The Funeral Dress (34 page)

The preacher’s words jumbled in Emmalee’s head. As his voice carried on about the Lanes’ good deeds and their strong Christian faith, she made less and less sense of what he was saying. The preacher’s message was meant to offer solace, but Emmalee’s thoughts took her from the church back to Red Chert Road and the morning Leona had come to see her.

Nolan had taken to the woods before sunrise, but Emmalee feared he was lurking about. She had begged Leona to go, afraid what Nolan would do if he found her and Curtis there.

“I’ll be coming back for you. Thursday morning. On the main road,” Leona called to Emmalee. “Thursday morning. You hear me? We’ll be waiting for you.”

Emmalee nodded as she peeked at Leona from behind the thick blanket covering the front window. Leona had looked back at her and smiled.

“Shall we bow our heads in a closing prayer,” the preacher said, and heads dropped low. People shifted in their seats while the sound of women crying grew stronger. “Dear Lord, we know you understand the loss we are feeling. We know you can heal our hearts. And we take comfort knowing you have welcomed our brother, Curtis, and our sister, Leona, into your heavenly kingdom. In all your gracious goodness, you have prepared a special room for them, and we look forward to reuniting there someday, in your heavenly mansion. In all things, dear sweet Jesus, we give you thanks. In your name, Lord, Amen.”

Emmalee did not close her eyes like the others. Instead she watched the preacher grow red-faced as he pleaded with the Lord to care for his friends. A mumbled
Amen
swept through the room, and the men and women who had sung before the service offered a closing hymn. Everyone stood. Some sang along with them. Others wept. The preacher kept his place between the caskets and watched as a dozen men came forward and first carried Leona and then Curtis out of the building. The preacher followed behind Curtis’s casket and everyone else poured from the pews and fell in place behind him. Emmalee kept close to Easter and Wilma.

Granite headstones dotted the ground to the side of the church. Bunches of flowers decorated most of the markers while a few others stood bare. Emmalee wondered if their families had moved on and forgotten them. As mourners fanned out among the gravestones, a gathering
of gray-feathered chickadees scurried across the cold ground and flew in unison to a branch hanging low just beyond a rickety iron gate.
Tsic-a-de-de-de
, they called back to the crowd, singing a final dirge.

Wilma and Easter escorted Emmalee through the cemetery toward the tent pitched above two graves carved into the dirt as if they were guiding her through an intricate maze of corn.
F
ULTON
-P
ITTMAN
F
UNERAL
H
OME
was printed in bold white lettering across the tent’s edge. Cora and Gwen followed Easter and Emmalee. Easter paused to place a red rose on her mother’s grave, and the bevy of women all bowed their heads for a silent moment.

Other mill women walked past Emmalee, but she did not recognize them at first dressed in finer clothes than she had seen them wear at Tennewa. A couple of lapel makers stopped and spoke to Easter and Wilma. They hugged Emmalee even though they had never said much to her before.

Together they walked a few feet more and stopped in front of a tiny tombstone with a lamb resting on top. The marker read
C
URTIS
, J
R
. “You’re with your mama now,” Easter said and wiped another tear. Easter pulled Emmalee close and the women huddled on the land’s gentle slope before turning their attention toward the two mounds of fresh dirt, each covered with a blanket of fake grass. The caskets rested on four thick canvas straps, each stretched across a large rectangular hole.

Two men dressed in identical green jumpsuits stood quietly apart at the back of the cemetery, both leaning on the long wooden handles of shovels kept by their sides. People collected around the caskets and the mound
of flowers, following Leona and Curtis everywhere they went.

Emmalee scanned the faces at the graveside. She knew Runt and Mettie were there, hidden among these people, keeping a close eye on her like Nolan did when he lurked about the woods. She held the baby tightly in her arms and kept close to Easter.

The preacher read Scripture from the first book of John, chapter five, verse twenty. He thanked the Lord for the beautiful day, choosing to ignore the clouds rolling in from the west. He thanked the Lord for his faithful servants, Leona and Curtis Lane, and lifted his Bible into the air and said
Amen
. The service concluded, and some of the crowd shuffled back toward the church where tables ladened with food awaited. A few looked to the darkening sky and quickened their pace toward the parking lot. Some lingered behind, chatting to one another or visiting other graves. One old man in a dark coat knelt beside a marker, picked stray weeds, and dusted a tombstone with his handkerchief.

Emmalee remained by Leona’s grave, finding it hard to leave her friend behind. The other seamstresses stood faithfully around her, never once urging her along. Some other mourners stopped and complimented Emmalee on her beautiful sewing. One or two reached out to hug her. Others only paused and stared. A few spoke in hushed tones.

Mr. Fulton leaned close to Nolan and pointed to the sky. He motioned for the men at the back of the cemetery to come forward. One walked to Leona’s grave and knelt on one knee. He placed the shovel on the ground and
bowed his head. He mumbled a few words before turning a large metal crank. The crank squealed as the straps began to lengthen, and Leona’s casket dropped slowly into the dark, damp ground.

Emmalee tossed the red carnation Sissie had given her on top of Leona’s casket and said her final good-bye. Emmalee couldn’t help but wonder if Leona and Curtis were as terrified at this moment, packed close in their silk-lined boxes, as they had been when they drove off Old Lick a few days ago. She liked to imagine they had reached for each other and died in one another’s arms. Emmalee wondered if maybe they were happy to have said good-bye to this world now that they walked together on the golden streets of heaven. Leona was a woman of simple means though, and Emmalee worried she would be unhappy living in such a fancy place. She waved her hand as if she was pushing the thought off into the clouds, not convinced those gold streets even existed.

“Hey there,” a man’s voice called out among the others. “Emmalee, hang on there a minute.” Emmalee’s heart thumped. She clutched Easter’s arm, the baby snug between them.

“You okay, Emmalee?” Easter asked.

Runt called again, his voice thundering amid the gravestones as he pushed his way past mourners drifting away from the cemetery.

“Emmalee,” he yelled. Mettie marched behind him.

Easter’s body stiffened, and Cora threw her hands on her hips, further widening her thick frame.

“We need to talk to you,” Runt said, his tone firm and a little too loud. Emmalee’s milk dropped, wetting her
blouse and the pretty gray sweater underneath her coat. The baby would be rooting for her next meal any minute.

Nolan lurched forward, but Mr. Fulton yanked on his arm. Nolan quickly fell back in place. Wilma covered the baby’s head with the pink crocheted blanket.

“Emmalee,” Runt repeated more softly. “It’s time.”

“Time for what?” Easter asked. “What are you talking about, Runt Bullard?” She held her right hand to her head, trying to hold her hair in place, as the wind gusted stronger.

“I don’t mean to sound rude, Mrs. Nichols,” Runt said. “But this ain’t your business. This is between me and my niece.”

Emmalee spotted Doris Cain walking toward them from outside the cemetery’s gate. Emmalee tried to bury her face behind Easter’s arm.

“Well, I know you got this girl shaking in her boots. And since she’s glued to me, I’d say it’s some of my business.”

Runt ignored Easter and reached for Emmalee’s arm. “Why don’t we finish this in the parking lot, Em.”

“Why don’t you leave this girl alone,” Easter said, growing excited, the large jellylike lump on her neck starting to shake.

Norma Barker, another lapel maker, came from behind and reached out to hug Wilma. But Wilma kept her eyes locked on Runt and Mettie, and Norma walked on. A few others paused as they walked past them, trying to decipher what was happening there among the dead. Even Mr. Fulton moved closer, but he kept his grip tight on Nolan’s coat sleeve.

Runt took Mettie’s hand. “Look ladies, Mettie and me are taking the baby home with us. Emmalee knows it. This ain’t no surprise to her.”

Easter narrowed her eyes and carefully pushed Emmalee behind her. “Why would you go and do that, Runt? Emmalee’s a good mama. She had a rough start for sure. There’s no denying that. But she can do it.” Easter looked toward the fresh graves and shook her head. “Leona knew she could, and I bet Curtis felt the same way.”

Mettie squeezed Runt’s hand. “Mrs. Nichols,” Runt said. “I believe even you would agree a baby don’t need to be raised in my brother’s house, no matter how good the care.”

“She don’t have to be raised there,” Easter shot back. Wilma tried to say something, too, but Easter cut her off. “Emmalee can live with any of us. She don’t have to go to Red Chert.”

“She ain’t living with strangers,” Runt said. “The baby ought to stay with the best of its family.”

Easter leaned toward Runt. “Emmalee’s proven she can do anything she sets her mind to. You seen that dress she made. She could make a good living doing things like that. I tell you this girl can do whatever she wants, even raising a baby way back there in Red Chert if she has to. But like I said, she don’t have to be in Red Chert if she don’t want.”

Runt exhaled, his breath blowing white against the graying sky. Mettie nudged Runt’s ribs, and he drew in a deep breath. He grabbed for Emmalee, but Cora swatted at his hand.

“Oh, Lord, you don’t need to get Cora going,” Easter said and laughed. “Don’t let her age fool you. She can
throw a pretty mean punch, and she’d think nothing of doing it right here on the church grounds.” Easter clapped her hand over the cross she was wearing around her neck. “See, I can’t do that. I’m a real Christian woman. But it wouldn’t bother Cora none, would it, Cora?”

“Nope. Wouldn’t bother me at all.” Cora inched toward Mettie, her arms by her side. “And I don’t think you want to get into it with an old woman here, with the preacher standing by. Do you, Runt?”

Mettie dropped Runt’s hand and crossed her arms across her middle. “I’m sorry, Emmalee, Mrs. Nichols, Cora,” Mettie said, her tone harsh, “but I can’t leave without the baby. I got to know Kelly Faye is safe.”

Emmalee turned away from her aunt and faced the men in the green jumpsuits. They handled the shovels as if they were children’s playthings, pushing the metal tips into the pile of red chert and easily tossing another bit of earth back into the open graves. Their motion was steady, and their brows were moist with sweat even though the temperature outside remained cold. With every shovelful of dirt, Emmalee watched Leona sinking farther away. She was disappearing right there in front of her, like her very own mama had done all those years before.

“Are you even listening to me, Emmalee?” Mettie asked. “We’re talking about your baby here.”

Emmalee handed the baby to Easter and stepped toward her aunt. “Funny how you never paid me a bit of attention till I got me something you wanted.”

“That’s not so,” Mettie said, her voice frantic. “Me and Runt are doing this for you and the baby.”

“For me. Hell, Mettie, you never cared about me.”
Emmalee pushed even closer till she could feel Mettie’s breath on her face and smell the jasmine perfuming her skin. “You know, I can’t help you’re drying up and ain’t got no baby in your house. But Kelly Faye ain’t your baby, no matter how bad you want her to be. So go on and get the sheriff,” Emmalee said and took her baby back in her arms. “This ain’t going to be as easy as you think.”

Mettie stood quiet, swaying on her high heels sunk deep in the wet ground.

“Go on,” Emmalee said, her voice so soft it was nearly swept away in the wind blowing stronger and colder than it had in the morning. Mettie’s coat slapped at her thighs, and she extended her arms like a tightrope walker trying to regain footing.

Mrs. Cain held her hand to Runt’s ear and said something in private. Runt nodded. He placed his hand at the small of Mettie’s back and slowly led her away. Mettie’s shoulders slumped forward and shook. Runt stopped and wrapped his arm around her waist, and Mettie leaned against her husband. Runt didn’t bother speaking to Nolan as he passed him by.

“Oh hell, Doris,” Cora said, interrupting the quiet, “you know I ain’t got much. My place ain’t much better than Nolan’s, I imagine, but I raised three kids there with nobody ever trying to take them from me.” Cora kept her hands on her hips and stepped toward Doris. “Like I said, my place ain’t much but it’s clean, and I’ll take in more if I need to.”

“That’s right,” Easter said. She stepped up next to Cora, and Wilma fell in behind her. “Me and Wilma got
room. We’d help. You know that. What’s got into you, Doris? I’ve never known you to go around yanking babies from their mamas. You gave up on Emmalee before she ever got started.”

Doris shook her head. “Maybe I’ve just seen more than you three and don’t have that kind of hope anymore.”

Brother Herd and Mr. Fulton stood by the women, listening to their offers to take Emmalee and Kelly Faye home. Mr. Fulton looked to his wife, but Hester ignored him and walked back to the church, disappearing through the front door.

None of them noticed Nolan sneaking up until he grabbed Emmalee around the arm and pulled her from them.

“Come on, girl,” Nolan said, “we’re going home.”

Cora shifted her pocketbook to her right hand and cocked her arm as if she might hit somebody. The preacher and Mr. Fulton stared at Nolan, who was tugging harder on Emmalee.

“Let go of me,” Emmalee said and jerked her arm free.