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.