The Aviary (5 page)

Clara stood up and pressed the back of her hand to Mrs. Glendoveer’s forehead. “You’re scorching,” she said.

Mrs. Glendoveer smiled again, as if Clara had delivered a wonderful piece of news. “We won’t be long, child. Not long.”

“I’m getting Mama,” Clara said. As she ran down the hall, past its newly darkened window, she had the peculiar feeling that she had run down the stairs before in just this manner. And she knew that no matter how fast she moved, she could not reach her mother quickly enough, and the doctor would be too slow, and tomorrow would be terrible in a way that would make her long for the security of all her old dissatisfactions.

Sequestered by her mother in Ruby’s room, Clara was kept up half the night by the sound of weeping. And though Clara knew her mother meant for Ruby to watch over her, it was actually Clara who rubbed Ruby’s back and whispered words of comfort.

“I told them to take her in the cabbage rose quilt,” Ruby said. “It was her mother’s, you know. Poor old girl.”

Clara knew all about it. The men from the mortuary had brought Mrs. Glendoveer out through the back way, hoping to leave as discreetly as possible. That’s when the screams started.

“Keee keeee! Awwwk AWWWKK!”

The birds set up a frightening clamor, beating against the bars of their cage until they rang. Most unsettling were the voices. Clara made out a child’s wail among the racket.
At times she heard what she swore was a jagged sob. “MAAAAAH! MAAAAH!” cried the cockatoo, until Clara was sure he was calling out for Mrs. Glendoveer.

They went on this way for over an hour. And when at last they quieted, they stood on their perches, wings hanging limp, heads bowed.

Clara did not cry. In the space where her heart used to lie was a frozen lump. She was vaguely ashamed, wondering what Ruby must think of her blankness.

“What happens now?” Clara asked.

Ruby blew her nose into her hankie. “I couldn’t tell you,” she said. “Usually, the bereaved are busy planning the wake. And friends of the deceased come with hot dishes, and we all try to make each other feel better.”

“But Mrs. Glendoveer had no friends,” Clara said.

“I wouldn’t say that,” Ruby said, taken aback.

“Besides us, I mean.”

“I suppose,” Ruby replied. “But we did love her, didn’t we? She wasn’t alone, at least.”

“Of course.” She didn’t want to tell Ruby that the last thing she told Mrs. Glendoveer was that she considered her the dearest friend, because she just might start to cry. And she wasn’t ready for that.

The next morning Clara’s mother was up early as usual. Clara found her stirring a big iron pot on the stove with the end of a broomstick. Once in a while, she’d lift the stick and extract something like a rag dripping with tar.

“What an awful smell,” Clara said.

“It won’t be so bad after we’ve boiled and rinsed it.”

“Are we to eat it?” Clara asked, disgusted.

“No, dear. You are to wear it. I’m blacking your pinafore.” She removed the pot from the hot part of the stove, turned, and folded her hands. “I’ve decided you should come to see Mrs. Glendoveer buried.”

Clara faltered. “I don’t … that is, I’m not sure I want to, Mama.”

“I can’t let the reverend pray over her by himself. We must see it’s done properly and with love. We’ll go tomorrow afternoon and come back quickly. I’ve rented a carriage.”

At this, Clara was overwhelmed. The thought of taking a carriage ride all the way across Lockhaven was something she had only dreamed of. And now it was coming true, but under the most unfortunate circumstances.

Harriet called Ruby in. “We won’t be printing mourning cards or opening the house. But do you think we should put a notice in the paper?”

“I think that would be nice,” Ruby said.

“All right, then,” Harriet said. “If you write it and take it down to the
Tribune
this morning, perhaps we’ll see it published tomorrow.”

“Oh, not me,” said Ruby, turning pink. “I don’t write things.”

“I do,” volunteered Clara. “If you let me, I’ll write the notice and Ruby can deliver it.”

“Fine,” said her mother. “But, Clara, make it brief and
with few details. And please do not mention our presence in the home. Officially, Mrs. Glendoveer has no survivors. We mustn’t presume.”

Clara went to her room and took out her pen and paper.

Clara put down her pen. She hadn’t felt capable of sympathy for the creatures before; but as she thought of the ragged old birds, sitting silent, wings hanging as if they were broken, a tear rolled down one cheek.

By the time she had folded the notice into its envelope, she could not stop her tears. Ruby took the note from her and rested her hand on Clara’s shoulder.

“I am glad it is you who remembered her for everyone,” said Ruby. “She would have liked that.”

Clara knew that to be true, which made her suffering keener still.

• • •

When it was time to leave for the graveyard, the air was filled with a fine drizzle. Clara wore a thick black crêpe veil over her hat, which made the world appear even drearier. The man who drove the carriage lifted her up onto the tufted leather seat and then assisted her mother and Ruby aboard.

“Will they be selling the old place now?” he asked, jerking a thumb at the house.

“Why?” Harriet replied sharply. “Are you interested in buying?”

“Me?” he laughed. “No. Though I have wondered why the house wasn’t pulled down before, what with the history that comes with it. Then the company sends me out here today. Could have knocked me over. I thought the last Glendoveer had expired long ago.”

“Obviously not,” she answered. “May we go, please?”

But the man leaned against the carriage and stroked his cheek. “I bet you could get something for the land if you hold out. People are building now. Brass works is expanding. Who knows?”

“I’d say you could use less brass and more manners,” snapped Ruby.

The man pulled in his chin and gaped.

“Please commence to the cemetery, and in silence,” said Harriet.

Clara looked at each of the women, but they stared straight ahead. “What was he talking about?”

“A load of nonsense,” replied her mother.

Clara stared out the window as the coach rolled downhill. She saw that the houses and yards grew smaller as they approached the flats of Lockhaven. It was impossible to memorize every single one, yet she tried. One house had wash hung out in the yard, another had a tiny silver-haired woman peeling potatoes on her stoop. A little boy and girl laughed and chased a spotted dog dressed in an old lady’s bonnet. The cemetery was a sharp contrast to its surroundings. The grounds were encircled in a grand wrought-iron fence and had an open double-door gate with gilt letters set into an arch above it:

On each side of the sign were angels sobbing into the crook of an arm, drizzle dripping from their elbows. Inside, an intensely green lawn stretched for acres. Clara passed statues of men on horseback brandishing swords, obelisks, baby lambs of stone dozing on the graves of infants. But around the bend was the most awesome sight of all: a hulking black marble fortress supported by fat Ionic columns, slick and shiny from the rain.

At the tip of the roof was a sculpture. Clara thought it resembled a peacock. Its head was raised toward the heavens, and its wings were spread wide. Below, in the doorway, a stout minister in a white collar spotted the carriage and bowed.

“What kind of church is this?” Clara asked after the coach had rolled to a stop.

“It’s a crypt,” said her mother.

Clara got goose bumps. She had read about crypts. They were burial houses in ancient Egypt. “Are there mummies inside?”

“No. It’s a place that George Glendoveer built for his family.”

The carriage man held his tongue when he helped the ladies down to the walk, but Clara could tell he was taking in all the details of the crypt’s strange edifice, perhaps to gossip about to his next set of passengers.

The minister rubbed his palms together to warm them before shaking hands. “It’s chilly inside,” he said. “I don’t think the place has been opened for thirty years.”

“It’s an interesting building, to say the least, Reverend Tandy,” Clara’s mother said.

“Yes,” he answered. “That bird on the roof is a phoenix, I believe.” He looked up and shook his head. “I’m told it has some significance to the family, but I’m afraid I don’t know much more.”

As they entered the crypt, dimly lit by a gas lantern, Clara was surprised to note a luscious perfume thickening the air. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she could make out a black and silver casket heaped with white lilies. Candles in glass cups flickered around it.

“Reverend,” Clara’s mother said, “who sent the lilies?”

“I have no idea,” he said. “We could ask the director after the services, if you’d like. Should we begin now?”

Clara reached for Ruby’s hand and they followed the reverend closer to where Mrs. Glendoveer lay. Behind the casket a square door opened into the darkness. A plaque bearing the names
GEORGE AND CENELIA GLENDOVEER
was mounted above the opening. The reverend lifted his Bible and began to read in a round-voweled voice more dignified than his own:

Behold, I shew you a mystery; we shall not all sleep, but we shall all be changed, in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye.…

The words echoed in the marble chamber and seemed to Clara to gather power. She pictured Mrs. Glendoveer inside the heavy casket turning golden with light, readying herself for heaven. Tearing her eyes away from the casket, Clara noticed that there were many doors built into the wall. Each door had a plaque mounted above it.

ELLIOT
, read the first.
Baby Elliot
, thought Clara. And then she read the next one:
HELEN
.
Would that be Mr. Glendoveer’s mother?
she wondered. And there were more:
ARTHUR, PETER, FRANCES, GEORGE WILLIAM
.

None of those names were familiar to Clara. She supposed that Mr. Glendoveer must have come from a large family.

Just then, Clara heard footsteps from behind. She turned her head but was quickly prodded by her mother to face forward. Two men had joined them in the crypt. One wore a pince-nez and a long black coat, and carried his hat in his hand. The other was short and ruddy, and wore a baggy striped suit.

“My friends,” said Reverend Tandy, “it has pleased Almighty God to take from this world the soul of Cenelia Glendoveer here departed. We now commit her body with the sure and certain faith in the resurrection to eternal life.”

The reverend summoned one of the men. “Oscar?” he said.

The man in the baggy suit stepped forward and put his shoulder to the butt of the casket. Clara said a silent goodbye, expecting the box to glide gracefully behind the door. Not so. Oscar pushed until he was red in the face, but succeeded in moving the box only a few inches. The stone slab the casket rested on scraped and squeaked dreadfully, and so little progress was made that the reverend joined him and pushed too.

The scene repelled Clara. It was almost as if Mrs. Glendoveer did not want to go! By the time the box was finally shoved inside the crypt and the door closed, Clara was shaking with emotion.

Her mother knelt down and examined her. “You look pale,” she said.

“I’m all right,” said Clara, but her knees were wobbling. Before she knew it, she was lying among the muddy boot prints on the floor.

“Allow me,” said the man with the pince-nez. He helped Clara to her feet and she retreated into her mother’s arms. “These ceremonies are difficult for children. It’s not uncommon for them to swoon. Should we get some air?”

“Thank you,” said Harriet, pulling Clara close. “You must be the director. Would you know who sent the lilies?”

“Oh, I’m not the director,” said the man. “But I can tell you who sent the lilies. It was George Glendoveer.”

Now Clara’s head was swimming. She had no idea how many Glendoveers there were, either alive or dead.

The man extended his hand. “I’m Clayton Merritt-Blenney, of the firm Fitzmorris Blenney. I’m the attorney for the Glendoveer estate.”

Mrs. Glendoveer received so little mail that Clara remembered seeing letters from Fitzmorris Blenney Partners and wondering who they might be. She heard a little gasp and saw that her mother might be the one now in danger of fainting.

“Ruby,” Harriet said, “please take Clara to the carriage.”

Ruby’s strong hand was at Clara’s back, and Clara felt herself pushed down the walkway at a quick clip.