She would awaken in the middle of the night and rush into the children’s rooms to make sure they were safe. My children are going to die, Mary thought. We’re all going to die. People were calmly walking the streets. Idiots, laughing, happy—and they are all dying. Their hours were numbered, and they wasted them playing stupid card games and going to silly movies and pointless football games. Wake up! she wanted to scream. The earth is God’s slaughterhouse, and we’re his cattle. Don’t they know what’s going to happen to them and to everyone they love?
The answer came to her slowly, painfully, through the heavy black veils of grief. Of course they knew. Their games were a form of defiance, their laughter an act of bravado—a bravado born from the knowledge that life was finite, that everyone faced the same fate; and slowly her fear and anger melted and turned to wonder at the courage of her fellow human beings. I’m ashamed of myself. I have to find my own way through the maze of time. In the end, each of us is alone, but in the meantime, we must all huddle together to give one another comfort and warmth.
The Bible says that death is not a final ending, it is merely a transition. Edward would never leave her and the children. He was there, somewhere.
She carried on conversations with him. I talked to Tim’s teacher today. His grades are improving. Beth is in bed with a cold. Remember how she usually gets them this time of the year? We’re all having dinner over at Florence and Douglas’s tonight. They’ve been wonderful, darling.
And, in the middle of the black night, The dean stopped by the house. He wanted to know whether I planned to go back to teaching at the university. I told him not now. I don’t want to leave the children alone, even for a little while. They need me so much. Do you think I should go back one day?
A few days later: Douglas got a promotion, darling. He was made chief of staff at the hospital.
Could Edward hear her? She did not know. Was there a God, and was there a hereafter? Or was it a fable? T. S. Eliot said: “Without some kind of God, man is not even very interesting.”
President Paul Ellison, Stanton Rogers, and Floyd Baker were meeting in the Oval Office. The secretary of state said, “Mr. President, we’re both getting a lot of pressure. I don’t think we can hold off any longer on naming an ambassador to Romania. I’d like you to look over the list I gave you and select—”
“Thanks, Floyd. I appreciate your efforts. I still think Mary Ashley would be ideal. Her domestic situation has changed. What was rotten luck for her may turn out to be good luck for us. I want to try her again.” He turned to Stanton Rogers. “Stan, I’d like you to fly out to Kansas and persuade her to accept the post.”
“If that’s what you want, Mr. President.”
Mary was preparing dinner when the telephone rang, and when she picked it up, an operator said, “This is the White House. The President is calling Mrs. Edward Ashley.”
Not now, she thought. I don’t want to speak to him or anyone.
She remembered how excited his call had once made her. Now it was meaningless. She said, “This is Mrs. Ashley, but—”
“Would you please hold?”
Moments later the familiar voice came on the line. “Mrs. Ashley, this is Paul Ellison. I just want you to know how terribly sorry we are about your husband. I understand he was a fine man.”
“Thank you, Mr. President. It was kind of you to send flowers.”
“I don’t want to intrude on your privacy, Mrs. Ashley, and I know it’s been a very short time, but now that your domestic situation has changed, I’m asking you to reconsider my offer of an ambassadorship.”
“Thank you, but I couldn’t possibly—”
“Hear me out, please. I’m having someone fly out there to talk to you. His name is Stanton Rogers. I would appreciate it if you would at least meet with him.”