The Undertaker's Daughter (Ilka #1)(53)

“What do you think your grandmother would do?” she asked, but he’d already set the goodies on the floor. Two minutes later they were licked so clean that you couldn’t see the plates had been used.

“What’s going to happen with the dogs?” Ilka asked as they walked out into the front hall. His mother was putting her coat on.

“They’re going to stay with us.”

Helen had red splotches on her cheeks. She smiled at her son. “It went so well.” She shook Ilka’s hand. “Everything was like Mother would have wanted. And there were no problems whatsoever. I am so grateful to you. Should we take the flowers with us, or will you take care of them?”

“If you don’t want to take them with you, we’ll make sure they are laid on the coffin after it’s closed.” Ilka spoke with such authority that she surprised even herself. It struck her again that only a few days ago, all she knew about the funeral home business was what she had picked up as a child, but now here she was, talking as if she were running everything. Which, in a way, she was. At least on paper.

She shook her head and watched Helen walk to the car with her arm around her son, the two dogs running at their feet.





24



Shelby had left by the time Ilka returned, so she kicked off her shoes, shrugged out of her father’s stiff jacket, and hung it back in the closet along with the pants. She’d just pulled a sweater over her head when someone knocked on the door. At first, she thought about hiding somewhere, but they knocked again. When she opened the door, Sister Eileen was standing outside holding a small tray with tea and a bowl of cookies that had been left over from the funeral service.

“Something to eat and drink?” The nun held the tray out and looked at Ilka exactly the way her mother did whenever she thought her daughter was working too hard.

“Thank you.” She was surprised, and suddenly she felt hungry.

“There’s also a plate of canapés downstairs. I wrapped them up and put them in the refrigerator.”

Ilka eyed Sister Eileen, who politely stood out in the hall. Nothing about her smile gave the impression she was holding anything back from Ilka. She looked friendly and considerate. Maybe Ilka was only imagining this mistrust.

She took the tray. “Thank you so much. I really am hungry, in fact.”

Once again she considered asking about the clothes, but instead she pointed at the small pile of drawings beside the odd clay figure and homemade Father’s Day card. “I’ve been thinking about driving out to my half sisters and giving those to them.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you,” the nun said. She offered to find a bag for them.

“That’s okay; there’s not very much, only those things. Is there anything I can do to help downstairs before I go?”

Sister Eileen shook her head. She stood in the doorway, as if there was something else on her mind, but she didn’t say anything. Ilka broke the awkward silence. “How did you end up in Racine, by the way? Was it because of your parish? You didn’t grow up here, did you?”

She was just being friendly, making small talk so they could get to know each other better, but the nun’s reaction was so dismissive that Ilka wondered if she had said something wrong.

“I’ve picked up downstairs, and the tables have been put away. I’m going to lock up and take the rest of the day off. If, that is, you don’t need me for anything more.”

She’d already turned to leave when Ilka quickly shook her head. “No, go ahead, take the day off. What time is Ed McKenna’s daughter coming tomorrow?”

She answered from halfway down the stairs. “She won’t be here until twelve; there aren’t so many flights during the weekend.”

“Fine. We can sleep a little longer.” Ilka smiled at her back.



She had tied a wide green satin ribbon around the drawings and put them aside. While going through the drawers, she had also found some photos of her father with her half sisters. And a brown envelope with several letters from them addressed to him. It looked like they were written while he was traveling in California. Naturally she had read all of them; no one would mind, she thought. The letters were mostly about things like the rabbits doing well, their homework was hard. And their mother had been in the hospital, but they had visited her, and she had come home after a few days. Even though their father had been gone only three weeks, the girls had dutifully written him every other day.

Ilka folded the letters up again. Surely he had written back? Nothing they had written seemed like answers to any questions he might have asked. They were just small, childlike updates. She guessed that some of the drawings had been sent with the letters.

On the way to her father’s family, she tried not to think too much about meeting them. She tried to convince herself there was no reason to be nervous. And she wasn’t, not really. And yet. Should she have called, given them the chance to prepare for her?

She still hadn’t heard from them. It struck her that they might be angry about her inheriting the funeral home business. They might feel she had taken something from them. But they could just come right out and say it. They could have it. Right now. Maybe that was why she was a bit nervous: They hadn’t reacted.

She thought about the wheelchair. Possibly they assumed she would come to them. Maybe they couldn’t understand why she hadn’t already contacted them. But she was the stranger, the guest. She was the one to be welcomed.