The Funeral Dress (27 page)

Emmalee scrambled to her feet. “Then why’d you crawl on top of me like that? I ain’t some wild cat in heat.”

“Hell, I figured I could care about you without marrying you. Can’t I do that, Emmalee?”

“Care about me,” Emmalee said, the words seeming to float away on the water’s surface. “Sure. You can care about me all you want.” Emmalee snatched up the blanket and wrapped it around her body. She begged Billy to take her back to Red Chert, and when he did, she told him not to come for her anymore. She ran alone down the gravel road back to her father’s house, tears streaming down her face. Billy called after her. He begged her to stay and talk things out, but Emmalee ran on, knowing
there was no amount of talk that would ever change where their roots were first planted.

She had worked hard to forget Billy in the months following that afternoon on the riverbank and she never once believed she was pregnant with his child. She was tired most days but working at the factory and taking care of Nolan always left her that way. She had bled some in the months afterward, but she hadn’t kept track of its timing. She hadn’t gained much weight either, nothing that a loose-fitting shirt couldn’t hide. But now looking at Billy’s bedroom, she could see he hadn’t been any more ready to admit he was a parent than she had been.

“You are not to go in there,” Mrs. Fulton said and pulled her son’s door shut. “You will be staying over here in Rachel’s room.” She pointed to the other side of the hall. “Bathroom’s down there. Here are clean towels. A terry robe’s hanging right inside the bedroom closet. But don’t go touching any of her other things.” Mrs. Fulton spun around and headed toward the stairs.

“Oh, and Emmalee”—Mrs. Fulton kept her back to Emmalee as she spoke—“don’t confuse my husband’s kind gesture as anything more than that.”

Emmalee stuck her tongue full out of her mouth. She was growing to hate that woman and was eager to see her go. She was worn out and wanted to sleep. It had been nearly four days since Leona had passed, and she hadn’t slept much since hearing the news. Her eyes burned and her body hurt, tired from sewing and grieving and caring for Kelly Faye.

She inched toward the bed draped in a crisp white coverlet with a large
F
stitched in the center and a smaller
R
and
W
on either side of it, all done in a golden yellow thread. Emmalee lifted the pretty cover and folded it back toward the foot of the bed. She overheard Mr. Fulton speak in muffled tones and another set of footsteps sounded up the stairs. These steps were uneven and slow, and Emmalee greeted Mr. Fulton at the door. He held a plate in one hand and a large glass of water in the other.

“Doctor said you need to eat and drink plenty of fluids. Here’s your medicine.” Mr. Fulton set the plate on the table by the bed and fished in his pocket for a bottle of pills. “Go ahead and take one. You’ll take another again after supper.” He handed Emmalee the glass.

“Thank you,” Emmalee said and swallowed a large drink of water.

“I’m about ready to head out to talk to Runt and Mettie. Figured they’d both be home this time of day.” Mr. Fulton motioned for Emmalee to sit down. He sat next to her, careful to dust the seat of his pants before sitting on the monogrammed coverlet. “Look, Emmalee, I’m not trying to convince you of anything. But I do want you to consider that sometimes letting go is the most loving thing you can do for somebody. I’ve seen it in the eyes of the sick and dying too many times to count.”

“You ain’t trying to tell me I’m dying, are you?”

“No. No.” Mr. Fulton laughed. He leaned across Emmalee and picked up the china plate. “But you do need to eat some food, or you’re going to waste away right here in front of me.” He handed it to Emmalee. “All I meant is that if you were to decide to let Runt and Mettie keep the baby, nobody’s going to think less of you.”

Emmalee pushed away the plate. “I’m not sure anybody could think less of me than they already do.”

“Stop that talk. Everybody makes mistakes. Billy’s got a part in this, too. No matter what his mother thinks.”

Emmalee laughed. “I’m sorry,” she said, putting her hand to her mouth. “But I’m sure Mrs. Fulton would like to think I did this on my own.”

“Well, it is a little bit funny, hon,” Mr. Fulton said. “Good not to lose your sense of humor, even in the darkest days. That’s another thing I’ve learned from burying the dead all these years.” Again, he passed the plate to Emmalee.

Emmalee lifted the piece of white bread covering the slices of meat and cheese. “Nolan ain’t bought ham in months.”

“You enjoy it then,” Mr. Fulton said and placed the plate in her hands. He stood and straightened the cover where he had sat. “And by the way, Hester’ll be downstairs in case you need anything else.”

Mr. Fulton turned toward the door and stopped. “You know, Emmalee, you’ve got a lot of living to do yet. You need to finish your education, make something of yourself. You’re no more than a child yourself.”

“I ain’t been a child for a long time.”

Mr. Fulton’s smile faded.

“I want my baby,” Emmalee said. “I want her more than anything and not just because I birthed her and got a claim to her. I love her.”

Mr. Fulton nodded.

“Take me with you. Please. I want to go with you. I need to talk to Mettie.”

Mr. Fulton shook his head. “I really do think it’s best if you stay here and rest, like Dr. Greer said.” Mr. Fulton took hold of the doorknob. “Let me talk to them first. Everybody’s emotions are running pretty high today. And you getting upset and Mettie getting upset won’t help the baby at all.”

“But I’m her mama. It ain’t right what she’s done. Mettie said she’d keep Kelly Faye for me while I worked on the dress. I didn’t leave her there for good. Mettie promised to give her back. She lied right to my face. She knew she was staking a claim to my child.”

“Like I said, you’ll have your chance. But not right now.” Mr. Fulton’s voice sounded firm. “Eat up. I didn’t make that sandwich for it to sit there and get stale,” he said and pulled the door behind him.

Emmalee set aside the sandwich and rushed to the door.

“Wait. Mr. Fulton.”

He turned to look back at her.

“I just wanted you to know Kelly was your blood. With all the dying going on this week, I guess I needed her to know she got some family of her own. More than me and Nolan.” Emmalee hesitated. She leaned against the doorframe.

Mr. Fulton nodded and pointed to the sandwich. “Eat.”

Emmalee dozed for a bit but never fell into a deep sleep. Every creak inside the two-story house stirred her awake, and she lay there anxious for any sound of her baby’s return. There was no clock in the room, but
Emmalee had grown good at judging time by looking at the sky. She figured Mr. Fulton had been gone nearly two hours when she heard the creaking sound of the front door open and close.

She ran to the top of the stairs, jumping down two at a time to reach the first floor. Mrs. Fulton was already standing on the porch. She ignored her husband, who struggled to push the car door open.

Emmalee saw no sign of her baby girl. She slumped against a porch post before catching a flash of pink, a piece of blanket across Mr. Fulton’s dark suit. Emmalee ran toward the wagon, but Mrs. Fulton quickly ordered her back.

“Don’t make another scene out here,” Mrs. Fulton hissed, standing on the concrete walk and casting a long shadow across the lawn.

Emmalee ignored Mrs. Fulton and ran to the street, meeting Mr. Fulton as he stepped onto the curb. She reached for her baby, scooping Kelly into her arms and rocking her back and forth, kissing her tiny head. “I missed you, baby. I missed you,” she repeated between kisses.

“Emmalee, quit carrying on like that out here in broad daylight.” Mrs. Fulton kept one hand on her hip and waved at Emmalee with the other. “Or maybe I should knock on Ruthie’s door, and we’ll make it a party right here in the front yard.” Emmalee clutched the baby tighter and brushed past Mrs. Fulton as she walked back to the house.

“Basil, what have you gone and done?” Mrs. Fulton stood face-to-face with her husband.

Mr. Fulton sidled around his wife and followed Emmalee into the living room.

“Why don’t you go on upstairs, Emmalee, and get the baby settled,” he said. “I’ll be up to check on the both of you in a minute.”

“Thank you, Mr. Fulton.”

Emmalee carried the baby up the stairs. She heard Mrs. Fulton carrying on behind her, but she did not look back. She kissed the baby’s neck and stepped down the hall.

Emmalee eased onto the bed, resting against one of the large monogrammed pillows placed along the headboard. The baby slept in her arms, and even though Emmalee was growing tired, she refused to put Kelly down. She kept her close and watched the baby’s back rise and fall with every little breath.

Emmalee dozed a bit and then jerked awake at the sound of Mrs. Fulton’s voice growing louder and louder until every angry word seemed to be gurgling up through the bedroom floor.

“I don’t care what Dr. Greer thinks. You had no right to bring that baby into this house. What were you thinking, Basil? You know as well as I do that child is best off with Mettie and Runt. That girl can’t be trusted with a newborn.”

“Hush, Hester.” Mr. Fulton’s voice rang loud and strong and for once it frightened as much as it impressed Emmalee. “I’m going to tell you what I told Runt and Mettie. Let’s get Leona buried first.”

Emmalee pulled the pink blanket over her baby’s head. “Don’t listen to that talk,” she said and stared into her baby’s eyes and kissed her tiny lips, leaving wet tears on Kelly Faye’s cheeks. Kelly Faye scrunched her nose
as if she was going to cry but her face fell into a smile. In these rare moments of her daughter’s contentment, Emmalee marveled they had made it this far, especially now with just about everyone plotting to take her baby. She rolled on her side and placed Kelly Faye on the mattress beside her. She lifted her shirt and pulled the baby to her breast.

“You’ll be nice to your mama, won’t you?”

Emmalee flinched as the infant latched on to her nipple. But this time she took a deep breath and shoved a pillow behind Kelly Faye’s back, determined to find a more comfortable position. Emmalee did not hurry things along. Instead, when her baby’s eyes started to droop, Emmalee tickled Kelly Faye’s feet and encouraged her to drink some more as Dr. Greer had instructed her to do. “There you go, pretty thing. There you go. Dr. Greer called you a nip-and-napper. Is that what you are? A nip-and-napper?” She patted her baby’s back.

Emmalee hummed a lullaby, making up words to the tune she had heard long ago. She snuggled closer to her baby. And there on the second floor of the Fultons’ home, a few feet from Billy’s room, Emmalee drifted back to the day when Kelly Faye was born, and Leona was there to help her.

L
EONA

T
ENNEWA
S
HIRT
F
ACTORY

Two Months Ago

Leona had dropped five bundles, each one at least four dozen collars thick, in Emmalee’s basket this week alone. Still she suspected Emmalee would fall short. Mr. Clayton had been patient with Emmalee, but even Leona wasn’t sure how much longer his good nature would last.

Mrs. Whitlow stood by the time clock and took note of Emmalee’s tardy entrance, the third in a row. She studied Emmalee as she settled behind her machine a few minutes after the morning whistle blew. Even Georgia Lewis pointed to the clock and twisted her lip in a smirky manner. Emmalee’s thin cotton dress was soaked with sweat. She had walked to work, she told Leona, and the morning broke hot. “That’s all it is,” she said, her tone turning sharp. Leona offered to fetch her a glass of cold water, but Emmalee shooed her away.

Only when Wilma stood up for her morning coffee
break did she get a good look at Emmalee, her tanned skin turned white and her blue eyes glassy. Wilma leaned forward and gently placed her hand on Emmalee’s forehead. “You got a fever, hon?” she asked, staring into Emmalee’s eyes. “You don’t feel too hot but your eyes sure look sick.”

Emmalee pushed away Wilma’s hand. But Leona could see Emmalee’s arms and legs shake, and she had listened all morning to Emmalee’s machine stopping and starting in awkward fits as her foot fell and relaxed against the floor pedal.

“You’re wringing wet, girl,” Wilma said.

“Machine’s running hot. That’s all.” Emmalee pointed beneath the table where the motor coughed hot air. Leona knew the motor could scorch bare legs, but she glanced over at Emmalee as though she did not believe her.

“Leona, you think Emmalee done caught that summer flu going around?” Wilma asked. She leaned farther over her machine to make her voice heard. “You and I both know that machine ain’t been running long enough to make a body sweat like that. Besides, she barely finished half a bundle. Easter said the crud’s been going around Cloverdale Loop for more than a week. Maybe it’s done spread to Red Chert.” Wilma stood up and shoved her chair beneath her table. “Maybe she ought to go on home,” she said. “No sense getting us all sick.” Wilma walked to the other side of the room carrying an empty mug in her hand.

Emmalee’s face grew flush and her hair wet with sweat. She dropped her head on the machine and turned her cheek to its metal searching for a cool surface. She
held her arms around her stomach and screamed for Leona. She screamed again, long and slow, piercing the noise of the machines’ spinning fast. She crawled onto the floor, her body twisted up tight.

Leona rushed to Emmalee, and she spotted Gwen Whitlow running from the front office on the other side of the factory. “Oh Lord, is it her finger?” Gwen hollered as she sprinted across the sewing room floor to the corner where the collar makers worked. It had been only three days since Naomi Johnson placed three perfect stitches in her left index finger. Gwen near fainted at the sight of the long shiny needle piercing the woman’s flesh and coming out clean on the other side. She knelt by Emmalee with her hand over her mouth, checking her body for open wounds.