LADY CLAUDIA: Thou Man of Blood (IX)

Lady Claudia enters the parlor from the kitchen with a coffee tray.

She is dressed informally in a dark gray skirt and a black sweater.

"Dear, I thought-"

She stops. The room is empty. She looks at the door that leads to the hallway. She looks displeased.

She crosses over to it. She passes through the hall. She goes into the Tavern. It is a bright morning.

Floyd is sitting on the long brown leather sofa. He is wearing pajamas. He turns his head and smiles. She steps around and places the tray on the coffee table.

"I thought I'd switch over to here," he says.

"Yes. I see that."

"We get so little use out of it. By September it's too cold."

"And it's your favorite room."

She sits down.

"Corned beef on toast," Floyd says. "Swell."

They both take sips of coffee.

"Huldah had to run off, I reckon," he says.

"Yes."

"She'll sit with Pop, probably."

"She thought that Charlie might be up for it this morning. Yes, I suppose they all will sit together."

"I told Walt to take the rest of the day off and just come back this evening."

"I hope he got some breakfast with Huldah before she had to start getting ready."

"No. With Wilma. Wilma's not going either."

"Castle and Wilma. Us. Peter Knapp."

Floyd looks out the window.

"There's Pop," he says.

Lady Claudia looks out too. Pop is parking out on Judge's Lane. She looks at Floyd. She pats his hand. She stands up. She walks to the front door. She opens it and looks out. She waits as Pop walks over. She smiles at him. He shakes his head and touches her elbow. He tilts his head and purses his lips. He is displeased or doubtful about something. He steps in. She closes the door. She leads him into the Tavern. Floyd turns around.

"Morning, Pop," he says.

"Good morning, son."

Pop squeezes his neck.

"Have a seat," Floyd offers.

Pop sits down in the rocking chair.

Lady Claudia sits back down on the sofa.

"Some coffee, Pop? Toast?"

"No, thanks. I had mine. And Cora Knapp will be putting out quite a spread in a little bit."

He looks at Floyd.

"Still sticking to the plan?"

"Still sticking, Pop."

"No chance for a last ditch change of mind due to a final word to the wise from the old man?"

"Not a chance."

"Cousin Elmina's report didn't change anything?"

"It didn't change my mind about attending Lester Knapp's funeral. Nor did the tale in today's Onatonga Star about the tragic accident that befell Lester Knapp, 35, at the old Henlick Farm on Brick House Hill Road in Camel Creek this past Wednesday night."

"All right, then. I see you chose a ring side seat anyway."

"Not much gets by you, Pop."

Pop looks at his pajamas.

"No work this morning?"

"Sure. I got out there. I just wanted to get comfortable again after I washed up. Not much going on today. Some hoeing in the garden right out here."

"Lots of cauliflower again this year?"

"Yep."

"Let's hope that Huldah's heliotrope cuts down on the stink."

Floyd winces good-naturedly and shifts in his seat.

"I want to paint my newly repaired section of fence, too."

*

"Here she comes," Floyd says.

He is sitting at the table between the front windows.

Lady Claudia looks up from the sofa.

"Louise Knapp. I guess the guy with her is her brother. He's a big shot with the railroads, I've heard. That's his wife, I guess. She's got the baby. Little Pete."

There is silence for a few moments.

"Mrs. Knapp. Cora. Les's mother. She walked over and kissed her. She kissed her."

*

Floyd has changed into his work clothes. He is sitting at the table between the windows in the Tavern.

Lady Claudia is sitting on the sofa.

Floyd is leaning his elbows on the table. His clenched fists are pressed against his temples. The church bells start to ring. He looks up.

"They don't believe in the Virginal Conception of Jesus Christ Almighty over there," he says. "They don't believe in the Feeding of the Five Thousand or the Four Thousand. But they like the bells. That makes the foolish Papists like their kind of heretic more than they like the heretics who actually believe what's in the Bible they thump. Why is that?"

"I'll have to think about that one, dear."

"In the end it will spell Armageddon for the church of Rome," Floyd says. "All right, now."

He is excited. He stands up.

"All right. Here it comes. Lex and Will have the front of the box this time. There's Ima Kenyon. Ima Kenyon? I don't think she knows the Knapps. That woman would get up and walk out of her own funeral to attend someone else's. All right. All right, then. Cora seems okay. Cora seems all right. Will should have foregone the honor and stayed right next to her. I guess that's his kid though, who's got her arm. That's all right, then. Looks like a good kid. Fourteen or fifteen, I'd say. All right. Okay, then. Those two the other day must have been her sisters. They're right behind her with their husbands."

There is silence for a few moments.

"That's right. Pop him back in the hearse. They could have just walked right over. Across the street and up the hill. That would have been more poetic. It's heavy, I guess. Though that coffin looks kind of thin. And Les was what? A hundred and seventy at most? A bit less than that after Wednesday night. Unless they... Gee, I wonder how that works. There they go. That's right. Left on the Turnpike."

He cocks his head and strikes an attentive pose.

"Now left on Brick House Hill Road. His road. And now... And now..."

The black hearse passes by the front of the Bisbee House.

"Straight down Judge's Lane and into Gate of Heaven!"

Floyd walks over to the side door of the Tavern. He unbolts it and opens it. In the space between the lilac bushes, across Camel Creek, he can see the hearse climbing the cypress-lined, elm-shaded cobblestone path in Gate of Heaven Cemetery.

"Come out, come out, thou man of blood, and thou man of Belial!"

"Oh, Floyd..." Lady Claudia exclaims painfully. "You musn't!"

"Why not? In the Middle Ages they would have thrown him in a ditch outside of town. Now look. It's as if he got the influenza while visiting a widow in her distress and passed away reciting the Twenty-Third Psalm. He's right next to little Sarah Henderson. That little angel who drowned in the creek the first summer you were here with me..."

Lady Claudia stands up.

Floyd wheels about.

"We were friends as boys. We had not been boys for many, many years. We were not friends as men. We were foes. I didn't like him anymore. I didn't like his being in this house when you were here. Bellowing his stupid vulgarities so you'd be sure to hear them. I was wrong to indulge him as long as I did before I read him the riot act. And now look. If I had shown more just anger towards Lester Knapp, if I had knocked a few teeth out of his dirty mouth as I should have, I might be walking the last mile in Sing-Sing right now. The way he made fun of Jake Sprayberry all the time. Jake wanted more flowers in the village green. 'It's the village green , Jake,' Les drawls with that labored disdainfulness. 'Not the village violet or mauve or lavender.' Now that's nasty. That's nasty in a peculiar way. A special Lester Knapp way. He was better about Castle than Castle's own brother Bobby. But that wasn't always too good. Just the other night..."

Lady Claudia simply stares.

"Oh, maybe it wasn't just Les. It's this entire... He was stupid. He was a stupid, stupid, stupid kind of American guy. So proud of standing aloof and not wanting any help or any helping hands. Trying to reach out to a stupid guy like that... You can't. They look at you funny. They may be about to blow their brains out, but all they can think of with brain still intact is what's wrong with the rest of the world. Angry and selfish and shallow and lonely and mean. Drunk much of the time. Fornicating or worse as much as possible. It's a very American way to be a man. Or excuse for a man. I met scores of these creatures in the service. Maybe I brought one kind of disease back to Onatonga from France. But Lester Knapp brought a worse one back to Camel Creek. I had to scold him about something he said to Walt once. How Walt was getting to that age and he should get over to Troy sometime and look around. Oh, I know that the only two men in town who wouldn't have to swallow a smile at what I'm saying now are Castle and Parson. The thing with most men, though, is that they really would be thinking of Walt's having a little fun away from the farm and his Bible. That wasn't the thing with Les. The thing with Les was the fun he would have watching the confused and frightened expression on a pious farm boy's face the first time he deduced what a prostitute is. He was like a devil..."

Lady Claudia is still just staring.

"But the worst thing is that he made me dance."

Now she is no longer just staring. She is glaring. Moments pass. She jerks her head sharply to the right. It is a haughty gesture indicating impatience.

Floyd breaks into a wide grin. He jerks his head sharply to his right.

"Where did you get that from? I love that. Sure. He made me dance. When I heard the blast I jumped. Like this."

Floyd does a little jig, imitating the way in which he momentarily had seemed to run in place reacting to the sudden thunder of the shot.

"What do you call that? The Mexican Hat Dance? The Irish Jig? Well, a fellow doesn't like to be forced to dance by another fellow with a gun. A chap doesn't have to be from Texas not to like that."

He stops. Maybe he is finished.

She is still glaring at him. She looks angry. A stranger looking in the Tavern window might totally misunderstand. She is angry about the situation. She is angry that Floyd Brightwell has been brought to this condition by the likes of Lester Knapp. If she is angry with Floyd it is only because he is insulting himself. She cannot be demure now. She cannot smile indulgently over her endearingly odd husband's latest bit of black clowning. That would be patronizing and disrespectful. Her angry, defiant stare is a function of the seriousness with which she takes Floyd's mortal anguish. This is not the wonderful man she married at his best. But she is right there beside him in his pain. She is not above what is happening.

Floyd stares at her.

She could never pull off high tragedy on the stage. Grand defiance looks more like schoolgirl petulance on her face. It's the doll-like quality.

Now her mouth starts to tremble. Floyd crumbles.

"Oh," he sighs, his shoulders sagging. "Oh, Claudia. Oh."

He walks over to the sofa and sinks down into it.

"You should have seen him at his wedding. He was trying to look smug and indifferent. He couldn't manage it. He looked happy. Happy like a little boy on Christmas morning... Oh, Claudia..."

There is nothing but anxious compassion on her face as she rushes forward and lunges at him.

*

Lady Claudia is sitting at the table between the windows.

She looks at Floyd. He is lying on his side on the sofa. She looks out the window. A black car has pulled up in front of the walkway. A man in his middle thirties dressed in a black suit gets out of the driver's seat. He steps around the car and starts walking down the walkway. Lady Claudia stands. She frowns. She breathes out some negative expostulation. She runs to the front door. She has it open by the time the man reaches the slabstone stoop.

The man's expression is grave.

"Mrs. Brightwell? I'm Donald Robinson. I'm Louise Knapp's brother."

His tone is gentle. His voice is cultured.

Lady Claudia smiles gently. But the smile was not instantaneous.

"Hello, Mr. Robinson."

"I was wondering if I might have a word with your husband."









Lady Claudia seems hesitant.









"It will take only a moment," Mr. Robinson says.









Lady Claudia glances behind her.









"My husband is unwell this morning, I'm afraid," she murmurs. "I would be glad to pass on anything-"









Floyd appears behind her. His eyes look bleary. He seems dazed and unsteady. He steps up to the doorway.









"Mr. Brightwell?" Mr. Robinson says. "Donald Robinson. I'm Louise Knapp's brother."



















Floyd looks at him blankly and extends his hand mechanically.



















"Mr. Robinson."



They shake.



















"I'm very sorry to disturb you at this time. But my sister insisted that I deliver this to you personally. She thought it would be best if she waited in the car."









Mr. Robinson takes a small folded card out of his jacket pocket. He hands it to Floyd. Floyd opens it and reads. He hands the note to Lady Claudia. She shakes her head ever so slightly. He drops the note on the floor.



















"Thank you, Mr. Robinson," Floyd says.









"That really was it, Mr. Brightwell. I'm very sorry to have disturbed you. And you, Mrs. Brightwell."





Floyd starts walking down the front path. Both Mr. Robinson and Lady Claudia make vague gestures and barely audible noises indicating dismay and a mind to restrain him.









"Dear," Lady Claudia says as she skips after him.









Floyd strides out into the street. He raps gently on the passenger side back window. Lady Claudia stops dead on the sidewalk. Donald Robinson walks over to Floyd.









"Mr. Brightwell? Perhaps now is not the best time."









Floyd ignores him. He is looking down at a pretty blonde woman in her twenties who is dressed all in black. She is holding a baby of about fourteen months. He smiles. He makes a revolving motion with his finger. The woman rolls down the window.





"Hello, Louise," Floyd says with a light air and a casual grin.



















"Floyd."



















She seems polite. And very frightened.



















"I saw that you brought Little Pete. I just wanted to come out and say goodbye to him."



















"Oh," Louise stammers. "Oh. Well... Sure... Of course..."



She looks at a young woman in the front seat. The young woman looks horrified at first. Then she looks annoyed. She gets out of the car. She joins Floyd and Mr. Robinson by Louise's door.



"This is my wife," Mr. Robinson says. "Nancy."



"Hi, Nancy," Floyd says. "I'm saying goodbye to Little Pete. You're all going back to Schenectady now? Louise is going to resettle there?"



Nancy just looks at him.



"Of course you are. Of course she is. So I've got to say goodbye to Little Pete now. And that will be that. Right, Louise?"

Louise looks at him. She opens the door. She hands Floyd the baby.

He holds him against his chest. He then bends and kisses him on the top of his head.

"Little Pete," he says. "God bless you and keep you."

Mr. Robinson looks at Lady Claudia. She resists his effort to catch her eye. She looks at Floyd.

Floyd sets Little Pete on his feet.

"I know he can walk," he said. "Les said that he took his first steps just last week."

Floyd bends down and sticks out his two index fingers. Little Pete grasps them. He totters a few feet towards the front of the car. He twitters and cooes.



















"There's my boy," Floyd says. "There's my little pal. Look at him go."

Floyd speaks to the Robinsons.



















"See, Les had started bringing him down to the village in the past couple of weeks. He just plopped him on to the seat of his truck and wedged him between his knees and off they went. Let's see. We met twice in Singenstraw's and once in Dietz's."

Floyd continues walking Little Pete. Lady Claudia and Nancy Robinson exchange a glance. Lady Claudia lifts her chin in the baby's direction. Nancy Robinson seems to take this as a cue. She briskly moves forward and picks the baby up. She hands hand back to Louise. Floyd seems to be about to address her again. Lady Claudia, who has been standing by the back of the car, steps up to the open door and closes it. She leans down towards the open window.



















"Goodbye now, Louise," Lady Claudia says. "We wish you a safe trip home and all the best always. And may I say what a lovely and charming child your Little Pete is."

For a moment Louise just looks. She seems surprised. Then she only seems touched.















"Thank you, Claudia. That's very kind."

Louise rolls the window back up and stares straight ahead. Little Pete starts to wail.



















"Mr. Robinson," Lady Claudia says. "Mrs. Robinson."

They all smile and nod. The Robinsons get back in the car. Floyd and Lady Claudia step back on to the sidewalk. The car starts up and starts moving forward.



Floyd looks after Mr. Robinson's car as it turns left on Creek Street and passes the Presbyterian church.



"What did David say to you?" he asks with a bright smile.



She hesitates for only a moment.



"He said that you were smarter than Les. You set me up in the middle of the village."



"Really? That was it?"



"That was it."



"Hmm. You get a point for ambiguity, little brother. But you're still in trouble. Big trouble."

He turns to Lady Claudia.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart."



"Thank you, dear. But that's just David..."



"It certainly is. And David is going to have to start finding a better way to be David. We've had it with the current model here at the Bisbee Homestead."

He watches as Mr. Robinson's car makes the right on to the Turnpike and disappears.



















"Little Pete really is a beautiful child, isn't he? Doesn't look a thing like Les, though. Of course, he must have gotten his golden curls from Louise."



















"I don't think so, dear..."



















"What? Oh..."

He shrugs.



















"All she said was she's sorry about ignoring me when I kept calling for her that night telling her what had happened. She was so confused and afraid. She didn't know what to think. She has a point, you know. I mean, I could have shot him."



















"Now really, dear..."

















"So that's it for Louise. Funny. We haven't had much to say about Louise since that night. They met at the Bisbee Township Fair, you know."



"I know, dear."



"She was going to college in Onatonga. Hartwood. He fell in love. I guess she was infatuated with him for a time. The city college girl and the self-confident, muscular farmer who actually had read a few books beyond the primer in the schoolhouse. And then? Poor Lester had a wife and couldn't keep her. Not in that measly little pumpkin shell up on Brick House Hill Road. Maybe living in the village would have helped."



"I think it might have."



"But pretty Louise seems not to have much use for her fellow Camel Creekers. Then her old college chums started taking her off for some fun back in the big city. Leave the baby with Mamma in Schenectady and... Then what? Make the rounds of the nightclubs in Albany and Troy? I doubt it. Louise was better than that. No, just go to college faculty dinner parties where you'd be sure to meet the kind of man you should have married. She started doing that right here in Onatonga too. My cousin Hal, you know, Hal Diffendale, told me all about her. She would... Oh, Lord. Go have a good time in the city and let your husband out in the sticks work from dawn till three on the farm and then come home from his nighttime factory job to a cheese sandwich and a dark empty house."



"It's all so terribly sad."



"And terribly dumb. And now. Imagine if she did stay in that house on top of Brick House Hill Road. It's not such a bad place. It's a nice little farm. Imagine six months from now, these very church bells ringing and her marching out that church door dressed in a simple blue suit with the happy groom at her side. The happy fair-haired groom. What a world we live in, Coffee Queen. What a life this is. Lookey here."

A car is heading their way down the cemetery road. It continues on into Judge's Lane.

"Ooh!" Floyd says, wincing. "Not eastbound on Judge's Lane! That's the first and foremost traffic rule of Camel Creek! It's Willy Knapp. We'll make an exception today."

The car stops about fifteen feet to their right on the other side of the lane. Cora Knapp gets out of the back door nearest the lane. She crosses over to Floyd and Lady Claudia. She pauses to smile at Lady Claudia. Lady Claudia takes her hand and squeezes it. Then Mrs. Knapp turns to Floyd.



















"I want Claudia and you to come down to the house now, Floyd. All this..."

She looks about the square.

"All this is over now. This morning there was something I just had to do for my son and I did it, even though it killed me to do it. There was something you just couldn't do for your old friend and you didn't, even though that must have killed you. And you know something? All I could think of while I was sitting over there in that church with all those people was you sitting over here alone. Not accepting what happened. Angry about what happened. Protesting against what happened. Well, it's all over now. Lester was the apple of my eye. You know that. But he was a very naughty boy. Heaven knows you know that too. His ever perplexing and troublesome doings on earth are over now. He is no longer running this show, for example. There are no more of his hoops for us to jump through. We're the two people in this world who really loved him. The rest of this day is for us. Our friends and neighbors are running the whole show now and all they want to do is help us find our way through. Come on, now. Your Dad is on his way there. And Huldah and Charlie. Will you come, Floyd?"







"Sure. Sure, Mrs. Knapp. We'll be there."

"Good," Mrs. Knapp says. "And don't worry about bringing anything. It's like the town fair over there today."

She turns and walks back to the car. She gets in. The car takes off down Judge's Lane.







"What a glorious lady," Lady Claudia murmurs.







"Well, that's Mrs. Knapp," Floyd says with a shrug. "Another of these small town college girls, like Huldah. Though she went straight from college to Pete. But she became the local historian and all that..."







"And a poetess."







"Cora Knapp is the soul of Bisbee Township. Try explaining to someone from New York City that the level of culture in a place like Bisbee Township or Onatonga or upstate New York generally can be aeons above that of a place like New York City."







"Of course. The history, the families, the communities, the churches, the farms, the homes, the roots, the ties."







"The philanthropic millionaire know-it-alls."







"Well, God bless Mrs. Knapp."







She looks at Floyd.







"Well, then..."







She seems ill at ease. Floyd looks at her.







"And you," he says accusingly. "We'll have none of your usual funny business this time out."







"No?" Lady Claudia asks demurely.







"Certainly not. You'll have only such local delicacies and regional treats as you truly enjoy. No more stuffing yourself with Huldah's gooseberry tarts because you know everyone else would sooner eat the silt from Camel Creek."







"Oh, dear. I hope no one else has noticed."







"Probably the whole Township. Everyone except Huldah. Leave it to me. There are other ways to handle these things. Things can be made to disappear."







Floyd grins at her. He jerks his head twice.







Lady Claudia smiles up at him. But tears are forming in her eyes. She has to press her lips together. She wraps both of her hands around his upper arm. She stands there, still, staring at his arm. Floyd looks down at her. He stops smiling. He puts his hand on her back and leans over her and guides her back to the house.