A Simple Country Funeral Page 2

  He gave me a sheepish look. “I couldn’t possibly ask for money from you,” he said. “As I’ve told you, time and again, I do it because I’m happy to do so. I enjoy it. The reward is the work itself, you see?”

  I laughed, shaking my head. “You are quite the character, Mr. Mason.”

  “Sidney,” he corrected with a smile. “You know, your hair seems a bit lighter than usual,” he added. “Though, of course, you have been spending a great deal of time in your garden. That would certainly explain those strands of honey gold in your lovely, dark hair.”

  My heart fluttered, and I reached up to touch the ends of my hair, which I had just had cut a few days prior. “You think so?” I asked, examining it. For the first time, I did notice the warmer tones mixed throughout the chocolatey browns. “Perhaps I have been.”

  “How are those vegetables growing, eh?” he asked. “You’ve planted a good variety back there.”

  “Yes,” I said. “They seem to be doing well. In fact, the tomatoes should be ripe in just a few days. Maybe I will make some soup, or even stewed tomatoes for breakfast.”

  “Careful not to say that too loudly,” Sidney said with a smirk. “Otherwise I shall be at your door, knocking hopefully, tempted by the delicious smells.”

  We laughed as we rounded the corner of High Street, our houses that stood side by side coming into view further down the street.

  Sidney had been a wonderful neighbor. Not only was he available nearly any time I needed his help with something, but he had gone far above and beyond any sort of friendly action by creating useful items for me, such as the planter boxes I was now using in my garden, as well as a new shelving unit for all the books I had no place for in my flat.

  “How is that truck of yours?” I asked.

  “Oh, you mean my newest pet project?” he asked, shifting the paper bag he carried in his arm to the other. “It’s going well, actually. I know it must have been difficult for Mrs. Georgianna to part with her husband’s truck, but she had no interest in trying to get it running again. Apparently, it had sat in their garage for almost six years. I guess he just kept putting it off, saying over and over that he would start fixing it up the next weekend.”

  “Did he pass away before he ever got around to it?” I asked.

  He nodded. “Yes. That’s precisely what happened. To be honest, I think she was pleased to be rid of the thing. Too many painful memories.”

  “I can understand that…” I said. “After my husband passed away, I couldn’t stand the sight of his clothing hanging in my closet. There was something deeply unsettling about the fact that he had, at one point, worn them, but never would again…” I shook my head. “I don’t know. Perhaps that doesn’t make much sense.”

  “No, it does,” Sidney said. “I can imagine it must have hurt to think of everything that might have been, but never could be now.”

  “Yes…” I said. “Just that.”

  We walked in silence for a moment, our footsteps and the chirping of the summer birds filling the void.

  “I suppose you must miss him,” he said, in a low voice.

  “I do,” I said. “All the time.”

  “I’m sorry,” Sidney said.

  “It’s all right,” I said. “It gets a little easier every day.”

  “I’m glad to hear it,” he said.

  I smiled at him, but noticed his expression change to surprise as he stared at something over my shoulder.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  Apparent concern caused his brow to furrow. In one swift movement, Sidney gently laid a hand on my arm, and stepped around me.

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  It only took me one glance to understand what he was looking at.

  A man was standing along the side of the road, leaning against the stone wall that separated the front gardens of some of the homes along High Street. He seemed to be holding onto it for support, leaning primarily on his left leg.

  He wore a tattered coat with patches in the elbows, and trousers that had a hem several centimeters too short. His shoes looked as if the soles were worn all the way down, with scuffs along the toes and heels.

  I was barely able to see him over Sidney’s shoulder, but it was clear from Sidney’s straightened back and stiff shoulders that he found this man troubling.

  I wasn’t going to object to his intercession if the stranger ended up being the vagabond he looked to be.

  However, the man did not strike me as terribly threatening. He swayed slightly as he turned his gaze onto us, and took a step in our direction.

  “’Ello?” he said, plucking the tattered hat from the top of his head.

  Sidney glanced over his shoulder at me briefly. “Just stay behind me, I’ll talk to him,” he said.

  I nodded. Who was this stranger? What did he want?

  “Good afternoon, sir,” Sidney said with a polite wave. “Can I help you with something?”

  The man opened his mouth and replied, but it was not in English. It was some language that I was not all that familiar with. It was harsh, though, with guttural sounds and hard stops.

  He was speaking rapidly, moving his hands wildly in the air; he pointed up the street, scratched the side of his head, and replaced his hat on his head.

  “Sir, sir, please,” Sidney said, his voice rising in volume and slowing in speed. He held his hands up in front of himself in caution. “I’m sorry, but I do not understand what you are saying. Do you speak English?”

  The man stopped, his mouth hanging open.

  For a brief moment, his gaze shifted over to me, before returning to Sidney.

  “Little,” the man said. “English.” His accent was thick, even around the words.

  “All right, good,” Sidney said, relaxing somewhat. “Now, are you trying to find a certain place? Or perhaps someone?”

  The man nodded, and took off in another speech in his native language.

  “Sir, it’s all right,” Sidney said, attempting to speak over the man’s frantic babbling. “I can help you. You just need to tell me what it is you are looking for. As best you can.”

  The man stared at Sidney, searching his face. For a moment, I wondered if he perhaps hadn’t understood anything Sidney had said to him.

  He said a single word in his language, pointing at his chest. “Need find,” he said.

  “Yes, I know,” Sidney said. “But what do you need to find?”

  The man’s brow furrowed, and he repeated the word.

  Sidney shook his head. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know what that means.”

  The man scratched his chin, and as he turned his head and looked around, I saw the gauntness in his face.

  “This poor man…” I said, just under my breath to Sidney. “When was the last time he’s eaten anything?”

  The man pulled the hat off his head again, and his eyes fell on me once more. He pointed at me.

  I pointed at myself, and Sidney’s eyes moved to me.

  “Me?” I asked.

  The man shook his head. “Kobieta.”

  “Ko…what does he mean?” I asked.

  A spark flickered in Sidney’s eyes. “Do you mean…a woman? A lady?” Sidney asked, pointing once again to me.

  The man’s face split into a wide smile, and he nodded. “Kobieta.”

  Sidney glanced over his shoulder at me. “He’s looking for someone. Maybe a daughter? Or a wife?”

  My heart ached for him suddenly. “Well, we can’t very well help him like this,” I said. “He needs someone who speaks his own language.”

  “You’re right…” Sidney said. “I suppose we could send him over to the police station. Maybe someone there might be able to help him – ”

  “I’m not certain he’d get much help there…” I said, dropping my voice. I glanced over at the man once again. He seemed to be watching us and our conversation carefully. “Isn’t he – ” I said, my heart skipping. “Isn’t he a German?”

  Sidney
shrugged. “I thought he might have been at first, too, but I believe he’s a Polish refugee.” Sidney looked over at the man. “You’re from Poland, aren’t you?”

  The man nodded. “Yah,” he said. “Polska.”

  Sidney smiled. “See?”

  “How did you know that?” I asked.

  “One of my very good friends is Polish,” Sidney said. His face fell, though. “…I certainly hope he got out before…”

  He didn’t have to finish his sentence.

  “Sir, we would like to help you find this woman you are looking for,” Sidney said, slowly and concisely. “What does she look like?” he asked, gesturing to the whole of his face.

  The man nodded. “Ah, tall,” he said, measuring a height just beneath his own. He pointed at his hair, and then pointed over at me. “Hair dark,” he said. “Good?”

  “Well, it’s a start,” Sidney said. “Sir, do you have a place to stay?” He put his hands together and rested them against his chin as if he were sleeping.

  “Sleep?” the man asked. He shook his head, pointing down the street. “Kobieta, woman,” he said.

  “He’s so determined to find her that he hasn’t stopped,” Sidney said.

  That hurt my heart to think about. I stared over at the man, seeing the hope in his expression. How many miles had he traveled, looking for this woman?

  Sidney took a step forward, reaching into the bag in his arms

  “Here,” he said, pulling out a small loaf of bread and a slab of hard cheese, presumably his own lunch. He offered them to the man. “You should take this. Have something to eat.”

  The man’s lips parted, and he seemed dumbfounded as he looked between Sidney and the food. “Food?” he asked.

  Sidney nodded. “For you.”

  The man hesitantly stepped toward us, ever so slowly reaching out for the food. He reminded me of a stray dog being offered a meal, terrified to trust, lest he be attacked.

  Sidney pulled out some money from his pocket, as well, and offered that, too.

  The man, seeing the money, stepped backward, shaking his head.

  “It’s all right,” Sidney said. “That food won’t last forever.”

  Sidney ended up convincing the man to take both the food, and the money. “I am going to take him down to the police station,” Sidney said to me. “Hopefully someone there will be able to do something for him.”

  “Are you certain that’s the best choice?” I asked.

  “I can’t think of any others,” Sidney said. “There aren’t many Polish families outside of London that I’m aware of, and many of them are refugees, fleeing the war…much like this man and the woman he is looking for must be.”

  I nodded. “I suppose you’re right. Well, I hope they can do something for him. I hope someone there will have the patience to try and communicate with him.”

  “Precisely,” Sidney said. He then turned back to the man, who was eyeing the cheese with a hungry expression. “All right there, sir. Let’s head down to the police station. See if we can’t get you some help.”

  The man nodded, and he smiled over at me.

  I returned the smile, watching the two men walk back up High Street the way Sidney and I had come.

  I did hope that poor man could find some help.

  As I started for home, I realized my heart was heavy. War was a terrible thing, forcing people to open their homes as hospitals for wounded soldiers, while families like that of the poor Polish man were ripped apart.

  One day soon, though…we all hoped the war would be over. The nightmares would finally stop, and life could return to some semblance of normalcy.

  But what would that normal look like? Everyone knew someone that was lost in this horrible fight. How could we ever hope to carry on living when they were gone?

  We must. That was all there was to it.

  And maybe, someday…we might learn to find peace amidst all the pain.

  3

  “Yes, Mother, I assure you…everything is perfectly fine,” I said for what felt like the tenth time that hour.

  “You keep saying that, and yet you don’t call, you don’t write,” said the voice of my mother on the other end of the telephone. “Have you thought about coming home? Even for a short visit? Your father’s birthday is in a few weeks, I know he would love to see you.”

  “I would very much like to,” I said as I separated and organized yet another mismatched box of buttons by color and shape. “But I have my hands full with this shop. If I were to leave, even for a few days, I would have some very upset customers.”

  “Surely people can live without ribbons and pins for a short amount of time,” she said with disdain.

  I sighed, closing my eyes for a moment, trying my best to gather the little patience I had left. “I know that you miss me. And I miss you both, too. But this move has been good for me, and to be honest, I am very happy here in Brookminster. I am making friends, and am slowly getting used to running a business all on my own…” Not to mention that I was starting to heal, finally, after all these months. “For the first time, I am beginning to find peace.”

  Now it was my mother’s turn to sigh. “I understand,” she said. “And I am glad for you, sweetheart. I truly am. I just hoped that by now you might want to have a break, come back and see your family.”

  “Well, what if you and Father came here to visit me?” I asked. “I do have a spare bedroom, you know. And I could show you around town.”

  “It’s not a terrible idea,” she said. “But your father’s back isn’t what it used to be, and I worry that the long train ride on one of those uncomfortable seats might do more harm than good.”

  My heart sank, but I wasn’t entirely surprised. “All right. Well you and Father discuss it. I would be happy to make something special for him for his birthday, you know.”

  “And you should reconsider as well,” she said. “It will do you no good to stay holed up inside that shop, day in and day out.”

  “I know, Mother,” I said.

  There was a voice in the background of the phone call. “Oh, your sister just arrived, dear. I should let you go.”

  “Well, tell her and Mitchell that I said hello,” I said. “And I love you all.”

  “Much love to you too, dear,” Mother said, and then I heard the solid click of the call being disconnected.

  I set the receiver back on the hook on the wall, sighing heavily.

  I put the buttons aside, not wanting to deal with the tedious task any longer.

  I then picked up the telephone once again and called Irene, who I knew would be a balm for my annoyance.

  “When I moved away from home, I knew it was going to be difficult on them,” I told her, returning to sorting the buttons, finding it almost therapeutic. “…But I never imagined it would turn into every conversation with her attempting to make me feel guilty about leaving in the first place.”

  “I’m sure she doesn’t want you to feel guilty,” Irene said. “More than anything, it’s just her way of showing how much she cares.”

  “Well, she has a harsh way of showing it,” I said rather cross. “And when I suggested that she and my father come and stay with me, she all but refused, claiming it would be too difficult for my father.”

  “That is a bit strange,” Irene said. “I wonder how much of it is simply that she just misses your presence but doesn’t know how to communicate it.”

  “I wondered that myself,” I said. “When Roger died, she was against me taking my aunt’s shop, especially since it was so far from home. She asked me over and over to change my mind, to stay in Plymouth.”

  “That would explain her bitterness,” Irene said.

  “Bitterness…” I said. “That’s a very good word for it.”

  “Maybe you should consider going home for a break,” Irene said. “I’m sure you could find someone to keep an eye on the shop for you. Perhaps that Sidney Mason who lives next door to you, hmm?”

  My face flushed
as I recognized the teasing tone in her voice. “Maybe I will, but not for some time. I still feel as if I am getting used to living here. And now that I was able to move past everything that happened with my aunt, and her death…” I said, trailing off. “I finally feel like I have peace here in this house, and it’s almost as if I am starting over. I want to give myself time to adjust, and I worry that if I was to go home now, my mother would do everything in her power to change my mind.”

  “Are you concerned that you might listen to her, and move back?” Irene asked.

  “No,” I said. “But I am worried that it might make me utterly lose my patience with her and not want to speak with her ever again.”

  She and I laughed at that, and I started to feel much better about everything.

  “Do you have the tea shop open?” I asked.

  “Oh, yes,” Irene said. “It’s quiet today, though. Not surprising, since the weather is so pleasant. What about you? Are you opening your shop?”

  “I must fill an order for Mrs. Trent, actually. Is she at the tea shop?” I asked.

  “Yes, she’s here,” Irene said.

  “Could you ask her to wait for me?” I asked. “I would be happy to deliver the parcel to her personally, if she would be willing to stay for another half hour or so.”

  “I’m sure she won’t mind at all,” Irene said warmly. “I’ll go let her know.”

  “Thank you, Irene,” I said.

  “You’re quite welcome, my dear,” Irene said. “See you soon.”

  “See you,” I said, and hung up the phone.

  It only took me a few moments to collect Mrs. Trent’s order, which consisted of a new spool of white thread, a dozen mother of pearl buttons, and a set of three new sewing needles for her machine. I bundled them all up in a small box, wrapped it in brown paper, and tied it with a piece of twine. I tucked the bud of a rose from the bush in my back garden under the twine, smiling, hoping that it might brighten her day, even just a little.

  Everyone could do with something to make them smile…especially in these dark times.

  I stepped out the front door, the scent of rain heavy in the air. The sky had begun to clear, however, the clouds already moving east in the sky, fractures of blue showing between tendrils of grey mist. Puddles scattered the streets, and the last of the raindrops to fall clung to the eaves of the houses across the street, just waiting for gravity to pull them down with the others.