Daddy's Gone a Hunting

27

“Mama, I don’t know why you’re insisting on having visitation for Poppa at the funeral home for only a few hours this afternoon,” Gretchen complained. She was watching her mother remove her father’s dark blue suit from the closet.

“I know what I’m doing,” Lottie said firmly. “Your father is not going to be embalmed, so I want you to take these clothes over to the funeral home now. They were picking up his body from the medical examiner’s office early this morning. They will have him ready for anyone who wants to visit by four o’clock. I spoke to the minister. He’ll have a prayer service tonight at eight. And in the morning Poppa will be cremated, as he always wished.”

Lottie’s voice was detached as she spoke. Not that tie, she was thinking. I liked it on him but Gus never did. The blue one is nice. His good shoes are polished. Gus was such a perfectionist.

“I mean my friends growing up always liked Poppa, and there isn’t even enough time to call all of them.”

Gretchen was sitting on the edge of the bed, still wearing a robe and with curlers in her hair. At age fifty-four her round face was virtually unlined. Unlike both her parents, she had always been chubby, but her body was well proportioned. Divorced for twenty years, Gretchen did not miss her husband, or any husband, at all. She was an excellent masseuse and had a full clientele. Active in the Presbyterian Church in Minnetonka, a suburb of Minnesota, she kept a vegetable garden and loved to cook. On weekends she often had friends in for dinner.

The joy of her life was the home her mother and father had bought for her five years ago. A builder’s spec house, it was a large, handsome one-story, stone-and-shingled structure with a chef’s kitchen and a conservatory. The grounds sloped down to the lake and the landscaping accentuated the house’s charm and surroundings. An annuity Gus and Lottie had bought for Gretchen assured her of the ability to pay taxes, insurance, and any necessary repairs in the years to come.

Gretchen loved that house the way other women loved their children. In a moment’s notice she would pull out pictures of it to show off: inside and out, pictures in every season. “It’s like I’m living in heaven,” she would say to any new admiring audience.

That kind of happiness was what Lottie and Gus had wanted for their only child, especially as they themselves aged. But it was also exactly why Lottie now told Gretchen not to talk about her house at the wake and to leave her pictures home. “I don’t want to see you show them to anyone,” she cautioned. “I don’t want anyone to wonder where your father and I got that kind of money to help you out. And you know, Poppa should have paid gift taxes on everything he gave you.” Lottie draped the blue tie over the suit hanger and laid it on the bed, next to where Gretchen was sitting. “I know he didn’t pay enough, so if you don’t want to be socked with taxes you can’t pay yourself, just keep your mouth shut.”

“Mama, I know you’re upset, but you don’t have to talk to me like that,” Gretchen snapped back. “I don’t know why you’re rushing poor Poppa into his grave. Why don’t you have a proper funeral service for him at church? He went every week and was an usher there.”

As she spoke, Gretchen had moved slightly and was now sitting on the arm of the blue suit that Lottie had just put down.

“Get up,” Lottie snapped. “And get dressed.” Her voice broke. “It’s bad enough having to put Poppa’s clothes together. It’s bad enough to know that he won’t be here tomorrow or next week or ever. I don’t want to argue with you, but I also don’t want you to lose your home. Poppa gave up too much for you to do that.”

As Gretchen stood up, Lottie opened the dresser drawer to get out underwear and socks and a shirt to send to the funeral parlor for Gus. In a torrent of words, she asked bitterly, “And as far as rushing your father into his grave, can’t you see what you’re reading in the papers? They’re all but saying that Poppa met Kate to set that fire. He was upset about being fired. His work was as good as it ever was when that Jack Worth let him go. Kate was the one who insisted he be given a year’s salary beside his pension. The way the media and those fire marshals see it, Kate wanted the place burned down and she asked Poppa to make it happen. If reporters get wind that there’s a wake today, they’ll be all over the place with their cameras, and crowds of gawkers will come just because it’s exciting to try to get in the media pictures. Now get dressed.”

Finally alone after Gretchen went back to get dressed, Lottie closed the door. Oh, Gus, Gus, why did you go meet her? she lamented as she selected an undershirt and boxer shorts. I told you it would be trouble. I knew it. I warned you. Why didn’t you listen? What’s going to happen to us now? I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do.

At three thirty Lottie arrived alone at the Walters Funeral Home. “When I spoke to you earlier I said that I wanted the casket closed,” she said quietly to Charley Walters, the funeral director. “But I’ve changed my mind. I do want to see him.” She was wearing her good black dress and the string of pearls Gus had given her for their twenty-fifth anniversary. “And did you remember to order flowers from me and Gretchen?”

“Yes, I did. Everything is ready. Shall I take you to him?”

“Yes.” Lottie followed Walters into the viewing room and walked to the casket. She nodded in satisfaction when she saw the floral arrangement with the ribbon that read BELOVED HUSBAND.

She waited silently while the director lifted it off, laid it on a chair, and opened the top half of the casket. Without saying anything else he walked out of the room and closed the door behind him. Lottie sank onto the kneeler and carefully studied her husband’s face. Only his hands were burned in that fire, she thought. He looks so peaceful, but he must have been so frightened. She ran her fingers along his face. “Did you know it was dangerous to go there when you kissed me good-bye?” She whispered the question. “Oh Gus, Gus.”

Ten minutes later, she got up, walked to the door, and opened it. Charley Walters was waiting for her. “Close the casket now,” she directed. “And put the flowers back on it.”

“When your daughter delivered Mr. Schmidt’s clothing she said that she wanted to see him,” Walters said.

“I know. I convinced her it would be a mistake. She’d be hysterical, and she admitted it. She’ll be coming in a little while.”

Lottie did not add that it would be just like Gretchen to blubber her thanks to her father for his generosity to her. When Lottie had gotten out of the car, she had spotted two men sitting in a car parked across the street from the funeral home. She could see an official-looking placard attached to the visor on the driver’s side. They’re not here to pay their respects, she thought. They want to get a line on who shows up here and maybe question them about Gus.

I have got to keep them away from Gretchen.