Martha came down for the funeral, which was delayed with absolute cruelty, Emily thought, by the aunts, until Saturday. Emily told her of Mrs. Benton's stoicism, but not of Johnnie's unconscious hardness.
And Martha sighed and said, merely, "Well, I suppose everybody has something up their sleeve, mammie!"
Johnnie came in on Friday evening, harassed and red eyed.
"You here, Martie!" he exclaimed, touched by the sight of her. "For the love of Mike, don't let anyone know I'm here. Let's go up to your sitting room! Somebody'll be coming in. I want to smoke; I got to have a smoke!"
A pitiful Johnnie made Martha kind.
"It isn't heated up," she said. "We don't heat it now, weather like this. But you can come and wash dishes with me. You can smoke there; nobody'll see you."
It was the usual thing for Martha to insist on Emily's staying in the living room when Martha was washing the evening dishes. So she remained there, and people came in, as Johnnie had foreseen they would. One hour passed, and another, and the supper dishes still apparently detained the young things. After another half-hour Emily went to the kitchen. She opened the door.
The scene was scarcely what she had expected. The room was thick with smoke; and there, huddled over the stove, sat old Maggie, who was supposed to have gone to bed hours ago, and across her old rough face her mouth stretched from ear to ear in one great beaming smile, while her eyes looked straight at the chief mourner. He sat on the kitchen table, near the prunes soaking in the bowl overnight. He still had on the blue-gingham apron some one had tied about his slender body. He was leaning forward alertly, and in his hand he held a cigarette all lit and ready to go into his mouth the moment the flow of his eager narrative ceased for an instant. His eyes were fixed upon Martha, who sat on the high kitchen stool with her feet on its upper rungs. She had on a red jersey frock; she sported a very long purple-and-black cigarette holder and she sat listening intently, her chin atilt.
"And the chief—he was a good old sport—he says to the captain, 'It's the first time I was ever ordered to get a lady out of a——'"
He saw the door opening. He saw Emily. She knew at once that she had spoiled a perfect hour. Johnnie's normal light-heartedness collapsed. Emily saw him recalling horribly the coffin and its contents, and the hushed and exaggerated reverence of those that waited about it.