Mrs. Pinkerton rushed up to me. “Oh, Daisy, I’m so terribly sorry!” She burst into tears.
“Thank you, Missus Pinkerton.”
Harold and Del followed on her heels, and as Harold gently guided his mother away—she can be a rather trying woman even at the best of times—Del said, “I know it’s trite to say so, Daisy, but the service was lovely.”
“Thanks, Del. The day is lovely.”
He heaved an enormous sigh. “Yes. It is. Too pretty for the funeral of such a young man.”
Del had been a soldier during the Great War, too. In fact, when I’d first seen him at Mrs. Pinkerton’s house, I’d almost suffered a spasm because he’d reminded me so much of my Billy when he was well and whole.
“You doing all right, Daisy?” asked Harold, who’d deposited his mother somewhere and come back to give me his support.
“Thanks, Harold. As well as can be expected, I guess.”
“In a way,” said Dr. Benjamin, who’d sidled over to join us, “you know this is the best thing that could have happened, don’t you, Daisy?”
I smiled at him through my tears. What I wanted to do was hug him. “I know. And I want to thank you for always being available to us, Doc. I don’t know how we’d have survived these past years without your help and advice.”
The good doctor shook his head. “It’s a crime, is what it is, what that war did to the young men in our country.”
He was right, we all knew it, and so we only nodded our agreement.
“May I bring you something, Daisy? Some punch or something?”
Dear Flossie looked quite worried about me. She was a sweet thing, a former gangster’s moll who’d seen the error of her ways and managed to end up in the loving arms of Johnny Buckingham. Johnny, by the way, was another casualty of the war, although he’d survived his descent into alcohol and melancholy and come out a better man. He’d helped me a lot over the years, too.
“Maybe some punch, Flossie. Thank you.”
“You need to eat something, my dear,” said Dr. Benjamin.
The mere thought of food made my stomach rebel. It had never done that before when confronted with the notion of eating. How odd. “I’ll have something a little later,” I promised.
“See that you do.” He sounded stern for effect. I don’t think there was a true stern bone in that man’s body.
“Is there anything I can get you, Daisy?”
When I looked up to see who’d asked the question, which had sounded tentative, I was surprised to find it had been Sam Rotondo. I wouldn’t have pegged him as having a tentative bone in his body, but I guess none of us really knows another person completely. I decided, on this day that was clearly painful for the both of us, I’d treat Sam as a human being and not an enemy, which was something of a departure for me. On the other hand, I wasn’t trying to get away with anything that day, either, so maybe it worked both ways.
“Thanks, Sam. Flossie’s getting me some punch. I don’t really care for anything else right now.”
A furrow appeared between his eyebrows. “You need to eat something,” he said.
Oh, boy. Here was I, Daisy Gumm Majesty, who, while not fat, was about as far from the slim and boyish model of young womanhood then in fashion as a woman could get, being pressed to eat by a doctor and a police detective. “I won’t starve, Sam. You know that.” The good Lord knew he’d eaten Aunt Vi’s delicious food often enough to have seen for himself that I wasn’t about to die of hunger. Sometimes I thought Sam spent more time in our house than in his own, wherever that was.
“Good,” he said. Then he shuffled around for a second or two and blurted out, “When Margaret died, I couldn’t eat for weeks. Got so skinny, my mother feared for my life. Just be sure you eat, whether you want to or not.” And with that, he turned and marched away, leaving me blinking.
Evidently Sam Rotondo was taking to heart Billy’s request that he take care of me. This might turn
“Thank you, Missus Pinkerton.”
Harold and Del followed on her heels, and as Harold gently guided his mother away—she can be a rather trying woman even at the best of times—Del said, “I know it’s trite to say so, Daisy, but the service was lovely.”
“Thanks, Del. The day is lovely.”
He heaved an enormous sigh. “Yes. It is. Too pretty for the funeral of such a young man.”
Del had been a soldier during the Great War, too. In fact, when I’d first seen him at Mrs. Pinkerton’s house, I’d almost suffered a spasm because he’d reminded me so much of my Billy when he was well and whole.
“You doing all right, Daisy?” asked Harold, who’d deposited his mother somewhere and come back to give me his support.
“Thanks, Harold. As well as can be expected, I guess.”
“In a way,” said Dr. Benjamin, who’d sidled over to join us, “you know this is the best thing that could have happened, don’t you, Daisy?”
I smiled at him through my tears. What I wanted to do was hug him. “I know. And I want to thank you for always being available to us, Doc. I don’t know how we’d have survived these past years without your help and advice.”
The good doctor shook his head. “It’s a crime, is what it is, what that war did to the young men in our country.”
He was right, we all knew it, and so we only nodded our agreement.
“May I bring you something, Daisy? Some punch or something?”
Dear Flossie looked quite worried about me. She was a sweet thing, a former gangster’s moll who’d seen the error of her ways and managed to end up in the loving arms of Johnny Buckingham. Johnny, by the way, was another casualty of the war, although he’d survived his descent into alcohol and melancholy and come out a better man. He’d helped me a lot over the years, too.
“Maybe some punch, Flossie. Thank you.”
“You need to eat something, my dear,” said Dr. Benjamin.
The mere thought of food made my stomach rebel. It had never done that before when confronted with the notion of eating. How odd. “I’ll have something a little later,” I promised.
“See that you do.” He sounded stern for effect. I don’t think there was a true stern bone in that man’s body.
“Is there anything I can get you, Daisy?”
When I looked up to see who’d asked the question, which had sounded tentative, I was surprised to find it had been Sam Rotondo. I wouldn’t have pegged him as having a tentative bone in his body, but I guess none of us really knows another person completely. I decided, on this day that was clearly painful for the both of us, I’d treat Sam as a human being and not an enemy, which was something of a departure for me. On the other hand, I wasn’t trying to get away with anything that day, either, so maybe it worked both ways.
“Thanks, Sam. Flossie’s getting me some punch. I don’t really care for anything else right now.”
A furrow appeared between his eyebrows. “You need to eat something,” he said.
Oh, boy. Here was I, Daisy Gumm Majesty, who, while not fat, was about as far from the slim and boyish model of young womanhood then in fashion as a woman could get, being pressed to eat by a doctor and a police detective. “I won’t starve, Sam. You know that.” The good Lord knew he’d eaten Aunt Vi’s delicious food often enough to have seen for himself that I wasn’t about to die of hunger. Sometimes I thought Sam spent more time in our house than in his own, wherever that was.
“Good,” he said. Then he shuffled around for a second or two and blurted out, “When Margaret died, I couldn’t eat for weeks. Got so skinny, my mother feared for my life. Just be sure you eat, whether you want to or not.” And with that, he turned and marched away, leaving me blinking.
Evidently Sam Rotondo was taking to heart Billy’s request that he take care of me. This might turn