Unbury Carol(11)

“It seems to me the important part is that she’s passed. I suppose, for me, it matters not why.”

Manders saw Dwight’s eyes were wet. “I understand.”

There was a short silence between them. Thunder called from far away. Dwight thought of Farrah. Imagined her and Carol in the garden. Imagined Carol beginning to describe the coma. Then Manders said, “But with the Illness, it may be best to get a more thorough determination. It’s important for all of us to know if the Illness has left Harrows or if it remains. Would you perhaps like Doctor Walker to look at her as well?”

He’s gonna ask for a second look, Lafayette had said.

“Meaning no offense, Robert, but Alexander Wolfe’s word is as good as any. No, I don’t see any reason to study her again. Carol knew Alexander as well and in my shock I looked for someone close to us both.” Now Dwight leaned forward and whispered, “I’d like it to be a small affair, Manders. Unpublicized.”

“You’ve come here to arrange the funeral then.”

“Yes. You see, Manders, I’d like Carol buried as soon as possible.”

Manders breathed deep. Dwight didn’t like the sound of it. Was he about to let Dwight down easy, in a professional manner? Or did he suspect something?

“I understand, Mister Evers. But as you know, there is something of a backlog right now, a line, so to speak. Thirteen deaths before her own. I haven’t had to work Lucas and Hank so hard in quite some time. It’s really a very frightening thing, the way the Illness has progressed. Rarely has Harrows experienced such tragedy. I’m glad Carol did not fall victim to it, though I realize that matters little now. How soon were you thinking?”

“Tomorrow morning.”

Manders, well versed in the decorum of such moments, flashed Dwight a sympathetic face.

“Mister Evers. I’m sorry. But the soonest we can do this is two mornings from tomorrow’s. As you know—”

Dwight rose from the chair with a flair and stepped to a bookshelf against a wall. The lantern light barely touched the bindings, and he read what words he could. After a moment of silence, his back to the funeral director, he said, “As you can see, Robert. I’m not handling this very well.”

Manders was quiet.

Dwight turned to face him in the subtle flames. “If there’s a way this can be done tomorrow morning…”

“I’m sorry, Mister Evers. It’s just too soon.”

Dwight reached his hand into his pocket, and for a moment Manders believed the man was going to bring forth money. Instead he removed a handkerchief and wiped sweat from his brow and neck.

“If only there was a way to expedite such moments, Robert. In the fog of my discontent I’m trying very hard to do the things I think she would have wanted done. It’s a shame, isn’t it, the way the grieving have to make decisions under such duress? It’s almost cruel the way it works out. A man spends the bulk of his adult life caring for a lady, making certain she has what she desires, serving her in any way he can, and then she is stolen, the man is robbed, and at the precise moment that his spirit is shaken and his perspective stirred, he has to make…big decisions. It’s no wonder there are so many examples of these matters being mishandled. Who can blame a man for how he reacts? I certainly can’t. It’s astonishing anything gets done at all. There ought to be a ledger kept, in which a person can jot down all that he wants done, kept out of sight so as to limit its ‘realness’ while living. And when that man passes, why, we’d just open the book and follow the notes. Unfortunately, there’s no ledger. Too unsettling perhaps.”

Manders looked to the window. As if the rain might advise him how to proceed.

“You can bring her here tomorrow morning,” he said. “But the burial can be no sooner than two mornings following.”

Dwight nodded. He turned again to the bookcase.

Manders asked quietly, “Where is she now?”

“Now?” Dwight turned to face him, his features gluey in the lantern light. “Now she is north of here.”

Manders frowned. “What is north of here?”

Dwight held the director’s eyes. He flashed a sympathetic expression of his own. “You’ve put me in a spot now, Manders. You see, I’ve decided to have someone else handle the dressing.”

Manders looked surprised.

He’s not going to like that, Lafayette said.

“I thought you might not like that,” Dwight said. “But I have family in the same trade as you.”

Manders shook his head. “I’m not worried about who does it, Mister Evers, as long as the job gets done. Do they plan on doing it there? In the house?”

“Yes,” Dwight said suddenly.

Manders was quiet. The rain decreased then increased against the windows.

“What are their names?”

“Excuse me?”

“Your family. I don’t mean to pry, but as I’ve said, I like to know things will be handled well.”

Dwight stepped to the chair again and sat down. “The name is the same as mine. The Everses from Saskatine.”

Manders was quiet for some time. In his pajama shirt he looked younger than his years, and again Dwight thought of Farrah.

“As you want it, Mister Evers. Will there be a showing?”