The Book Club. Mary Monroe Alice

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СКАЧАТЬ fight. I have finished the race. I have kept the faith.

      —II Timothy, 4:6-8

       The verse Eve chose for Tom’s funeral Holy Card.

      Saint Luke’s Catholic Church, like the village of Riverton, was small but important. The gothic architecture, with its dark wood and beams, the blazing beauty of the stained glass and the intricate grillwork, was an impressive display of both artisan talent and the devotion of wealthy patrons. Riverton’s Catholics fell to their knees in Saint Luke’s in consistently steady numbers each Sunday. Yet, even by Riverton’s standards, the turnout for Tom Porter’s funeral service was impressive. Well-dressed people, their summer tans glowing, overflowed the narrow aisles and spilled outside the arched wooden doors.

      Doris Bridges took her place at the front of the church. She held her hands firmly on the pew ahead of her, and with her chin held at a jaunty angle, she viewed the procession of people much in the manner of a general surveying the troops. She was broad-boned and wide-hipped, and her full chest heaved with a deep, personal satisfaction. It was a good thing she’d stepped in at the last minute to take charge of the funeral arrangements, she thought to herself. She hated to think what a fiasco it could have been without her. A travesty. Poor Eve, she was utterly despondent. Usually her friend was so organized and creative, but Tom’s death had shocked her into a comatose state. And her in-laws…Useless. They were positively ancient! Certainly not up to the task of a large funeral. Doris mentally patted herself on the back for doing what any good friend would have done.

      And she’d done well, she thought, looking over the altar with a proprietary air. Dozens of tall, white lilies adorned the snowy linen-draped altar. Beside it, near the communion rail, stood a table on which she’d placed a large, recent photograph of Tom and a single, spectacular assortment of white flowers. Eve adored flowers. Doris had personally selected the unusual blooms, knowing Eve would notice her touch. She couldn’t trust a florist not to fill in the arrangement with carnations.

      Doris sat a pew behind the grieving family, far enough to allow them privacy, but close enough that others would know she was a close, personal friend. She tilted her head and casually searched the crowd for familiar faces. Of course, she knew many of the people, either through social contacts, school or business. Her gaze was arrested by a tall redhead sobbing uncontrollably in the side vestibule. Doris didn’t recognize her. Then again, how could anyone get a look at her under that enormous floppy black hat? Well, for pity’s sake, Doris thought with indignation, such a showy spectacle. You’d think she was the widow. Some women had no self-control. It was her duty as a ranking member of the community to set the tone, she supposed. When she made eye contact with the woman, she offered a careful, brief smile of acknowledgment with the message to rein it in. But the woman was oblivious and sobbed on.

      She turned to look again at Tom’s widow, who, in contrast, stood still and silent. She appeared little more than a faint shadow behind her black lace mantilla. Doris’s heart seized with love for her friend. Here was a woman who deserved to sob. Eve was so utterly alone! Tom had been the pillar of her life. He had such vivacity and drive. He was well-known, liked and respected by everyone. Eve, however, was a private sort of person, very warm and friendly, but reserved. Tom and the children made up her world. And though she volunteered her time, she wasn’t social. Doris recalled how once, over coffee, Eve had confided that the most important women in her life were the Book Club. Doris, who was extremely social, had understood and quietly agreed with her.

      Where were the girls? she wondered, craning her neck to scan the crowd.

      She spotted Gabriella across the aisle seated with her husband, Fernando, and their four children. They nearly filled the whole pew. The apples certainly didn’t fall far from the tree in that bunch, she thought as she surveyed the long line of gleaming black hair on the bowed heads. They were a handsome family, devoted to each other. Gabby was loved by everyone who knew her, not only because her dazzling, wide smile and dancing, dark eyes cheered everyone simply by looking at her, but because her intrinsic goodness was obvious in her generous, caring gestures. It was typical of Gabby that in the past several days she had fretted over lackluster Eve and her poor, fatherless bebés and had brought truckloads of home-cooked meals to Eve’s house. It was no wonder Gabby’s shoulders drooped today.

      Behind Gabriella sat Midge Kirsch, alone as usual. She wasn’t an attractive woman physically, but even at a distance anyone could see the strength in the straightness of her lean shoulders, the steadiness of her dark-eyed gaze and the dramatic clash of a long, flowing black skirt and a military-blue shawl. Of course, you had to be tall to carry off such vintage clothing, Doris thought with a sniff. But she had to admit Midge delivered her own signature style to everything she did.

      Annie Blake walked up the aisle, then paused just outside her own pew. Doris felt a flush of envy and sucked in her gut as she caught sight of Annie’s willowy figure draped in an impeccably cut, dove-gray suit of a quality worthy of a successful lawyer. Everything about Annie smacked of sleek control. Her gray, sexy-high patent pumps shone, her itsy-bitsy black leather purse screamed order, and not one of her fine, perfectly blended gold hairs dared to slip from the chignon at the nape of her long neck. No matter how much money she spent, Doris knew she’d never look like that. Deep in her heart, Doris was convinced it was a cult secret that thin, attractive, successful women kept to themselves just to drive plump, dumpy women like herself crazy.

      Annie’s catlike gaze flicked expertly over those who sat nearby and Doris knew no detail escaped that radar sweep. When her gaze fell on Doris and their eyes met, Annie smiled in polite recognition, then with the quick decision typical of Annie, gracefully slipped in beside Midge.

      Doris’s hand smoothed the creases from her navy linen skirt that was straining at the buttons. It was several years old, not at all as stylish as Annie’s, but a good suit was designed to last. Hadn’t her mother worn Chanel suits that were decades old? Quality was always in style, her mother always told her. Still, the waistband pinched mercilessly and Doris promised herself as she sucked in her stomach that tomorrow she’d begin that protein diet she’d been reading about. And exercise, too. God only knew how many tomorrows we all have, she thought, looking again at the gleaming wood-and-brass casket that rested before the altar.

      Who could have imagined Tom Porter would die so suddenly? She’d always thought he was full of life, so handsome with his quick smile and flashing dark eyes. More than once she’d envied Eve for the happiness and passion that was obvious in their marriage. So unlike her own. Doris brought her fingertips to her lips. It was always a shock when a vibrant man died, but when that person was as young as Tom Porter, everyone took the loss personally. Of course, everyone felt real sorrow and pity for the wife and children left without a husband and father. But an early death hit home because each survivor of a certain age felt the dark shadow pass over, reminding them that death was not reserved only for the old. That each day could be their last.

      Feeling a sudden twinge of worry for her own husband, Doris turned her head and searched the entrance for the umpteenth time for sign of him. Her heart beat with hope when she saw Annie’s husband, John, enter the church. His long, Swedish features and the perpetual tan that contrasted with his white-blond hair were easy to spot; he towered over those who clustered near the entrance. His piercing blue eyes scanned the crowd. Doris knew the moment he located Annie because his face broke into a smile at the very sight of her. He moved with the grace of an athlete toward the front of the church to meet his wife, unaware that the heads of women, young and old, turned as he passed. Doris’s heart skipped a beat, wondering what it would be like to be so adored by a man….

      Again she anxiously watched the door, expecting R.J. to follow John in. John worked for her husband and it seemed natural that they would arrive from the meeting together. After a few minutes, she checked her watch.

      Her worry instantly altered to pique. He was inexcusably late! To think he’d had the audacity СКАЧАТЬ