“Such a good man,” the young woman cried. “Such a good, good man!”

“I know, Angelina, I know,” Marion sobbed as the two women held each other, rocking slowly back and forth. Though I was a little startled to see a woman of Marion’s class and generation interacting so intimately with a member of the household staff, I was glad. I thought it was telling of the kind of person Marion Smythe must be.

I was also glad she had someone with whom she could share her grief. I still remembered that horrible feeling after Bryan died, that there was no one left to hug me, to cradle me. His funeral was filled with polite cheek kisses and somber handshakes when the whole time what I really needed was a pair of capable arms around me, holding me as tightly as possible, whispering that it was okay to let myself go.

The young maid did this for Marion, rubbing her back as she cried. Unsettled by the depth of their grief, I closed my eyes and did the only thing I could think of to do: I prayed for them, prayed that the Lord would fill their minds with understanding and their hearts with peace. After a while, the room grew more quiet, their sobs fading to a few shaky sighs.

“Wendell was a very devout Christian,” Marion said to me, wiping at her eyes and trying to pull herself together. “That’s my only consolation, that I know right now Wendell is with God, in heaven.”

I felt the same about Bryan, and Angelina voiced similar thoughts about her beloved grandparents. Finally, the young woman excused herself, returning a few minutes later with some hot tea and promising to have the cook whip up some soup. Marion and I drank the tea, rehashing the events of the day. She bemoaned the fact that had she arrived an hour earlier to her husband’s office, she would’ve been able to see him while he was still alive. I felt badly about that, knowing she had set her timing to coincide with mine so she could take me to brunch once my work with her husband was finished. Now, instead of coffee and soup at Bookbinder’s Restaurant, she and I were sharing tea and tears in her drawing room, and Wendell was dead.

“I only spoke with your husband for a few minutes,” I said, “but he seemed like such a nice man, such a pleasure to be around.”

“Oh, he was. Warm. Funny. Genuine. And so smart, so capable. Now all I have for my last memory of him is the quick kiss he gave me this morning as he left for work. Typical morning rush, you know. ‘I’ll see you at the office,’ he told me. Those were his final words to me.”

We sipped tea silently after that, and as she sat on her lovely sofa and stared off in the distance, I started to feel restless, wondering what I was going to do about clothes and toiletries. Finally, as if reading my mind, Marion put on a brave smile and said it was time for Angelina to show me to my room, insisting that I borrow some of her daughter’s clothes until I could pick up a few things of my own.