The Cavanaugh Quest by Thomas Gifford Page B

his carriage, the leanness, the gray hair cropped down close to his small, squared skull. He was wearing a navy blazer, dark-gray slacks, a white shirt, and a rep tie. His face and hands were deeply tanned and my father was with him looking rumpled in a blue cord suit.
    I didn’t move from my observation point as the casket was carried to the grave and placed across the heavy tapes which would lower it into the earth. Though I couldn’t hear what was being said, I could see that the minister, a young fellow with a bookish, white face, had begun to speak when another car wheeled up the path: a bronze Mark IV gleaming in the sun like a lump of gold. Another older man got out quickly from behind the wheel and opened the passenger door.
    She looked exactly as I expected.
    Ole Kronstrom walked beside her to the group of mourners as heads turned, sensing the new arrival. Since the ceremony of burial had begun without them, I assumed Kim Roderick and Ole Kronstrom had not attended the church services. They stood somewhat apart from the others and while he looked steadfastly at the minister and then bowed his head for the prayer; she peered into the grave, slowly moved her head to watch the others. She wasn’t paying any attention to the minister; she was too curious. Her appearance was as advertised: sleeveless dark-blue dress, blue shoes, very darkly tanned arms and legs, dark hair curling under at her shoulders and held in place by a wide headband. It startled me when her gaze carefully moved upward and found me, as if she expected me to be there. I felt myself shrinking inwardly, knowing that I was reacting illogically, but unable to stop. Her gaze held me for a long time, as if to say, I’ll remember you and you’ll be sorry, and finally, as the minister concluded his remarks and the casket was lowered, she broke away and went to shake his hand.
    Watching from the hillside gave me a sort of second-balcony perspective. I could see the choreography as one by one the men came toward her, each one taking her hand in his, a few words being spoke, then passing her on to the next member of the dance. She did almost nothing, acknowledging them with a nod, waiting for them to finish. The Dierkers stood near the grave, which was flanked by several arrays of yellow flowers. Harriet finally jerked her arm away from her husband’s and strode off to their car, leaving him alone and old and weak. He took a tentative step forward, arms stiff and a few inches from his sides, seeking the proper balance. Then he gathered steam and walked slowly toward her. He was the last one and she was alone, waiting for him; at my distance it was impossible to know whether she was being patient or imperious, making him come the whole way by himself.
    He was still huge in comparison to her and he leaned, forward slightly to address her, using his grip on her hands for support. She listened at length, nodded, then spoke briefly; looked over toward where Harriet sat in the car. Then he made his way tortoise-like across the rich greenery and she was alone. Ole Kronstrom walked back to the car with Dierker, the two old partners approaching the end so differently.
    I watched Kim go to the grave again, saw her sigh, with her shoulders giving a little heave as she said good-bye to the loser who had been her husband. She was quick and determined going back to the car. Ole broke away and went with her and the cars slowly peeled away. There were big white clouds jamming up over the city by then and just a touch of moisture was in the air.
    General Goode and my father were the last to leave and I went down the hill to join them. Goode smiled ambiguously and said it was nice to see me again. I wondered if he even remembered what he’d gotten me into in Finland.
    “Well, you got to see her,” Archie said, squinting at me with a malicious little grin. “I wasn’t sure she was going to show up at all.”
    “Was she the only family he had?”
    “So far as I know,”