The Funeral

The funeral was ghastly. 

They had the scented candles set out- a fire hazard, really- and the smell of sage burned her nose. Forget-me-nots were everywhere in little bouquets in simple vases or bundles attached to the walls and doors, with yellow bows. Everyone knew that lilies were the better, more sophisticated option. That, paired with the embroidered table centrepieces collected over the years, was draped over pillows, chairs, sofas, and set out on the coffee tables. There wasn’t a single surface area exposed. Probably for the best, since it hid the dust. The woman of the house must seriously get her act together. 

All in all, the decorations gave the old (older than her) house an eccentric look that Madam Charlotte Carlson was not a fan of. Whatever happened to the elegance and sophistication of the upper class? 

“Absolutely ghastly,” she announced, as if confirming to herself. 

But that was just the living room. She ought to inspect the kitchen and see what was planned for refreshments. Charlotte came to a short stop at the kitchen door when she heard voices drifting through. Voices she recognized. 

“How are you holding up, dear?” That was Margaret; her voice was always gravelly from smoking too much. Charlotte had never understood why her younger sister had fallen into the habit. It was revolting. 

“I’m alright. This funeral has kept me plenty busy, probably for the best.” Charlotte’s daughter, Elizabeth, sounded on the verge of a breakdown. The child ought to hold her composure in front of guests. Though she wasn’t a child anymore, Charlotte reminded herself. A young woman with a husband and two children. Too bad she still acted the part sometimes. Charlotte often wondered where she went wrong with raising her.

“You know it’s okay to rest. No one here is going to judge you.” Margaret's voice took on sympathetic notes, something she’d never directed to her elder sister before. 

Elizabeth scoffed. “That’s not true. You know what my mother would say-”

“Ladies!” A male voice entered through the back door of the kitchen that led to the dining room. “Beth, are the drinks ready?” It was Benjamin, Elizabeth’s husband. Charlotte shook her head and, not for the first time, wondered what Elizabeth saw in the man. He sat at home all day ‘working’ at his computer. Real men went to the office to work. 

“Yeah, I’m on it!”

Listening at the door no longer felt good enough; Charlotte needed a word with her daughter. She pushed through the door just as Elizabeth and Margaret left for the dining room, and any remarks died on her tongue. 

Ah well, she’d pull her aside later. Not in front of guests. 

Until then, what had she prepared?

Charlotte turned her attention to her surroundings and nearly gagged. The kitchen sink was overrun by dirty dishes and pots. The countertops were no better. Was that ketchup or old tomato paste on the counter? Glasses, leftovers, stains, and used cutlery had taken over with all authority. A half-eaten sandwich was covered in mould. A mere glance at the trash bin caused Charlotte to hold a hand over her mouth and nose. 

Charlotte really had to have a serious word with her daughter. If she let her kitchen get out of control, then what other areas of her household were falling apart? It always starts in the kitchen; that’s where the heart of the home is. Then the chaos spreads to the dining and living room, where the family members reside, where the disease affects the children, and then the next thing you know, you have a teenager who is a drug addict with no respect for authority, and then the husband announces he’s leaving you for the trollop he’s been having an affair with from work because she has her kitchen put together. 

Yes, a serious talk was needed. Elizabeth had to be warned.

Leaving the monstrosity behind, Charlotte entered the dining room, only to immediately have children almost collide with her legs. 

Stacey and Eli bolted past her, swerving out of the way at the last second, squealing with delight. 

“Watch out, you two!” Charlotte exclaimed, clutching her chest. “Almost gave me a heart attack.” 

Benjamin took the initiative and, with a fatherly stern voice, said, “Careful! If you want to run, go outside. Here’s not the place for that.” Even if he was lazy in the work department, he knew how to discipline his children. They scampered off. 

Charlotte spied her daughter placing a large and ornamental pitcher on the dining room table. Her hair was greasy, pulled back into a messy ponytail. Couldn’t she at least have washed or combed her hair? When had she raised such a slob?

At the head of the table was Charlotte's eldest son, Jackson. He had his elbows on the table, and his hands clasped together, which rested under his chin. He nodded along as his Uncle James, Margaret's husband, spoke of the upcoming election. Such a good boy. He had gotten into Harvard Law School and graduated with honours, and Charlotte couldn’t be more proud. 

Jackson’s two teenagers sat on the sofa, each across from the other. Max and Sarah both had their phones in hand and stared at the screen. Has the concept of conversation fallen off the face of the earth within the younger generation? 

Charlotte's youngest, Stephen, joined his brother and uncle at the table. Charlotte wanted to straighten his collar, but resisted the urge. Her little boy always had a wild side, which is what produced his daughter Riley. Charlotte spied the preteen on the armchair by the bay windows, her nose in a book. A Jane Austin novel. While Charlotte had never approved of the choice of keeping the child out of wedlock, she had to admit the young girl showed promise. Of course, Stephen had done the right thing and married her mother. Kimberly had never been good enough for Charlotte’s Stephen, but despite her warnings, the woman had invaded her family and stolen her baby. 

Kimberly approached Elizabeth. “Do you need any help? I’m all yours.” 

“Oh, thank you! The casserole needs to go in the oven, and the table needs to be set.” She pointed to the China cabinet, with the less expensive items on display. Good, keep the classy China for more cheerful events and away from grubby hands. 

Jackson leaned toward Elizabeth. “We should do it now, before dinner.” 

Elizabeth frowned, making her look older. “Are you sure? Before we eat? Might kill the appetite.” 

“Eating and then seeing the body might bring it back up.” 

“Fair point, okay, let's do it.” 

Jackson announced for the family to gather and organized them to move upstairs. Charlotte watched them bicker with one another as they migrated up the curved staircase. Tension seemed to rise with each step up the staircase. The closer the family got, the more silent and awkward they became. Charlotte silently rolled her eyes at everyone’s behaviour. This was unseemly for a family of their status and reputation. What would the neighbours think?

“Straighten your shoulders,” she snapped at Stacey. That child had inherited her mother’s poor posture. 

As a body of one, they moved into the master bedroom. Charlotte’s bedroom. She hastened her steps, ready to call all family members to immediately vacate her private quarters this instant. 

The words never formed. Charlotte entered the room, and lying on the bed- her bed- was a body. The skin was gray and wrinkled, though it almost had a plastic quality. The woman’s eyes were closed, as if in sleep, and her spindly hands were folded neatly on her bosom. Somewhere, she heard Elizabeth say that a heart attack had taken the elderly woman in her sleep. 

Lying on the bed was the body of Madam Charlotte Carlson.