Mayfield - The Undertakers Daughter

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Gallery Books

A Division of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

1230 Avenue of the Americas

New York, NY 10020

www.SimonandSchuster.com

Copyright 2015 by Kate Mayfield

To Be Sure by Larry Sorkin. Used with permission courtesy of Larry Sorkin.

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Gallery Books Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020.

First Gallery Books hardcover edition January 2015

GALLERY BOOKS and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

The Simon & Schuster Speakers Bureau can bring authors to your live event. For more information or to book an event contact the Simon & Schuster Speakers Bureau at 1-866-248-3049 or visit our website at www.simonspeakers.com.

Interior design by Jaime Putorti

Jacket design by Regina Starace

Author photo by Daniel Regan

Cover images Volyk Ievgenii/Shutterstock, RoyStudio.eu/Shutterstock, Phiseksit/Shutterstock; raven iStockPhoto; house, ambulance and coffin provided by Apple Hill Antiques, State College, PA; little girl: Stoehr family photo

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Mayfield, Katherine

The undertakers daughter / Kate Mayfield. First Gallery Books hardcover edition.

pages cm

1. Mayfield, Katherine, 1958Childhood and youth. 2. AuthorsUnited StatesBiography. I. Title.

CT275.M465173A3 2014

920.72dc23

[B]

2014006727

ISBN 978-1-4767-5728-5

ISBN 978-1-4767-5730-8 (ebook)

For my father

In Memoriam

And for my mother

CONTENTS

AUTHOR'S NOTE

T he names of places and many people in this book have been changed, including those in the authors own family.

To Be Sure

I wouldnt want to bring him back

from his permanent interment

even if I could

but I wouldnt mind a visit now and then,

a trip down

to keep each other company.

I could push back the top of the concrete liner,

pull up the half lid of that quite tasteful furniture

that is now his home

and fill him in

on the news of the business and my life

since hes been gone.

Hes easier to talk to now

and I miss him

more than I thought I would,

more than I thought I could.

Always expected his going

would set me free

and now I am

surprised really

that his new silence

and contained grace

leave me finally free

to love him and to grieve.

LARRY SORKIN

PROLOGUE

M ayfield and Son Funeral Home. My father answered the phone using his undertaker voice.

My mother stopped fiddling with her gloves and strained to hear his responses.

Who is it? I asked.

Shh! She put her finger to her lips, clearly annoyed.

He placed the phone back on the receiver and met her worried eyes with a somber look.

Frank?

He didnt answer her.

Okay. Defeated, she threw her gloves down on the table. Who died?

He tilted his head back and laughed. Got you, didnt I?

That is not funny. Its just not funny at all.

He winked at me. I got your mother real good.

Yeah, you sure did, Daddy!

When your house is a funeral home, you spend a lot of time sitting around waiting for someone to die. But there were days, like this one, when wed rather they didnt.

My mother frowned at me. Im going to Mildreds to get my hair done. I want you to stay up here and out of Belles way. Dont go downstairs, do you hear me? I dont want you underfoot bothering your daddy.

Okay.

What? She looked up from rummaging through her handbag.

I mean, yes.

Yes what? she snapped.

Yes, maam.

Thats better.

Whats the matter with her? I asked my father when my mother left the room.

Shes a little tense. Shes afraid shell have to cancel the bridge party if we get a body. He went to the kitchen counter and downed his second double Alka-Seltzer of the day.

It had happened before. On the eve of a long-planned bridge luncheon, the phone rang during supper. Its distinct, long tone was a sound I would never forget. After a short conversation, my father looked at my mother and said, Ive got to go pick up Mr. Rayner.

She threw out most of the deviled eggs that night. What a mess they looked in the garbage: a mound of shiny egg whites smeared with pale yellow yolks all smashed together, the whole lot spattered with deep red paprika, as if theyd been murdered.

Today we monitored my fathers expression with apprehension as he spoke into the phone again; his eyes and a slight shake of his head told us no, this was not a death call. Our housekeeper, Belle, whod grown accustomed to these pauses, shifted quickly back into gear with the food preparations.

Bridge-party food was like no other sort. Belle spooned wiggly, lime-green, congealed salad onto iceberg-lettuce leaves, then placed them with precision on paper-doily-lined plates. Chicken Surprise was a concoction of chicken, grapes, Miracle Whip, nuts, and unidentifiable morsels that made my eyes water when I tasted it. Belle rustled around with crackling sounds in a stiff, shiny black dress accented by a white collar and white-cuffed sleeves. She wore a fancy white apron with a ruffled border. The dress made her look like she worked for us, and I didnt like that, even though she did.

Why are you wearing a costume, Belle?

Not a costume. Its jest a nicer dress cause yer mothers havin compny.

I snuck around behind her and untied her apron. It delighted me to see it fall to the floor.

I aint got time for this today. Im gonna git a switch after you if you dont behaves yerself. An empty threat.

Who told you to wear that dress, Belle?

Nobody. I wears it myself. I owns it. Now run along and leave me be. Come back later and Ill fix you some lunch. And takes them trousers off and puts on a dress, ya hear?

After my mother returned from the beauty parlor, she and Belle focused on preparing the dining room. The funeral-home phone rang all morning in spurts, as usual, but on bridge-luncheon day it was like watching a game of musical chairs. My mother and Belle scurried around working to make things perfect; the phone rang, they froze, waited for a sign that all was well; and then resumed a new position. Good Lord, I thought, who would have the bad grace to depart this life at such an inconvenient time?