A Beautiful Poison

“I heard it was an accident. Is that true?”

“Yes, I believe so. I think Allene and Jasper were going to see if they could find out why it happened.”

“Don’t the police do that?” He looked worried. The boy cared too much.

“They do, but I think it’s become a sort of game to them. Find out why Florence died; find out why Mother died. It keeps them entertained.” She gave an insouciant shrug. The truth was the truth. Whether they cared as much about her, she would never be sure.

“They’re looking into Florence’s death? I thought it was an accident.”

“Well—” Oh dear. Had she said too much? She waved her hand. “It’s come to nothing, really. Anyway, it was kind of you to come by. You didn’t need to.”

“I don’t mind.” For a while he stared out again at the garden. When Birdie began to wonder how long he planned to sit in silence, he turned to say, “You’re not wearing black.”

Birdie blushed, then wondered: Did he seem . . . disappointed that there wasn’t more fanfare surrounding her mother’s death? “I don’t own any black dresses. My mother had one, but I left it in the apartment.” She hesitated. The idea of wearing her mother’s black dress to mourn her mother was altogether wrong.

“I see. Well, that’s sort of why I’m here.”

Birdie cocked her head. “Pardon me?”

“I know you and your sister are staying here with the Cutters. And now you say Jasper’s helping to figure out what happened. Well, I want to help too.”

“That’s kind of you, Ernie, but it’s really not—”

“I’ve talked to my father, and he’s granted me permission to help pay for the funeral costs and burial. I spoke to Jasper on the telephone, and he said your mother would be released from the morgue in a day or two. So the services are planned for Wednesday afternoon.”

Birdie was speechless. Ernie took the silence as an opportunity to continue.

“I picked out a nice spot in the Evergreens Cemetery. I figure if it’s good enough for Florence Waxworth, it’s good enough for your family.”

“Oh, Ernie—”

“It’ll be a graveside service,” he interrupted her, as if afraid he wouldn’t get all his words out in time. “I . . . I wasn’t sure what church you attended, but I figured you would rather have a small affair at the Evergreens. Oh, and there’s this.” He pushed a small envelope into her hands. Dumbstruck, she opened it and found several twenty-dollar bills.

“Oh my goodness. What on earth is this for?”

“For a black dress. Don’t worry, it’s not much. Father and I made a killing on selling some copper-mining stock I was watching.” Birdie tried not to frown. Ernie always talked of money and investing at the most unfortunate times. “Anyways, Franklin Simon’s store is right down the street on Fifth, and you could pick up outfits there for you and Holly. Maybe even order some mourning rings. It’s only proper.”

She was used to being the person watching every single penny, buying the three-day-old bread at a discount, working a surfeit of factory hours on weekends to afford the dual apartment. Even with Andrew’s help, the survival of her family had stayed on her mind constantly. Her dreams were filled with worn-out shoes and screaming landlords and overpriced tinned beef. And now she was back in the Cutter house, in a room that smelled not of overflowing hallway toilets and dirty bedsheets, but of clean linen and violet water, and all her worries about the funeral had vanished. She bowed her head and began to cry.

“Oh! I’m—golly, no, don’t cry!” Ernie patted her back inexpertly, a little too hard. It actually hurt Birdie’s tender spine to the point where she had to hold a hand up to stop his jarring comfort.

It took a while for her to control herself. She took Erie’s offer of his handkerchief and blotted her eyes. “Thank you. Oh, Ernie. God bless you!”

Ernie smiled back and stood up. “It’s the least I could do after—” He stopped talking abruptly, then seemed to compose himself after clearing his throat. She remembered how he’d wept, secret and surreptitious, at Florence’s grave. Maybe he felt guilt at having everything, after she had lost so much. Or maybe he was just nice. That made Birdie the most suspicious of all. In her world, all gifts became payments for something, sooner or later.

“It’s the least I could do,” he repeated with finality.




She purchased the garments that day. Two sober black dresses with simple lace trim were had for only ten and twelve dollars for Holly and her. Hats and gloves were added. It didn’t seem right to wear her old clothes for her mother’s funeral or at the Cutter house. So Birdie made use of the money and purchased two other dresses for them—day dresses in printed lawn and plain sateen ones for evenings and Sundays. It was still a woefully inadequate wardrobe, but it was a start. For practicality’s sake, she purchased new shoes, stockings, corsets, and other undergarments as well.

Under Allene’s watchful eye, she didn’t dare consider meeting Andrew at the hotel, where an armoire full of lacy underwear awaited her. How funny that yet another gentleman had just bought her underwear. Birdie tried not to think about it. Sometime next week, she should go back to the apartment to fetch the rest of their things. She didn’t want to think about that either.

No doubt Allene would be merry teasing her about Ernie’s generosity. She didn’t bother to order mourning rings. She never liked the idea of wearing a death memorial as jewelry.

On Wednesday, Birdie felt numb dressing in her new, soot-colored finery as they prepared for the funeral. Holly found everything stiff and strange and formal, for she had never been to a funeral before. Countless times, Holly took off her gloves and slid them back on again. Every few minutes, she squeezed Birdie’s hand and looked up at her with a questioning expression, as if to say, Am I properly sad? And Birdie would squeeze her hand back and nod.

The Evergreens Cemetery was lush with verdant leaves and deep-green grass trimmed carefully by the caretakers. Fall had yet to turn any trees gold and scarlet. But to Birdie, after being in the city all her life, the green was almost suffocating. Nature was fierce in her efforts to cover the dead with life, rooting them down without mercy and preventing them from haunting the living.

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