All Bedlam Courses Past (part two hundred twenty-eight)

All Bedlam Courses Past

Chapter Eight

Things Relative

(part two hundred twenty-eight)

“I don’t mean quite that. The question of belief can be measured only by the profession of belief, while the sincerity of a professed Christian is no more to be determined than that of a Hindu. I feel nothing can be achieved but the air of a circus, if the deceased’s communications with her husband are made courtroom exhibits. Of spiritualism, a jury would require many days’ instruction, to grasp the least fundamentals.”

“Are you stabbing at, Monaghan, some notion a woman could be any less murdered, for having unorthodox…” Élucide’s father frowned disgust at the tabletop. “Having an eccentric mind, mentality?”

“Well, sir, you touch a point I must meander a while to arrive at, if you’ll forgive me. And may I have the thoughts of Miss Gremot?”

“Regina and I did not practice spiritualism together.”

“But of her character. None I’ve spoken to yet count themselves, or volunteer themselves, a sentimental friend. Bearing a fondness for Mrs. Demrose.”

This hit where not expected…how dare they?

“Regina” she said, “was the kindest person. Even this last December, she sent presents to my little cousins. She had drawn Mariette in by association, for having met Bertrand…Bertrand is Mariette’s older brother…once. And she bought dollies, for a twelve-year-old. A kit to make a banjo from a cardboard box, because to her mind Bertrand was musical.”

It choked her up, to think of Arnulfa pushing Regina in her chair, Regina’s unquenchable delight at seeing everything the stores had out for Christmas, the flawless fixing in Regina’s catalogue, of not-quite-facts…

I’m sending you this Moult gave me, that you said you liked so well.

And had she, ever? She would not have bet on it. Paste, because fine jewelers made nothing so commanding from gems so bright. Myra’s by rights, perhaps. (What had been that story of Myra’s?) Élucide had given the brooch to Mariette, and of all toys, this rainbow of glass was the child’s treasure.

“When Regina would write me, and on the one visit when Fannie Rutherford went with me…” She turned to her father. “When I saw Dr. Quackenbush.”

Her father frowned, unstirring.

To Monaghan she said,  “My genealogist.”

“When Mrs. Demrose wrote…?”

“About the adoption. The dream of it. She wanted nothing to do with the state homes. She believed you could not avoid mixed blood. She trusted the Catholics, for… I wish I could remember her phrase. For making a business of it, more or less. But she did not want, Mr. Monaghan, an Irish baby. Or a Polish baby. Or an Italian baby.”

“A generous woman, with the things she possessed. A soft spot for a child. A bigoted habit, as well, you mean for me to grasp. Do you know at all her own ancestry?”

“German,” Weem surprised with.

240

Bedlam

All Bedlam Courses Past (part two hundred twenty-nine)

(2025, Stephanie Foster)