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Ladies of the Fire

By Robin Luftig

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Chapter 1
May 1969

A person often meets his destiny
on the road he took to avoid it.
~ Jean de La Fontaine, French poet

Today’s the day she would bury her husband.

Lily-Rose sat under the awning on a padded chair—the special chair—reserved for a mourning spouse. Unusually cool and tormenting May winds whipped between the headstones in Lincoln’s Wyuka Cemetery, drawing her long and unruly auburn hair from her hat. The Pembrick mausoleum stood in prominence with other mausoleums bearing the well-known Lancaster county names—the same names that marked the streets of the historic Nebraska city. Butler. Kennard. Miller and Paine.

Lily-Rose had attended many a funeral in her thirty-five years, but she still couldn’t recall the proper etiquette. Should the grieving widow stand or stay seated when the minister approaches? She lifted a quivering gloved hand to Mark Backus, pastor-in-training, as he approached, hoping he would help her navigate the proper decorum.

“Uh, Mrs. Pembrick, ma’am,” Pastor Backus accepted her offered hand and motioned her to stay seated. He cleared his throat, seeming to search for the appropriate words. “It’s hard to explain such an unforeseen death for someone in the prime of life. Edward still had so much to offer. Who can fathom the will of God?”

Lily-Rose’s gaze stayed unfocused and she offered no response.

“Edward’s life shined as a beacon in the community,” he continued. “I hope you find solace, knowing many people loved and admired him.”

With still no reply, he straightened his back, raked his fingers through his hair, and muttered. “Father, help me here.”

Lily-Rose peered at the man of God, a thin veil of confusion clouding the view. “Your platitudes sound hollow.”

The pastor startled at her raw and unfiltered comment. He tried again. “Er, uh—don’t worry about a thing, Lily-Rose. This will only take a few moments. We’ll have you home in a jiffy.”

Her tone remained flat as she finally made eye contact with the pastor. With a raised eyebrow, “Really? Don’t worry about a thing? And just what am I supposed to do with my life when I get home. She paused, “‘In a jiffy’?”

Lily-Rose looked down again and rubbed her fingers over her lap, pressing imaginary wrinkles from her suit. Even in her foggy state, she regretted that her words hit so hard. Maybe Pastor Backus didn’t mind being here, but she hated it. She shifted in her chair and tried to bridle her words.

“I’m sorry, Pastor. I must’ve left my manners at home. Momma’d give me a good talkin’ to for how I’m acting. Forgive me, but . . .” her voice cracked. “No words are gonna make this better for me.”

She shifted again, trying to get comfortable in her seat. Her clothes, though elegant to fit her station, were not fit for the occasion. While her short black boots hugged her ankles and offered a respite from the wind, her one-of-a-kind Jacques Heim suit did little to keep her warm.

She had picked this suit from her closet in honor of her husband. Even though Edward enjoyed Lily-Rose’s casual preferences in attire, the sight of her in this designer always made him smile. “If it’s good enough for Sophia Loren, it’s good enough for my Lily-Rose,” he’d say. But truth be told, she would have traded anything to be in a pair of jeans, a cable knit sweater, and her favorite high-top Converse tennis shoes and away from here, surrounded by Lincoln’s hoity-toity society.

Anywhere but here.

The psychotropic medication prescribed by the family doctor had set her head in the clouds. He had guaranteed their ability to carry her through the funeral—and a bit after. He promised no harm. No foul. Maybe that’s why her words to the pastor were so bity and out of character.

She refocused her thoughts on the present and spoke softly to the hapless man before her. “It’s not getting any warmer, Pastor. Let’s move this show along.”

Local news crews lurked outside the cemetery, just as they had parked at the gate of Lily-Rose’s home, waiting for the money shot—the first picture of the young, rags-to-riches grieving widow about to gain control of millions. During the days since the accident, she had agreed to let a few of Edward’s associates into her gated protective bubble. She had turned to his team for support but was met with either empty words or callous comments.

“Lily-Rose, darling, I feel just awful about Edward,” or “Lily-Rose, it’s all cool. Considering your age and piles of money in the bank, you won’t have any problems finding another dude for your ankle biters.”

The comfort she so desperately needed came from her children. Lily-Rose’s son Delaney—nicknamed Del—now sat on his own padded chair and huddled against her, staving off the elements. She treasured his presence. The smell of his hair. The emotional connection they shared since his birth. Her baby. He buried the left shoulder of his slight twelve-year-old frame into her side. She wished there was more to offer him than just the comfort of her presence. His blue eyes—his father’s eyes—that once danced with laughter, now puffy and pooling with tears. His freckled nose—her nose—shone red from crying.

His words after the accident still haunting her. “I’m sorry, Mom. It’s my fault Dad’s dead.”

No, she had told him, but she knew the accident would live rent-free in her son’s heart the rest of his life. Not because of him, but because of that. Edward had fallen from a tree in their back yard while retrieving a snagged Frisbee. An accident, pure and simple. One slip. Now her kids had only the memory of a father.

Ironically, she and Edward had chosen to live in a gated community to keep their family safe. Still, heartache managed to find them. Edward was dead. As she watched the expression of guilt wash her son’s face, Lily-Rose ached, even in her drugged state.

Mary, Lily-Rose’s sixteen-year-old daughter, sat like a block of ice at her left in another chair of honor. Her auburn hair and beauty mirrored that of her mother’s. Straight bangs fringed her porcelain skin. Her strong jaw—that defiant mannerism that caused so many fights between them—was apparent. Even grieving, she cared little about propriety and insisted on wearing the most with-it style. The collar of her Nehru maxi-dress peered out of her muskrat fur pea coat.

Lily-Rose winced at the thought of her daughter’s pouts and flinches when she reached out for her. Probably because Mary blamed her for Edward’s death. Not surprising. Mary seemed to blame her for everything these days. Nothing came easy to the relationship between this stay-at-home mother and teenage daughter. As they waited by Edward’s final resting place, the memory of Mary’s words and the pain that came with them at the accident site rushed back.

“If I’d been there,” Mary screamed, “this never would’ve happened. I climbed that tree a million times. It’s your fault Dad’s dead. I hate you. I wish you were dead.”

As hours passed that horrid day, Mary’s anger lessen a bit as she worked through the shock of her dad being gone.

“Mom,” Mary said the day after her tantrum. “I’m sorry ’bout what I said when Dad fell.” She walked to where Lily-Rose sat and curled onto her mother’s lap, the way only a child who knew all the sweet spots could. Lily-Rose embraced a reprieve from emptiness with her daughter in her arms as their heads nuzzled.

“Mommy,” Mary said, voice breaking. “I’m still pretty ticked off at you.”

“I’m angry, too, sweetie,” she said, knowing her daughter’s anger wasn’t truly on her.

Mary’s snuggling filled Lily-Rose’s lap. Silence hung in the air. Lily-Rose inhaled the sweet smell of Mary’s shampoo.

“I could’ve fixed it.”

“I know it’s hard, girlie, but please don’t dwell on the why’s of this too long. You’ll just find grief and sorrow there.”

Moments passed. Mary stayed cuddled in her mother’s lap. “Mommy?”

“Yes, dear?”

“Who’s going to teach me to drive stick?”

Lily-Rose smiled. The picture of Mary grinding gears in the driveway brought a moment of joy to her.

“How ‘bout me? Would that be so terrible?”

“’Spose not.”

More silence.

“Mommy?”

“Yes, Mary.” Lily-Rose stroked her daughter’s hair.

“When I get married who’s gonna walk me down the aisle?”

“I don’t know, baby. Do you plan on getting married any time soon?”

“Huh. No.”

Lily-Rose kissed the top of Mary’s head then leaned her cheek against it, savoring the moment. “Well, that’s a relief. Maybe we can find the answer to that question when we get closer to your big day. What do you say?”

“I ’spose.

More time passed. Lily-Rose fingered the tiny tangles in Mary’s hair in silence.

“Mom?”

“Yes, Mary.”

“I’m still ticked.”

“Yeah, I know, Mare. I’m still ticked, too.”

Lily-Rose’s awareness of that day’s finality returned to her. Yes, she was angry. And sad. And scared. And alone.

Lily-Rose’s skin began to crawl as she looked around and spied Christopher Pembrick, Edward’s brother, seated behind her. Staring in her direction. She smiled. Lily-Rose had overheard comments from several of her husband’s colleagues that Christopher might make an appearance from Saint Lucia with his latest conquest to attend the funeral. Sure enough, he had.

He hadn’t seen much of the family in years. He’d worked with Edward at PT when necessary, but seldom spent time with Lily-Rose and the kids. She marveled over how the kids adored their uncle even though he rarely saw them. Yet she understood. When Christopher let someone into his life, it was inspiring.

She remembered. But that was years—a lifetime—ago.

Maybe this could be a healing opportunity for Christopher. For all of them. With Edward gone, maybe Christopher would find peace with the remaining Pembrick family.

Christopher sat scrunched in his seat with his coat collar flipped up, staving off the wind’s assault. His beard stubble gave away the fact he probably hadn’t decided to attend until the last minute. He hadn’t removed his aviator sunglasses, but Lily-Rose could only guess they hid the evidence of an alcohol-filled all-nighter.

A tanned, long-legged woman who didn’t seem much older than Mary tried to wrap herself around his arm.

As Lily-Rose turned to face forward she heard the woman’s whine. “Christopher, the wind’s cold.” Her gum cracked between the words and emitted the faint scent of peppermint. “When can we go back to the island?”

“Shh. We talked about this on the way here, Melody, and you promised to be quiet.” He exhaled deeply. “My head’s killing me.”

“My name’s Melanie, remember—Melanee, not Melodee.”

“Right. After I put some business behind me, we can leave and pick up where we left off.”

“But I’m cold.”

He tilted his head toward her and talked quietly, but Lily-Rose still heard the exchange. “Haven’t I taken care of my ol’ lady up till now? The sand, the shopping—” He paused. “—and the nights? Relax, be your gorgeous self and know every man here envies me.”

“You think I’m gorgeous, Christopher?” still snapping.

“Yeah, yeah, sure baby. I promise we’ll take the Pembrick plane back when I’m done. Maybe you could wear one of the groovy little numbers I bought for you. Wear for a bit, anyway.”

Shocked by such talk at her husband’s funeral, Lily-Rose turned to glare at her brother-in-law in time to hear, “Okay, Christopher, whatever you say.”

“Thanks, honey. You won’t regret it. I promise.”

Christopher noticed Lily-Rose’s frown and pulled his glasses down the bridge of his nose to meet it.

She softened. This was for Edward. “Nice to see you, Christopher. Thanks for coming.”

“Yeah, no problem. It’s been awhile since we last spoke. You look good—considering. Sorry for your loss.”

“It’s your loss, too. You, me, and the kids are all that’s left now.”

“And Pembrick Transportation. Don’t forget we still have that.”

Del and Mary turned at the sound of Christopher’s voice. “Hey, Unc-a-bunk.”
Christopher offered a genuine smile to the kids. “Hey,” was all he said. With that, the kids turned back.

Christopher leaned in for a more private conversation with Lily-Rose. “Excuse me for sayin’, but you’re still smokin’ hot. Edward was one lucky guy. First you, then the family business. He had it all. The perfect life . . . until last week. So much for perfection, right? I mean really, he went and got dead.”

Lily-Rose gasped and whipped around, wishing she had never initiated their conversation.

The sharp wind carried Christopher’s voice to her again. “Don’t worry, Melissa. We’ll be in Saint Lucia before you can blink. Meeting with the attorney won’t take long.”

“My name’s Melanie, not Melissa. ’Member—Melanee.”

“Sure, honey, whatever you say.”

“Thank you for coming to honor the life of Edward Cooper Pembrick,” Pastor Backus’ voice faded into the background. Lily-Rose bit the inside of her cheek to distract herself from crying. She needed to be strong for Mary and Del. She needed to show Christopher he couldn’t shake her. She needed to prove to herself that what Edward had said all along was true.

She would be worthy to be a Pembrick.

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