I’d seen the children playing, then Mr. Barrett and Mr. Bloom must have kept them well hidden. All I saw on the lawn were trim hedges a vibrant shade of green andmagenta bougainvillea that climbed the wall, twisting toward the second-story windows.
We entered a white foyer, and I stiffened at a disturbing sight: a glowing purplish-blue haze that drifted across the floorboards and rose to the ceiling like a restless band of traveling phantoms. The smell of freshly lit matches permeated my mask.
I inched backward. “What is this?”
“They’ve sprinkled sulfur over hot coals to fight the flu.” Aunt Eva nodded toward a metal bucket half hidden by the ghostly plumes. “They tried that same technique at church before the quarantine closed it down. The smoke burns blue.”
“That’s because it’s sulfur dioxide.” But knowing the scientific reason for the eerie blue smoke didn’t make me feel any better. “I don’t like it in here.”
“It’s to keep us safe.” She hooked her arm around mine. “Come on. I’ll be by your side.”
We followed the sound of voices and organ music through a doorway and found ourselves in a room about thirty feet long, wallpapered in a pale yellow. More buckets of smoking coal bathed the masked mourners in that noxious blue haze and made my eyes smart. If we hadn’t been wearing the gauze, none of us would have been able to breathe.
At the far end of the room, a bronze electric chandelier illuminated a closed, flag-draped casket shrouded in smoke, on display in front of amber curtains. My knees went weak, but I forced myself to stay upright, even though the luminousblue clouds billowing around the coffin made it look like the undertakers had placed Stephen in the middle of a giant laboratory experiment. A photograph of Stephen in his army uniform—the same portrait he had mailed to me—sat propped on a white pillar.
Aunt Eva squeezed my arm to give me strength and led me farther inside the sulfuric room.
Two dozen or so masked mourners milled about in the smoke or sat in the spindle-back chairs facing the coffin. A handful of girls my age, perhaps slightly older, dabbed their eyes with handkerchiefs, and I wondered, with a sting of jealousy, if any of them had ever been Stephen’s sweetheart. We had never discussed an interest in other people in our letters.
I tore my eyes away from the girls and met Mr. Darning’s gaze across the room. He was busy conversing with a few professional-looking men, so he merely gave me a polite nod of recognition. I was tempted to walk over to him just so I could hear that comforting voice of his.
Stephen’s cousin Gracie wandered by Aunt Eva and me, looking lost. Her stringy wig slid down the left side of her head, revealing a bald patch above her ear. Her flu mask—poorly tied—hung off her chin like a deflated balloon.
Aunt Eva touched the girl’s broad shoulder. “Gracie, how are you?”
Gracie turned our way with pale brown eyes that didn’t seem to focus on us. “I don’t know. Stephen’s mother couldn’t come. Nothing’s going well at all.”
“I’m so sorry.” Aunt Eva embraced the girl in a firm hug. “You’ve been through so much lately, what with Stephen … your mother … your own fight with the flu.” She helped Gracie pull her wig back into place to hide the ravages of the illness.
I tried not to stare. “Where’s Stephen’s mother?”
“She’s away for a while.” Gracie lowered her head. “She hasn’t been the same since Stephen …” She swallowed, and a peculiar emotion rose off her like a vapor—I could taste it over the sulfur, the same way I had tasted Aunt Eva’s metallic rage in the hospital. A sour, rotten flavor, like curdled milk.
Julius, wearing a mask for the first time that I’d seen, came our way. At his side strolled the bespectacled young man with the solid build who had driven him home the morning I learned of Stephen’s death.
“Go sit down, Gracie—you don’t look
We entered a white foyer, and I stiffened at a disturbing sight: a glowing purplish-blue haze that drifted across the floorboards and rose to the ceiling like a restless band of traveling phantoms. The smell of freshly lit matches permeated my mask.
I inched backward. “What is this?”
“They’ve sprinkled sulfur over hot coals to fight the flu.” Aunt Eva nodded toward a metal bucket half hidden by the ghostly plumes. “They tried that same technique at church before the quarantine closed it down. The smoke burns blue.”
“That’s because it’s sulfur dioxide.” But knowing the scientific reason for the eerie blue smoke didn’t make me feel any better. “I don’t like it in here.”
“It’s to keep us safe.” She hooked her arm around mine. “Come on. I’ll be by your side.”
We followed the sound of voices and organ music through a doorway and found ourselves in a room about thirty feet long, wallpapered in a pale yellow. More buckets of smoking coal bathed the masked mourners in that noxious blue haze and made my eyes smart. If we hadn’t been wearing the gauze, none of us would have been able to breathe.
At the far end of the room, a bronze electric chandelier illuminated a closed, flag-draped casket shrouded in smoke, on display in front of amber curtains. My knees went weak, but I forced myself to stay upright, even though the luminousblue clouds billowing around the coffin made it look like the undertakers had placed Stephen in the middle of a giant laboratory experiment. A photograph of Stephen in his army uniform—the same portrait he had mailed to me—sat propped on a white pillar.
Aunt Eva squeezed my arm to give me strength and led me farther inside the sulfuric room.
Two dozen or so masked mourners milled about in the smoke or sat in the spindle-back chairs facing the coffin. A handful of girls my age, perhaps slightly older, dabbed their eyes with handkerchiefs, and I wondered, with a sting of jealousy, if any of them had ever been Stephen’s sweetheart. We had never discussed an interest in other people in our letters.
I tore my eyes away from the girls and met Mr. Darning’s gaze across the room. He was busy conversing with a few professional-looking men, so he merely gave me a polite nod of recognition. I was tempted to walk over to him just so I could hear that comforting voice of his.
Stephen’s cousin Gracie wandered by Aunt Eva and me, looking lost. Her stringy wig slid down the left side of her head, revealing a bald patch above her ear. Her flu mask—poorly tied—hung off her chin like a deflated balloon.
Aunt Eva touched the girl’s broad shoulder. “Gracie, how are you?”
Gracie turned our way with pale brown eyes that didn’t seem to focus on us. “I don’t know. Stephen’s mother couldn’t come. Nothing’s going well at all.”
“I’m so sorry.” Aunt Eva embraced the girl in a firm hug. “You’ve been through so much lately, what with Stephen … your mother … your own fight with the flu.” She helped Gracie pull her wig back into place to hide the ravages of the illness.
I tried not to stare. “Where’s Stephen’s mother?”
“She’s away for a while.” Gracie lowered her head. “She hasn’t been the same since Stephen …” She swallowed, and a peculiar emotion rose off her like a vapor—I could taste it over the sulfur, the same way I had tasted Aunt Eva’s metallic rage in the hospital. A sour, rotten flavor, like curdled milk.
Julius, wearing a mask for the first time that I’d seen, came our way. At his side strolled the bespectacled young man with the solid build who had driven him home the morning I learned of Stephen’s death.
“Go sit down, Gracie—you don’t look
Similar Books
