by Harper Lin
“Like a lycanthrope?” I asked.
“Oh no. She was describing my great-great uncle Simon. He suffered from serious reactions to specific lunar cycles. Almost like an allergy. Most of us just thought he liked to run through the woods naked. But he claimed differently.” My aunt shook her head. “Anyway, Marie had heard the story through her mother-in-law, who said it was a part of the family with questionable lineage.”
“What does that mean?” I asked.
Looking around the café, Aunt Astrid scooted her chair closer to us and continued.
“In some instances, when the witches were trying to set up new lives for themselves, undetected, they went to safe houses and sometimes became part of another family.”
“The Elderflowers are witches?” Bea asked.
“No. Not as far as I know. But they had this casual crossing of family lines with great-great-uncle Simon. I’m sure if I’d had more time to talk with Marie, I would have found out more. But she had kids too. In fact, she had two girls and then a surprise baby girl when the two other daughters were finishing grade school.”
“How come we never met any of them?” Bea asked.
“Like I said, I only saw Marie the few times I ran into her at the library. Then she had that miracle baby. The next thing you know, your time is all gone and so is your energy. Your kids steal it all.”
“So if she had a baby late in life, how old was she?” Bea asked.
“According to this, she was fifty-four years old.” Aunt Astrid’s voice was sad. “Survived by her three daughters and husband. My goodness.”
“So her youngest is a teenager?” I asked. I knew how it felt to have a mother taken away at a time when you really needed her. I had been nine when my mother was pulled underneath my bed by those horrible, scaly claws. The thought made my chest tighten.
“It sounds that way, honey,” my aunt replied. “The wake is tomorrow morning. I think I’m going to go.”
“We’ll go with you, Mom. What time is the viewing?”
“Says here… am I reading this right? Does that say eight thirty in the morning?” Aunt Astrid handed the newspaper to Bea.
“That’s what it says.” She shrugged. “Maybe that was the best they could do on such short notice.”
We all agreed that a wake at eight thirty in the morning was a bit unusual, but the death of a woman in her mid-fifties was anything but the norm.
“What did she die of?” I asked. My gut told me cancer was probably the culprit. It seemed to have a way of getting people right in the middle of life.
“Hmm. This is odd,” Bea said as she read. “It says here natural causes.”
I looked at my aunt and waited for an explanation to that, but she looked as surprised as I was.
“Well, I didn’t know her well enough to know her medical history,” she offered humbly. “I would have liked to get to know her better. Each time we spoke, we found we had something else in common. Plus, she had a wonderful sense of humor. More than once, the librarians gave us a stern glare to quiet us down.”
I felt bad for my aunt. I could tell she was sorry she didn’t get to know this Marie Elderflower a little better. Especially knowing they were related somewhere down the line.
“Well, I think a visit to the wake would be a nice gesture.” She continued studying the newspaper.
Bea and I agreed. We went back to work, but it was obvious we all had questions about this. If I knew Bea, and I thought I did, I knew she was wondering how she might have been able to help by using her gift of healing.
Aunt Astrid was probably planning to get to know the family a little better to at least offer some comfort through what would be a difficult transition.
I wasn’t sure what to feel. I didn’t know these people. My gift of communicating with animals didn’t really seem to come in handy here. But maybe, if I could talk with the daughter, I might find the words that would bring her some kind of hope. I wasn’t banking on it.
3
Funeral
Collins Funeral Home looked more like a banquet hall than a funeral home. I wondered where the term funeral home came from. It was terribly morbid, which I guessed was appropriate.
“Is breakfast being served at this thing?” I asked while I tugged at the black skirt I was wearing. It was a simple A-line style, and I wore a white turtleneck on top.
Bea looked lovely in a black skirt that came down to her ankles, and she topped it off with a gray blouse. Aunt Astrid wore a navy-blue pair of wide-legged pants with a matching blouse that was flowing and loose-fitting. We had all cleaned up pretty well.
“I don’t think so,” Aunt Astrid answered. “But there might be coffee and cookies or sweet rolls or something.”
Bea had driven. Since there had been a dusting of snow, the town had sprinkled salt all over the roads. That was enough for Bea to stay a steady ten miles below the speed limit as she white-knuckled it the entire way there.
The parking lot was completely cleared of any snow as we crossed to the front door. The sky was a landscape of white, puffy clouds. Not gloomy but still perfect for a funeral. I trotted ahead and got the door. The wave of warm air from inside was as inviting as the smell of turkey on Thanksgiving.
“Boy, this place is as quiet as a tomb,” I joked to Bea, who rolled her eyes as she walked past me.
Truthfully, it was. There were a few people in the lobby who looked us over as we walked in.
“Is it just me, or are we a little overdressed?”
The majority of folks here were in jeans or slacks. Several had red eyes and gave us a courteous nod as we made our way to the only viewing room with a casket in it.
“The Elderflowers weren’t wealthy people,” Aunt Astrid whispered. “They weren’t poor, but you know how it is.”
Bea and I both nodded. We had bills to pay. I knew if the air conditioning at my house went out or my fridge gave up, I’d be eating ramen noodles and toast for several weeks before getting back on track.
I took off my coat and folded it over my arm as I let my aunt go ahead. She walked into the viewing room first. It was small. The casket took up the entire front of the room. There were four rows of eight folding chairs.
In the first row was a weary rag doll of a man sitting there, staring into space. I assumed he was Mr. Elderflower. He looked pale, and his eyes were sunken. Next to him, holding his hand, had to be the teenage daughter. She had dyed her hair black to match her nails and her lipstick. Her eyes were red from crying. All the layers of Goth makeup and clothes couldn’t cover the fact she was still a child, and her mother was dead.
The only people speaking were two formally dressed women standing at the head of the casket. When I looked at the body of Mrs. Elderflower and then at the women, I knew they were her other daughters.
Both of them wore professional attire, as though they were heading off to traffic court or a job interview as soon as this whole ordeal was done. They looked at Bea and me suspiciously and then focused on Aunt Astrid.
“You must be Marie’s daughters,” Aunt Astrid said gently. She explained how she knew Marie and extended her hand to the ladies after introducing Bea and me.
“It’s nice to meet you, Astrid. My name is Fern Elderflower. This is my sister Gail.” Both women looked intently at us. They had not been crying. Their hair and makeup looked flawless. “We appreciate you coming. Mom had been sick for so long.”
“May I ask what took her?” Aunt Astrid asked. I leaned a little closer to hear.
“It was just one of those things,” Fern said. “She’d been declining for some time. There was nothing anyone could do about it.”
I wasn’t the only one who thought Fern didn’t really answer the question. But we were strangers to the Elderflowers. There was no need for them to open up to us at all. Still, I watched their eyes as they spoke. They kept snapping past me to their Goth sister.
“Where is she going now?” Gail whispered to Fern.
I turned to see wh
at they were looking at and saw their sister get up abruptly and stomp out of the room.
“I’ll go get her for you,” I said without thinking. Before the Elderflower sisters could stop me, I was walking out of the room and toward the kitchen. When I got there, I saw the teenager standing at the coffee pot, just staring.
“Would you like a cup, honey?” I asked.
“I can pour my own coffee,” she hissed.
“I-I know,” I stuttered. “I didn’t mean anything by it.” I took a deep breath. I had been bitter toward people who tried to help when I lost my mom. What was it that made me feel better? What did I want someone to say that would have made me exhale for just a second? Nothing came to mind.
She carefully poured herself a small Styrofoam cup and then sat down at the small kitchen table. She still hadn’t looked at my face.
“What is your name?” I asked.
“Evelyn. Who the hell are you?”
“Cath Greenstone. I didn’t know your mom. My aunt did. She said she was a really nice lady and that there was a chance our families may have been related. Aren’t we lucky?”
The teenager looked at me and curled her upper lip in disgust then shrugged.
“I lost my mom when I was nine,” I blurted out. “I saw her go right in front of me. I can still see it.” I didn’t tell her I saw her get pulled away from me under my bed. “She was young too.”
I waited and held my breath.
“Yeah, well, at least you weren’t the cause of your mom dying,” Evelyn spat, her eyes brimming with fresh tears. Her lip trembled, but she stopped it as she took a gulp of the steaming coffee.
“Evelyn, your sisters told us your mom had been sick for a while. That isn’t your fault.”
“My sisters aren’t the most reliable sources for information. But look at them, and look at me. Who’d believe what I had to say?” She flicked her tongue while making the devil symbol with her fingers.
She had no idea that her dress and attitude didn’t scare me. Had it been any other occasion, I would have enjoyed her attitude and called her on it just for fun. But I let her think she was getting to me. Today wasn’t the day to tell her she was wrong.
“I’d believe you, Evelyn. I’d probably believe you first.”
She looked at me, and again, her eyes filled with tears.
“What do you know about it?” Her lips trembled.
I leaned over to her, smiled, and whispered kindly, “I know more than you think. Come by the Brew-Ha-Ha Café if you ever want to talk.”
I went to the coffee pot to pour myself a cup, when I was startled out of my skin.
“There you are!” Gail cawed. “How many times do we have to tell you not to leave Dad? He’s sitting out there all by himself.”
“I’m sorry, Gail. I was talking to Evelyn. She was just being polite,” I interrupted.
It was as if she hadn’t even seen me until I spoke. “Fine.” She flipped her long red hair behind her. “I think it’s time you go back and sit with Dad. Don’t you agree, Evelyn?” Gail tilted her head to the side and blinked.
Evelyn glared at her sister. Without saying another word to me, she stomped out of the kitchen, her combat boots clomping on the linoleum.
“She’s been a problem for a long time,” Gail said.
“Teenagers can be a handful,” I offered as if I knew what raising a teenager was like. I had no idea. But I remembered what it was like to be a teenager. It was miserable.
“I don’t know how our mother tolerated her. I really don’t. I think she was scared of her, to be honest.”
“Scared of her?” I was shocked. “She’s just a little girl, really.”
“Little girl? She’s seventeen and hasn’t been decent since the day she was born.” Gail flipped her hair behind her. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to my family.”
“Of course,” I mumbled. Walking back to the viewing room, I wondered what had just happened. It was a stressful time. People reacted differently to death, especially a sudden one.
When I finally rejoined my family, I wanted to complain that there weren’t any cookies or treats of any kind. Instead, I just took a seat next to my aunt and waited.
“How long are we staying?” I whispered.
“Not too much longer,” she answered.
I followed her eyes. They were focused on Evelyn.
“There is something going on with that girl.”
“I can see it too,” Bea replied. “Like she’s hiding something.”
“Yes. Things are not as they seem here,” Aunt Astrid said. I squinted but couldn’t see anything but a teenager going through that rebellious stage.
It was the two sisters, Fern and Gail, who were weird to me. They didn’t look as if they had cried at all. But even as I studied them, I could see they were just different but not necessarily up to anything bad. Some people wrapped themselves up in their work or studies in order to cope with bad news. They could focus their minds on anything but the trauma, and that helped them through it.
There were only about five other people sitting in the viewing room with us. Some from the lobby came in to quickly shake hands with Gail and Fern, but no one went out of their way to talk to Mr. Elderflower or Evelyn. I felt a pang in my heart for them. I saw Evelyn’s shoulders shake as she cried again and laid her head on her father’s shoulder. He didn’t move. At least, from where I was sitting, I didn’t see him respond to her. Again, I chalked it up to shock.
“If I could just get close enough to take her hand or something,” Bea whispered. “I might be able to help her.”
“Are you talking about Evelyn?” I asked.
Bea nodded.
“Good luck with that one. Attitude up to her eyeballs. Typical teenager who won’t say anything nice, if she says anything at all. She’s not ready to get close to anyone.”
“How do you know?” Bea asked.
“Because that’s how I was. You won’t get her to offer you a handshake, let alone a hug or something. Can’t you tell just by looking at her?”
I watched Bea’s eyes as she studied the back of Evelyn’s head.
“I guess you’re right.” Bea folded her arms in defeat.
“I’ve seen enough,” Aunt Astrid said sadly. “Let me go and give our condolences to Mr. Elderflower one last time, and then we can scoot.”
Bea and I nodded and began to put our coats on as my aunt went to the first row of chairs in front of the casket, where Mr. Elderflower was seated. I saw Aunt Astrid say a few things. I couldn’t hear her, but I saw that same kind look in her eyes and the same smile that made so many people come to the café for her advice or a reading or just to say hello.
You could imagine my surprise when Mr. Elderflower began to yell.
“She saw them again! I should have been there with her! I should never have left her!”
“Mr. Elderflower, it wasn’t your fault,” my aunt said soothingly as she reached for his hand. Before she could touch him, Gail and Fern dashed in front of her.
“She saw them, and I didn’t believe her.” He began to sob as he stared into space. Evelyn sat there, staring at her father with gray tears running down her cheeks. She didn’t try to touch him or console him. She just cried.
“Thank you for coming, Mrs. Greenstone, but we think it might be best if you leave. We need to calm our father down,” Fern ordered.
“But I didn’t—”
“Thank you, Mrs. Greenstone,” Gail snapped and stepped between Aunt Astrid and Mr. Elderflower as bodyguards might do to obnoxious paparazzi.
Bea hurried to her mother’s side and linked her arm with her mother’s. With quick apologies, she shuffled Aunt Astrid away from the excitement. I carried her coat and purse. Before we knew it, we were out in the parking lot, making our way to Bea’s car. Half a dozen faces were pushed up against the glass of the funeral home, watching us leave.
“What was that all about?” I asked.
“I-I just went to shake
his hand,” Aunt Astrid stuttered. “I certainly didn’t mean any disrespect.”
“It isn’t you, Mom.”
“No, Aunt Astrid. Those people are probably still shaken up. They probably don’t have any idea what they’re doing or how they’re behaving. Grief comes in all shapes and sizes.”
“Do you really think that’s all it is?” Aunt Astrid took my hand to steady herself. “You didn’t get the feeling there was something more going on?”
“I didn’t,” I admitted.
“I’m not sure what I think,” Bea added. “But those people aren’t normal.”
“And we are?” I held the door open for my aunt to climb in the front seat. “I just think this is too delicate of a situation to make any judgments on the Elderflowers. Tomorrow, they could act completely different. I know when it was my mom…” A lump formed in my throat, but I choked it down.
“When I had to bury my mom, I didn’t know what I wanted to do. I wanted to scream and swear and cry, and still, I wanted to be brave and careful. That’s hard for a nine-year-old to process. I don’t think another eight years would make it any easier.”
There was the sting of tears in my eyes, but I managed to blink them back.
“I wasn’t even thinking, Cath,” Aunt Astrid said as she buckled herself in. “You should have waited at the café. This had to be painful for you. I’m so sorry.”
“I’m all right, Aunt Astrid. Sure, it made me think of my mom. But that’s why I think we should let the Elderflowers have some breathing room. Mr. Elderflower is feeling guilt, but it could be for not picking up milk at the grocery store that day. We don’t know.”
“You’re right,” Bea said. “But what do you think he meant when he said, ‘She saw them again’?”
“I was wondering about that too,” Aunt Astrid said.
“Who knows?” I answered. “Maybe he meant mice in the cellar or shapes in the clouds. I’ll bet if you ask him again in a couple days, he won’t even remember he said it.”
“I’m thinking of doing just that. Perhaps a nice casserole would be a kind gesture,” Aunt Astrid mused. She elbowed Bea, who I knew would be happy to cook something weird and delicious.
