It seemed like all of Hickory turned out for Henry’s funeral. At the time of Lucy’s death, I hadn’t truly realized the depth of respect the town had for the Kraft family. I hadn’t known who all these people were. After Lucy’s funeral, I’d viewed the guests who came to the house simply as townspeople who distrusted and disliked me. Now I saw most of them as generous people who’d helped create a hospital that was saving lives, and I could tell by the sympathy they showed me, by the way they took my hands in theirs, that they saw me as a part of that effort. I knew they’d finally come to accept me as a genuine part of Hickory.
At Ruth’s invitation, Adora, Honor, Zeke, and Hattie had walked into the church with us and sat in our pew as if they were part of the family. People knew the linked histories of the Johnson and Kraft families—how Adora had worked for the Krafts for decades and how her children had grown up with Henry and Lucy—and I was unaware of any sideways glances at seeing us all come in together. I hadn’t been at Lucy’s funeral, but I supposed the same scenario had played out there as well. I wondered if anyone other than Honor, Zeke, Adora, and myself knew that Honor’s connection to the family went far deeper than mine. All that was missing was the marriage certificate Honor could never hope to see and the rings on my finger that, in a different world, would be on hers.
This was the first time I’d seen Honor since the night I’d surprised her and Henry at the factory and I was sure she felt embarrassed and possibly ashamed for betraying me. She’d avoided my eyes before we walked into the church and now she sat at one end of the pew while I sat at the other. I wanted to clear the air between us. I wanted to tell her that Henry had helped me understand. I wanted her to know that the tears I cried while the minister spoke were more for her than for myself.
* * *
After the funeral, many of the attendees returned to the house to mingle and chat and eat the food Hattie had gotten up before dawn to prepare. I was certain I wasn’t the only person feeling a strong sense of déjà vu, having been through this same affair for Lucy so recently. Much had changed since then, and today I felt able to greet people with my head held high. I was able to accept their sympathy. Lucy’s close friends still gave me wide berth, and Violet most definitely avoided me, cutting me the occasional hateful look as though I’d been the person to strike the match. Her eyes were red rimmed and I wondered again if Henry had tried to start an affair with her. She didn’t know that she was being spared a lifetime in a sham marriage.
As it was with Lucy’s post-funeral gathering at the house, Honor passed trays of food, and I wondered how she was managing to hold her emotions together. It was so wrong, I thought, for her to be working when she was actually a grieving widow—or as close to a grieving widow as she could be. Like Violet, she avoided my eyes—avoided me altogether, actually—as she moved through the living room with her tray. It was up to me to make the first overture, and when I was finally able to catch her alone in the hall on her way back to the kitchen, I stopped her, my hand on her arm.
“I’m so sorry, Honor,” I said, my voice a whisper. “I know how much he loved you.”
She lifted her chin, a bead of tears on her lower eyelids. “Thank you,” she said. She looked as though she wanted to say more, but people were beginning to fill the hall and she simply nodded. “Thank you,” she said again, and walked back to the kitchen.
* * *
Early that evening, Hattie knocked on the open door to my bedroom, where I was organizing my uniform, shoes, and stockings for the following day. I needed to go back to the hospital. Back to work. I needed to be near Vincent.
“What is it, Hattie?” I asked.
“Mr. Dare here to see you and Miss Ruth,” she said. “They down in the living room.”
“Mr. Dare?” I asked as I hung my uniform in the closet. “What about?”
Hattie looked uncomfortable. “Mr. Hank’s money, I think,” she half whispered as though embarrassed to be talking about something so personal.
I’d given little thought to Henry’s money or who would inherit it. I assumed the bulk of it would go to Ruth, and as long as I had enough to start my life over and surreptitiously give some of it to Honor for Jilly, that would be fine. I thanked Hattie and went downstairs.
“Good, there you are.” Mr. Dare stood up from the chair near the empty fireplace as I entered the living room. He held a thin folder in his hand. “I wanted to speak to both you and your mother-in-law at the same time.”
“All right,” I said, sitting down on the sofa. Ruth was in the chair nearest the windows and she didn’t look at me as I took my seat.
“I know you both must be exhausted after the last few days,” he said, sitting down again and resting the folder on his knees. “Especially after today,” he added. “It was a lovely service though.”
“Thank you, Byron,” Ruth said. The evening light from the window illuminated every line on her pale face and I was stunned to see the change in her. She’d aged dramatically in the few days since Henry’s death. Her hands were folded together in her lap and they looked bony and white.
“I’m afraid I wasn’t able to persuade Hank to write a will,” Mr. Dare said. “I know he planned to do so back when he thought he’d marry Violet.” He shrugged, then nodded in my direction. “And it seems he never got around to it after he married you, despite my encouragement.”
I heard no animosity in his voice, although surely he still felt some toward me for stealing Henry away from his daughter.
“And you must know his estate will have to go through probate,” he said, “so what that means, Tess … and Ruth, is that it will be a couple of years before you receive your inheritance. Tess, you’ll receive a small sum to live on in the meantime.”
I nodded. I wasn’t exactly sure what “probate” meant except that it was a time-consuming process.
“So, the way the law’s written makes it a bit complicated.” Mr. Dare opened the folder and removed a single sheet of paper. “Since Hank didn’t make his wishes known, the law says that the two of you will split his savings and any stocks and bonds he might have. As close as I can figure”—he glanced at the paper—“he has about five hundred thousand between his bank accounts and investments.”
I thought my face must have gone as white as Ruth’s. Half of five hundred thousand dollars? I felt too numb to respond, and Mr. Dare continued.
“Ruth, you’ll get two thirds of the insurance money on the factory as well as two-thirds the value of that house Henry was building,” he said. “Tess, as Hank’s wife, you get a life interest in one third of that house.”
“I don’t think Henry would have wanted Tess to get anything from the factory.” Ruth suddenly spoke up, her tone businesslike but I could tell there was anger behind the words. “It’s been in our family for fifty years. There are Kraft relatives to consider.”
“I don’t need any of the insurance money,” I said quickly. I wanted to keep peace between Ruth and myself. “Ruth is right. It belongs to the Kraft family.”
“Of which, may I remind you, you are a part,” Mr. Dare said.
“I don’t need the insurance money,” I repeated. My head still spun from the idea of inheriting two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. That alone seemed like far too much to me. We hadn’t been married that long.
“Well, if Tess wants to relinquish her share of the insurance money, I’ll have to look into the best way to do that,” Mr. Dare said.
“And the house?” I queried. “I don’t understand what that means, a ‘lifetime interest’ in the house.”
“A life interest simply means that you can live in the house until your death,” he said, “but you can’t sell it or pass it down to any children you might have. Upon your death, the house will revert to Ruth’s estate … or her next of kin if she predeceases you.”
Again I fell quiet. I had no need for the house. I hoped that Vincent and I would be leaving Hickory as soon as the hospital closed its doors.
“That lovely house.” Ruth shook her head sadly. “Hank was so looking forward to living there.”
Mr. Dare looked down at the paper again. “Now I believe there’s still about three hundred thousand dollars left in Henry’s trust,” he said, “so the two of you will each get half of that as well.”
Overwhelmed, I slumped a little on the sofa. So much money! I supposed a case could be made that Henry owed me something for his deception, yet … I did the math in my head … four hundred thousand dollars? I thought of Honor. Of Jilly. I would take the money. I would set up some sort of trust for Jilly once I received the funds. I certainly couldn’t make those arrangements through Byron Dare—the man who had prosecuted Henry’s friend Gaston and his colored wife. I’d have to find a lawyer outside of Hickory. One who wouldn’t have known Henry or the Kraft family. One who wouldn’t ask questions.
Mr. Dare got to his feet. “I’ll be on my way, ladies, and let you two absorb this news,” he said. “And again, to both of you, my condolences.”
Ruth and I remained quietly seated until we heard the front door open and close. Then she looked across the room at me.
“I suppose you’re happy now,” she said.
I was startled by the question. “Happy?” My skin prickled with sudden anxiety. Could she possibly know about Vincent and me? “That Henry is dead?” I asked. “How can you ask me that?”
“My son was so foolish,” she said. “Why couldn’t he have taken a couple of hours out of his busy day to write a will? This division of his money, his property—it’s not right. Surely you can see that.”
I let out my breath in relief. She knew nothing about Vincent. “I agree,” I said, attempting to be conciliatory. “I don’t need that much. Maybe Mr. Dare can help us figure out a way to—”
“You tricked my son into marrying you,” she said.
That was too much. “I did not trick him, Ruth. I—”
“Then you move into my home like you own it.” She gripped the arms of her chair, her fingers white, and I saw sudden fire in her eyes. “You, who come from some common … Italian neighborhood in Baltimore. You don’t belong here. You insinuated yourself into my life. Then you cost me my two children.”
I gasped. “Ruth, I never meant to—”
“What you meant or didn’t mean to do doesn’t matter.” Her voice held a deceptive calm in spite of my own rising anger, and I felt a shiver run up my back. “You cost me my daughter and son,” she said. “You might as well have shot Lucy through the heart. And Hank?” Her chin quivered and I tensed. I didn’t think I could bear it if she cried. “Well, all I can say is, he was alive before you came to Hickory and now he’s dead, just like my beautiful daughter. Our lives—mine, Lucy’s, and Hank’s—they were perfect before you came along. And now look at them. My children are gone and you’re still here. Is that fair?”
I was stunned. I opened my mouth to speak without knowing what I would say, but she plowed ahead before I could get a word out.
“Now you want to move into the beautiful house Hank designed and live a life of leisure with his money.” She raised one bony hand and pointed her finger at me. “I want you to leave,” she said. “I want you to get out of my house. Today. I don’t want to have to look at you another instant.”
“This is your grief talking, Ruth.” I tried to speak calmly. “Things have been so much better between you and me. Please don’t … I know you’re upset. I know you’re grieving and I am too. But it’s not fair for you to—”
“Hank was so foolish not to protect his assets from your greedy hands.”
My cheeks burned and I stood up. I’d had enough. “I never wanted to hurt Henry or you or Lucy and I certainly never asked him to leave me so much money,” I said. “But the truth is, Ruth”—I looked her directly in the eye—“I didn’t get myself pregnant.”
I turned on my heel and left her in the living room as I stormed up the stairs. She’s a sad, grieving old woman, I reminded myself once I reached the bedroom and shut the door behind me. I leaned against it. She was right: I needed to get out of this house as soon as possible. I didn’t think she and I could live under the same roof another day.
I sat on the edge of the bed thinking of all I needed to do before I could extricate myself from Ruth and her house. I had to speak to Byron Dare about how to get that “small sum” he said I could have to tide me over. Suddenly, I thought of the armoire. I had access to more than two thousand dollars in cash, right at my fingertips.
I stood up and crossed the room to the armoire, catching my reflection in the mirrored door as I turned the key in the lock. I was as pale as Ruth. It had been a hard few days. I pulled open the door and saw that the armoire’s false bottom was askew. The fabric-covered board sat at an angle, one side higher than the other. I gripped the leather strap. Lifting the board, I let out a gasp. The money was gone and in its place was a single manila envelope, this one quite bulky. Written on the white mailing label were three initials, and it took me a moment to realize they were mine. T.D.K.
I sat on the edge of the bed, the envelope in my lap as I undid the clasp. I spilled the contents onto the bed and nearly screamed. Ten fifty-dollar bills. A red C gasoline ration sticker. A booklet of C coupons.
And bones.
Three chalk-white skeletal fingers.
I stared at the contents of the envelope for a long time, and then I couldn’t help myself: I laughed.
Henry was alive.