrils but it wasn’t Duncan. The scent jolted through her body. Smoke.

  Lillie could keep up with Mr. Raheem’s descent, but stout Lila slipped. The teen screamed. Mr. Raheem stopped. Berdie dashed to the young girl’s side. “Go ahead, Mr. Raheem. Take Lillie. I’ve got Lila.” While he went on, Berdie lifted the tearful girl to her feet. “It’s OK, Lila. We’re OK.”

  “Ouch!” Lila grabbed her ankle. “It hurts.” She grimaced.

  “One step at a time.” Berdie coaxed the frightened child.

  Lila took one stair then collapsed. “I can’t,” she yelled and began to cry.

  Haze like a December morning fog began making its presence known near the ceiling.

  “Cover your mouth with your coat collar,” Berdie commanded. Dear God of tender mercies, Berdie prayed silently. She tried to hoist Lila up with her shoulder, but the youngster screamed. She grabbed Berdie with both arms. Berdie could feel the weight of the girl pull her downward.

  “I can’t get up.” Desperation filled Lila’s voice as she clung to Berdie.

  “Lila, let go of Mrs. Elliott and put your arms around my neck.” It was Mr. Raheem. “Mrs. Elliott, outside now.”

  Berdie hesitated.

  “Now!” he screamed.

  Berdie all but flew down the stairs. Once out the door, she took a deep breath of the moist air and coughed.

  “Are you OK?” She heard Lillie’s shaky voice as she pointed to the roofline. “Look.”

  Flames lapped up from the back garden.

  “My daughter!” Ivy screamed.

  The beleaguered Hardeep Raheem appeared at the door, Lila in his arms. He struggled with his burden to the gate.

  “Mrs. Butz, open your car door. Ladies, move away, in the street quickly.” The winded greengrocer barked the instructions like a commanding general.

  Berdie and Lillie followed orders. A crowd had started gathering in the road. Mr. Clark gave the rescuer an assist to get Lila safely settled in the backseat of Ivy’s car. “Can you take her to Dr. Honeywell?” Mr. R
aheem could see Ivy’s tender state. The frightened Duncan’s wail added to the fray.

  As if scripted, Edsel Butz drove up in his work lorry. He lowered the driver’s side window. “Love?” the man called out to his wife.

  “Lila’s hurt,” Mrs. Butz blurted.

  Like a shot, he leaped from the vehicle and was at her side. He looked toward the smoke wrapped roofline. “What were you doing here?”

  “Looking for you,” Ivy bawled.

  “I could have lost you.” Edsel closed his eyes tightly and reopened them. “Get in the car. I’m driving.”

  Without hesitation, the Butz family was packed up. Edsel drove off so quickly he almost hit the fire brigade that rounded the corner along with Constable Goodnight. Horns blared and sirens split the chilly air. Everyone moved aside so the emergency vehicles could park in front of the cottage. The firefighters set to on the blaze; in a blur of ordered chaos, they worked to tame the dancing flames.

  Goodnight growled commands, which no one really listened to. “Back, move along, you lot.” He stood in front of Berdie. “Well, here we are again.” He glared. “Seems disaster follows you like hounds on a rabbit.”

  Before Berdie could respond to Goodnight, Cara Graystone stepped in between them.

  “Is everything in there?” The woman was trying to catch her breath and question Berdie at the same time. In running gear, her shoulders heaved up and down. “Did you take anything out of there?”

  Berdie’s mind was dizzy. “Yes, no.”

  “Well, what is it?” Cara’s face was flushed.

  Now Goodnight moved between the two women. “Hang about. I’m talking to Mrs. Elliott. You move along home,” he boomed at Cara loud enough the whole street heard it.

  She took in both Goodnight and Berdie. “Well, you’ll both be talking to me.” She thrust her thumb to her chest. “Tomorrow, at my father’s solicitor’s office.”

  “What are you trying to say?” Goodnight’s bushy brows met.

  Preston Graystone stepped into the ring, directly in Goodnight’s space. “Here now, it’s to everyone’s good if that blasted cottage burns to a cinder.” Graystone leaned into Goodnight’s face. “But you address my daughter with respect,” the lawyer demanded, “or I’ll have your badge.”

  “Oh, you will?” Goodnight glowered.

  “Gentlemen...” Berdie used the word loosely.

  “I’ll see the both of you at two o’clock in my office on the morrow,” Graystone demanded, addressing Berdie and the Constable. He refocused on Berdie. “And your husband should come as well.”

  “But it’s the Sabbath tomorrow,” Berdie protested after she found her voice.

  “Perhaps for you, Mrs. Elliott.” Mr. Graystone sounded cool as the morning frost. “But not for the law.”

  7

  Berdie adjusted her woolen dress hat with one hand and tried to button her suit coat with the other, all while swiftly moving across Oak Leaf’s front garden to Saint Aidan of the Wood Parish Church, only yards away. She was losing the battle against the clock, having slept past the alarm this morning.

  The church stood stalwart contrary to the creeping morning spray of fog. When almost there, she saw a sight she’d never seen in the three months of Sunday mornings her husband had preached here in the quaint little church. A crowd milled in the front garden, people Berdie had never seen before along with a few familiar faces. She couldn’t help but ask herself why. She excused her way through the crowd to enter the front door. Immediately she understood the cause of the dilemma. The church was full to the brim. People in pews were squeezed together like Christmas shoppers. Still, not everyone was seated. Berdie spotted Hugh up front shaking hands with a couple, smiling gently, then urging those in the first pew to make room for the two. Berdie went to his side. “Hugh?” she asked, catching her breath.

  “Curiosity is a powerful force,” Hugh spoke quietly.

  “We should make a habit of canceling funerals,” Berdie whispered. “And why didn’t you wake me this morning?”

  Hugh took her hand and gave it a tender squeeze. “You need rest, love.”

  Edsel Butz’s voice bounced across the stone chapel. “Ready, Vicar.” Having set chairs along the side aisles, he finished up the last chairs along the back wall.

  Hugh went to join the candle acolytes, and the garden crowd filed in, taking the impromptu seats.

  Lillie had chosen “A Safe Stronghold Our God Is Still” for the processional hymn. The body of worshippers stood and the organ boomed, signaling all to join in.

  Berdie’s voice felt small amidst the crowd.

  “A safe stronghold our God is still, a trusty shield and weapon. He’ll help us clear from all the ill, that hath us now o’ertaken.”

  Perfectly fitting. Good choice, Lillie.

  “But for us fights the proper Man.”

  Even though Mrs. Plinkerton’s elbow hit Berdie in the ribs with every swell of the music, Berdie was pleased with the full house.

  “Ask ye who is this same? Christ Jesus is His name, the Lord Sabaoth’s Son; He and no other one, shall conquer in the battle.”

  The prayers and scripture reading went well although Lila Butz let go a whopping sneeze at the end of the reading from the Gospels that sounded like an exclamation mark.

  By the time Hugh took his place for the sermon, the church was hot enough to roast a holiday fowl. The ancient, erratic heating system plus the large crowd combined to create the Bahamas feel. Children started to move about. The people in the back seats uncomfortably squirmed. Many elderly heads drooped and bobbed, falling prey to the warmth of the bodies around them. But when Hugh’s voice spoke the first syllable, the place went still.

  “With the difficult events of this week, I know many of you are here hoping to hear an explanation of why Miss Livingston’s funeral was canceled.” Hugh got straight to the point, and a quiet buzz wove through the congregation. “But I’ve given my promise to keep confidences concerning the matter.”

  The buzz became a ripple of voices. Hugh held up his palm to quiet the congregation.

  Berdie was sure Hugh would say the appropriate thing.

  “Just as you would expect me to keep a confidence given in trust on a matter, I’m sure you would not want trust broken, particularly from the pulpit.”

  There was another round of murmurs, though most sounded positive.

  “I can’t speak on the matters surrounding the canceling of the funeral, but I can tell you this. Though we can’t control all the events that come our way in this life, we are only a whisper of prayer away from He who can give us peace and faith in even the bleakest of times. Just as our Lord stood in faith in His deepest hour, we, too, can stand. He cares for each one here and we can trust, as indeed the psalmist did, that we shall see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. Let us unite in the words of the Apostle Paul, ‘Be not overcome of evil, but overcome evil with good.’” Hugh took a deep breath. “Now, with that said, I shall move forward on the topic for today’s Advent sermon, ‘Waiting for the Light of Christmas.’”

  Hugh could wax eloquent. But Berdie was glad that, though very well done, the sermon was brief. By the time the church service was over, Berdie noted that the morning fog had lifted outside. A remarkable December sun pronounced its glory as the sea of humanity exited the church and made their way to their homes.

  Berdie entered the sacristy where Hugh was hanging up his liturgical garments.

  “Well done, Reverend Elliott.”

  Hugh planted a kiss on her cheek. “I’m glad there’s at least one person who thinks so.” He grinned.

  “I’m afraid a defrosting shepherd’s pie is all I have to offer for lunch. I should have brought it to church today; it would be cooked through.”

  Hugh laughed. He put his hands on Berdie’s waist. “I’m afraid lunch must wait. I told Ivy we’d be round after church. She’s in a state, poor thing, eyes red, tear stains.” Hugh beguiled her with his brilliant blue eyes. “Yo
u understand, love.”

  “Of course.” Berdie was tired, but she knew Ivy needed encouragement. Besides, she became besotted whenever her spouse looked at her that way. “Do you hold hope for reconciliation in that family?”

  “With every prayer I breathe,” Hugh answered.

  The walk to the Butz home was pleasant—the sunshine saw to that.

  Berdie and Hugh arrived at the house and knocked several times at the door decorated with one of Miss Livingston’s wreaths. Finally, the door cracked open. Lila Butz balanced herself on one crutch and pushed the door wide open with the other, gingerly protecting her bandaged ankle. “Mum says you’re to go to the drawing room.” Lila spoke the best she could with her stuffed nose.

  Hugh caught the door. “Let me help, Lila.”

  “How’s the ankle?” Berdie observed the swollen appendage.

  “OK.” Lila gave a weak smile. “Excuse me, please.” With that, the ailing youth began hobbling off.

  Berdie followed Hugh into the hall. “Lila,” Berdie called, “may I speak to you for a moment?”

  The girl stopped and looked toward Berdie.

  “Go on in the drawing room, Hugh. I’ll be there in a moment.”

  Berdie came close to Lila. “A sprain?”

  “Yes, three weeks on crutches anyway.” Lila ran a tissue over her red nose.

  “That long?” Berdie paused. “I wanted to ask, Lila, you seem so well versed in the activity of the night heavens, do you belong to an area club or society for stargazers?”

  Lila perked up a bit. “I belong to the National Society for Amateur Astronomers, but there’s no local chapter.” The girl repositioned her wrapped ankle. “Why? Do you want to join, Mrs. Elliott?”

  “Me? Oh no. I mean, I’m sure it’s a fine group. No I was just curious if Miss Livingston may have been a member or ever talked to you about such things.”

  Lila scrunched her nose. “Miss Livingston? She’s hardly the type.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The society is for scientists, people who study heavenly bodies, not carve them into wax.” She shifted her leg again. “More an old mystic if you ask me.”

  Berdie was intensely pensive. “Yes.”