Free Lives of Girls and Women by Alice Munro Page B

on the front door, which was standing ajar. Mary Agnes came up joyfully smiling and made me stand still while she tied and re-tied my sash. The house and yard were full of people. Relatives from Toronto sat on the verandah, looking benevolent, but voluntarily apart. I was taken and made to speak to them, and avoided looking into the windows behind them, because of Uncle Craig’s body. Ruth McQueen came out carrying a wicker basket of roses, which she set on the verandah railing.
    â€œThere are more flowers than will ever go in the house,” she said, as if this was something we might all grieve for. “I thought I’d set them out here.” She was fair-haired, discreet, wanly solicitous— already an old maid. She knew everyone’s names. She introduced mymother and me to a man and his wife from the southern part of the county. The man was wearing a suit jacket with overalls.
    â€œHe give us our marriage licence,” the woman said proudly.
    My mother said she must go to the kitchen and I followed her, thinking that at least they could not have put Uncle Craig there, where the smells of coffee and food were coming from. Men were in the hall, too, like tree trunks to work your way through. Both doors of the front room were closed, a basket of gladioli set in front of them.
    Aunt Moira, draped in black like a massive, public pillar, was standing over the kitchen table counting teacups.
    â€œI’ve counted three times and every time I come up with a different number,” she said, as if this was a special misfortune that could happen only to her. “My brain is not able to work today. I can’t stand on my feet much longer.”
    Aunt Elspeth, wearing a wonderful starched and ironed apron, with frills of white lawn, kissed my mother and me. “There now,” she said, backing up from her kiss with a sigh of accomplishment. “Grace is upstairs, freshening her eyes. We just can’t believe it, so many people! Grace said to me, I think half the county is here, and I said what do you mean, half the county, I wouldn’t be surprised if its the whole county! We miss Helen, though. She sent a blanket of lilies.”
    â€œThere ought to be enough, goodness!” she said practically, looking at the teacups. All our good ones and kitchen ones and the ones we borrowed from the church!”
    â€œDo like at the Poole funeral,” whispered a lady by the table. “She put away her good ones, locked them up and used the ones from the church. Said she wasn’t risking her china.”
    Aunt Elspeth rolled her red-rimmed eyes in appreciation—her usual expression, just tempered by the occasion.
    â€œThe food will hold out anyway. I think there’s enough here to feed the five thousand.”
    I thought so too. Everywhere I looked I saw food. A cold roast of pork, fat roast chickens, looking varnished, crusted scalloped potatoes, tomato aspic, potato salad, cucumber and beet salad, a rosy ham, muffins, baking powder biscuits, round bread, nut bread,banana-loaf fruitcake, light and dark layer cake, lemon meringue and apple and berry pies, bowls of preserved fruit, ten or twelve varieties of pickles and relishes. Watermelon-rind pickles, Uncle Craig’s favourite. He always said he would like to make a meal out of those, with just bread and butter.
    â€œNo more than enough,” said Aunt Moira, darkly. “They all bring their appetites to funerals.”
    There was a stir in the hallway; Auntie Grace passing through, the men making way, she thanking them, subdued and grateful as if she had been a bride. The minister trailed behind her. He spoke to the women in the kitchen with restrained heartiness.
    â€œWell, ladies! Ladies! It doesn’t look as if you have let time lie heavy on your hands. Work is a good offering, work is a good offering in time of grief.”
    Auntie Grace bent and kissed me. There was a faint sour smell, a warning, under her eau de