Chapter V
AS MAE WALKED away, she replayed her conversation with the police captain.
She hadn’t finished explaining about Henry’s notes.
He’d shut her down before she could continue.
He didn’t know about the dates and about the name ‘Foster.’ Her right hand rifled through her pocket, and her fingers closed on the note pages folded there.
She exhaled slowly, trying to make sense of all the compounding information.
A mix of various languages interspersed with broken English reached her ears as she plodded along the narrow walkway.
Sheets and shirts and socks hung stiffly overhead, their frozen forms blocking out much of the dismal February sun.
The odor of stale fish emanated from the various fishmonger fronts.
The stench made her stomach churn. Although she knew her Upper West Side location wasn’t the most prestigious, she was grateful that this smell didn’t invade her nose daily.
Small children were braving the cold outside on the stoops, playing with rag dolls and jax, as their mothers stood huddled together gossiping.
She could feel their eyes roam down her figure, taking in her dark blue woolen overcoat and matching woolen gloves.
She raised her chin while trying to increase her pace.
From the corner of her eye, she could see the women’s attention snap from her to someone behind her.
Her ears pricked up then, and she could hear the faint rhythm of footsteps that matched her own.
She pulled her purse tighter under her arm and looped her fingers through the strap a second time.
Upon approaching Catherine Street, she crossed the street to turn left, passing by a gentleman reclining against a brick building in a charcoal coat and felt hat.
The footsteps continued in the same cadence, and the sound faded as they continued along the opposite side of the road.
Mae drew in a deeper breath as her fingers loosened slightly on the purse strap.
A large, black, triangular sign jutted out ahead with the words “McCabe, Undertaker” printed in bold white letters.
She stood outside the glass front, blankly staring at the words appliquéd to the windows.
Ambulance Service. Free Use of Chapel. What was she doing here?
She shouldn’t be here. She should be sitting in the office with Henry, sharing a cup of coffee with him as they went over their case.
In the window’s reflection, she could see a man leaning against the building across the way, his slouch hat tipped to block the wind, pausing to have a smoke.
His casual stance told her this was a normal day for him. Normal. What about this day was normal?
She drew in a deep breath of frigid February air and reached for the door.
Stepping over the threshold, she was met with a strong smell of formaldehyde that made her wish for the cleaner, albeit frostier air outside.
A somber scene of an older woman dressed from head to toe in black, crying into her handkerchief and speaking with a man seated at a large desk heavily decorated with stacks of paper, brought her back to the gravity of the situation.
He glanced up at her and motioned to the waiting chairs across from the entrance.
“Be right with you, Ma’am,” he offered as he returned his focus to the woman in the adjacent chair.
Mae sat down in a chair at the other end of the room, hoping it gave the appearance of privacy.
Sitting with her back straight in the worn wooden chair, she found herself with a full glassed-in view of the street behind the coffin displayed practically in the middle.
Mae let her eyes wander over the harsh wooden features of the casket.
Inside the beveled edges, there was a soft whitish padding that ran from end to end.
The padding had yellowed slightly in some spots from where the sun had penetrated through the window.
She couldn’t see the interior of the casket from her position, so instead she tried to focus on the people milling about outside.
The older woman’s hushed sobs penetrated Mae’s mind.
She wanted to join the woman in her grief, to cry for Henry’s loss as well as this woman’s husband.
She forced herself to look out the window.
Her eyes tracked the various men walking along and noted that they were different in this part of town.
Instead of suits, most of the men wore worn work overalls and heavy jackets more suitable to manual labor outdoors.
She watched one after another as they hunched their broad shoulders and hastened to their destinations, their thick wool caps acting as a spearhead in the bristling wind.
She scanned from the left window frame across the expanse of the doorframe and toward the right window, taking in the familiar bustle of the city.
Her eyes came to rest on the man she had passed, still leaning against the building across the street.
He wasn’t wearing the common uniform of the other men striding by.
His dark woolen overcoat was reminiscent of her own, and the tipped felt hat stood out as impractical in the cold February weather.
She saw him take a final drag on his cigarette and toss it toward the building.
He pushed himself off the building as if ready to continue on his way, but then shifted his weight and took out another cigarette.
As he lit the next and puffed out a large plume of smoke in the wintry air, he rested against the bricks again.
A freezing gust wormed its way down Mae's back as the older woman exited onto the street. The man’s head snapped up as the undertaker’s door opened.
He flicked his new cigarette to the ground and pushed off the wall.
Seeing the old woman exit, he relaxed into his previous position.
Although he did not look at her directly through the large front window, she had the distinct impression that he was there because of her.
Mae shifted her attention back to the gentleman sitting at the desk. The distance between them now seemed pointless in the long, hall-like room. She stood hastily and moved to the other end now that it was apparently her turn.
“Good morning, Ma’am,” he addressed her. “Thank you for being patient. How can I assist you?”
“My husband…” Mae swallowed the lump forming in her throat and tried to continue. “My husband passed away yesterday.” She paused, unable to meet his eyes.
“I’m sorry to hear that, Ma’am,” the undertaker supplied when the lull became lengthy.
“He’s at the coroner’s right now,” she forced out. “The police captain said you would be able to see to him?” She raised her eyes and found him patiently sitting with his hands in his lap.
“Yes, I can handle that for you.” He shifted to pick up the pen and notebook on his desk.
After taking down the relevant information, it was time to address the cost. “Our base price includes embalming and dressing him for burial as well as providing a plain casket.” He waved toward the polished wooden box.
“We also offer various services if you would like, including chapel services, a viewing time, conveyance to the cemetery, and flowers if you should so wish.”
Mae looked at the faded papered wall over the undertaker’s shoulder. She let the words wash over her. Embalming. Viewing. Cemetery. She thought of the savings that had been meant to fund their son’s further education. It would have to serve a different purpose now.
“Just the conveyance to the cemetery. I would like him buried at Calvary near his parents.” Mae’s right hand squeezed her left in her lap, the fingers finding the solid gold band on her ring finger.
She realized it had been so long since they’d visited that she could remember exactly where in Calvary his parents were buried.
“Is that something you coordinate? Or do I have to go there?”
“No, no,” he answered, “I will handle all the paperwork and coordination. It will probably be within the next few days. Would that be enough time to gather everyone?”
Mae thought of Simon. It would only be the two of them now. A few days would seem a lifetime. “Yes, that would be sufficient.”
“Well, once I organize with Calvary, I will send word to you of the day and time. We do require a small payment upfront, but can collect the remainder upon completion.”
Mae nodded and fished through her purse. Passing the bills to him, she stood. Her legs felt as though they were heavier than the casket in the window. She dreaded the long walk home.
As she pulled open the door, a cloud drifted over the sun, and whatever warmth it had projected died too.
The blustery wind picked up and curled under her woolen skirt, wrapping its icy clutches around her weary legs.
She wrapped her arms tighter around herself as she started off toward James Street.
She should have enough time to stop at the office on her way home to check on things. Simon wouldn’t be home for a little while yet.
As she approached her block on Beekman Street, she saw a familiar patched tweed coat.
The hair piled in a heap with small wisps of ash-blonde hair confirmed it.
Mrs. Kerr stood with her hands pressed against the window of the office, her weight shifting back and forth as she tried to peer into the office from the landing.
Mae slowed her pace and considered ducking into the entryway of another nearby office building.
Her shoulders sagged slightly at the thought of the ensuing discussion.
She just wanted to hide and let the world go on with its ordeals without having to take part anymore.
Her moment of escape vaporized as Mrs. Kerr turned her head just enough to recognize Mae from half a block away.
“Mrs. Turner!” Her gruff and accented call grated up the street. Mae gritted her teeth and bared them in a forced smile.