Abediah Thornton

Chapter 5 - Friday

She was sitting in the funeral parlour. There was a man, dressed in a black suit sitting across from her. He was talking in a very grave, quiet way. She felt like she was in a library, the way the pressure of books and social etiquette quashed any loud voices or laughter. There weren't any books here though. Only solemn gravity allowed.

The man was going bald, but obviously was not happy about it. She looked at his face and thought that it was possible he might be quite young. He had gone down the comb-over route. It wasn't a good decision. She was certain it was making him look much older than he was. What had he said his name was? ...It was an old sounding name. George maybe? Albert? ...Weren't they kings? No, that's not right. Albert was Queen Victoria's husband, that's right! ...Was there another King Albert? She wasn't sure. She racked her brain trying to remember the order of British kings her mother had drummed into her. Then suddenly she thought, but Britain isn't the only place with kings! Even if there wasn't a British King Albert, there surely would be one somewhere else!

The man was getting up. He held out his hand over the table. Her thoughts and awareness concentrated with his movement, focusing on the offered hand, although not fast enough to grasp it. Were they finished? Had he said anything yet? She didn't think she'd heard anything he'd said. Probably it had been important. She turned to look over at the man beside her. He was now shaking hands with the man in black. She guessed he had probably said everything that needed to be said. The men turned their backs and started to walk from the room. Abediah gathered her things and rose from the chair. She noticed behind the desk on a shelf, a silver ornament. It was of a Suffolk Punch, like her Edwin, pulling a plough. She walked around the table and stood for a while, her callused fingers gently touching the curves and angles of the ornament, taken with the detail of the harness and the horse.

'Mrs Thornton!' barked a sharp voice from behind her, 'are you ready?' She looked up suddenly, her eyes meeting the small black ones across the room. The lawyer's bulk filled up the whole door frame. He reminded her of that man, in Thomas Tank Engine...what was his name? Ah, that's right, he didn't have a name: The Fat Controller! Right down to the three piece suit! The only thing missing was the bowler hat.

'Mr Goodman,' she stated, with a sigh.

He coughed, a short, sharp throat clearing, 'there are decisions to be made. This way please.' He motioned for her to pass him.

Abediah took a last look at the silver horse and followed the lawyer out. They were shown around the funeral home. She had to choose a casket. They discussed an urn. It seemed ridiculous to pay an extortionate amount for a beautiful casket only to set fire to it days later. Luckily Frank had left some instructions. So far as she could make out from Mr Goodman, 'Frank's Man' as he called himself. Frank had been quite clear on what he wanted after death, casket, church funeral (that came as rather a surprise) and then cremation. However, as far as Mr Goodman was aware Frank hadn't left a will. He had said that Frank had been in the process of writing one but had never brought it to be finalised. She was glad Frank had told someone about his wishes, because she didn't have a clue!

So, she settled on a nice oak veneer casket, not too expensive but it looked good. She picked a fairly plain urn, it was a sort of red colour with a gold trim around the top. She wasn't sure what she was supposed to do with Frank after he'd been cremated. Apparently that was as far as Mr Goodman's information went. The funeral parlour had already been in touch with the church about dates for the funeral so she had picked next Tuesday. It was the first available day. It would be a short service but the choir could sing some songs.

The second time the funeral director held out his hand she was ready for it. She gave him a firm shake and followed Mr Goodman back out to his black sedan. He held the door to the passenger side open for her. She climbed in, again having to breathe in the sickly strong smell of Old Spice and cigar smoke. He drove her back to the farm in silence.'Well, here we are Mrs Thornton,' he announced once he'd parked.

'Yes, thank you Mr Goodman. It was kind of you to come with me today.' She nodded in his direction and made to open the car door.

'Got to do it right for the old chap,' he said.

'Yes,' she agreed, before shutting the door on any further discussion and marching briskly up to the house.

The sedan turned and drove back down the dusty driveway.