Sharyn McCrumb - Sick Of Shadows

Elizabeth hurried up the narrow stairs which led to the eaves. The door was unlocked. Afternoon light filtering in through the circular windows enabled her to see the dressing-up trunks and cast-off toys which furnished the attic. When her eyes grew more accustomed to the dimness, she saw Geoffrey, hunched up against the far wall with his arm clasping his knees. He did not look up.

Elizabeth hesitated for a moment. Comforting did not come easily to her, particularly when it was a grief whose magnitude she could not share. At such times there was an awkwardness to her conversation, and she could make no move without consciously planning it. I may be worse than nothing, she thought. Somehow, though, it was better here than in the dining room. Geoffrey’s grief made her uneasy, but the attitude of the others had disgusted her. If there had been anyone else to comfort Geoffrey, she would have left them to it, but there was not.

Brushing aside an old bride doll, she sat down on the floor beside him. “I thought you might come to Valhalla,” she murmured.

“I was Frey and you were Brunhilda, the Valkyrie. Did we get that from Alban, do you suppose? We should have played Greek gods, Elizabeth. There was no death on Olympus.”

“I’m sorry about what they said downstairs. I left, too.”

“Well, you won’t find me very good company this evening. My supply of wit to fling in the face of adversity is depleted. I should be back in form soon, never fear, but… not… just… now.” His voice had a brittle lightness, and Elizabeth was terrified that he would cry.

“What are you thinking about?” she asked finally.

Geoffrey sighed. “Nothing. Everything at once. I find it helps to think of a lot of different things at the same time, so as not to dwell on any one long enough to feel it.” He fingered the yellow bride doll lying facedown on the floor. “That was Princess Grace. Eileen used to play royal wedding by the hour. Once she caught Hans, the old tomcat, and dressed him up in doll clothes to be the prince. He escaped, of course. We chased him all around the house, but we never caught him. I wonder if Eileen was afraid that her prince would escape.”

“I think so,” said Elizabeth, wondering if she should say more.

“I think so, too. And I think she blamed us for it.”

“You? Why?”

“Oh, because… It wasn’t until he came here that he began to have doubts about it, I guess, and-”

“You weren’t very kind to him, you know.”

“I’m not very kind to anybody. But he alternately cringed and fawned. Eileen wanted St. Michael the Archangel to slay her dragon, and he was afraid of his own shadow. St. Michael, indeed!”

“Do you think he killed her? Oh, I guess you don’t want to talk about it.”

“No to both. It isn’t murder I’m trying to come to terms with yet. It’s death. And the fact that nobody seems to mind.”

“Your mother…”

“Mother! Yes! She’s giving a convincing portrayal of a bereaved mother, isn’t she? Actually, I think Mother is relieved. After all these years, she finally has a good reason for being unhappy. A legitimate sorrow to drown. And everyone else is being correctly solemn.”

“Perhaps they don’t show their feelings. You don’t show yours.”

He laughed bitterly. “Don’t I?”

“You were very close to Eileen, weren’t you?” Elizabeth struggled to understand this new side of Geoffrey. How would she feel if Bill had died? Angry… She couldn’t get past that to see what would come after it.

Geoffrey was looking beyond her at the scattered toys. “Yes. I was close to her. Eileen was kind. She was the one really kind person I have ever known. It wasn’t just an act to make people like her. I suppose it surprises you that I would value that, since people who like me are attracted by my viciousness. I get by on being clever. But I was always a little awed by my sister’s kindness. She always seemed to know what to say to people. I haven’t the foggiest myself. If they don’t care for repartee, I manage to be civil until they go away. Eileen knew more about the damned maid than I know about Charles!”

Elizabeth realized that she was trying to sort out the difference between gentleness and unintellectual naïveté, but she pushed the ungracious thought away. Kindness, she thought. Well, whatever it is, I haven’t got it either.

“I keep thinking about her dying. It should have been me. You realize that, don’t you? One day I should have uttered one quip too many and been bashed over the head by an inarticulate bridge club member! Damn it! She’s dead, and all I can do is analyze it!”

“You have to feel it in your own way,” said Elizabeth gently.

“I wish I could be sure that I was feeling it! Part of me is standing off a little way watching me grieve and checking my utterances for clichés! Eileen wasn’t like that. If I were dead, she would cry for me!”

“It won’t help to feel guilty about it.”

“Not now, it won’t. It’s ironic that Alban should trot out that Macbeth line: ‘She should have died hereafter.’ I can’t even say that. I don’t think she was ever going to be happy. I just wish she’d had a better time while she was alive. I could have been more understanding. I could have stopped bringing out the worst in that sniveling beast she brought home.”

“Why do you hate him so much?”

Geoffrey looked at her. “If I tell you, you won’t understand. Even she didn’t understand.”

“Tell me anyway,” prompted Elizabeth.

“Because he was wasteful! Oh, that’s the wrong word, but it’s as close as I can come. Just-there are so few good, real people in the world, that they should be cherished for the miracle they are. And he couldn’t see how special she was. He thought she was a shy crazed girl that he was doing a favor by marrying! A favor! She built him a soul. Eileen saw a wonderful prince charming in a piece of shit!”

Elizabeth thought about this for a moment. She agreed that Eileen’s vision of Michael did not appear to tally with reality, but she wondered why that misconception bothered Geoffrey so much.

“Maybe he only saw a reflection of himself,” Eileen said slowly. “Or what he wanted to see. He wanted to think he was doing her a favor…”

Geoffrey nodded. “And I wanted to see someone who would love me even when I wasn’t being clever. Tell me, Elizabeth-how did you see Eileen?”

Elizabeth shook her head. “I don’t think I saw her at all.”

Tommy Simmons, somberly attired in his charcoal gray wool, felt that he presented the proper attitude of dignified efficiency. Black would have been overstating the case. He modulated his voice to hushed reverence and endeavored to convey an air of “money is not important at a time like this, but the formalities must be observed.” A professor of his had once said that all attorneys were actors manqué. Fortunately this was not difficult, since his audience was intent upon maintaining the same façade. He ruffled his papers, glancing up at the Chandlers who were sitting pale and erect, waiting for him to begin. He had been forced to delay the meeting for a few minutes until Geoffrey and the scatty cousin had arrived. His audience was now complete and properly attentive, and he decided that it would be appropriate to begin. He hoped things went smoothly; Tommy’s fondness for acting did not extend to melodrama.

“As you know, I am here to discuss the estate-if we can call it that-of Miss Eileen Chandler.” He paused, clearing his throat before taking the first hurdle. “I-er-hope that no one will object to the presence of Sheriff Rountree and Deputy Taylor in the family conference. As an attorney, I might venture to say-”