Sweet Water (18 page)

A
t the funeral my evangelist son-in-law did the honors. Elaine and Horace sat on either side of me in the front left pew of the funeral home chapel, holding my hands. Elaine kept dabbing my face with a Kleenex whether I needed it or not. The grandchildren sat sniffling in the pews behind us. Behind them were our friends and Amory’s business colleagues, and then neighbors and employees and a few people I’d never seen before—but I expected that. Probably children he didn’t know he had.

“Amory Clyde was a good man, Lord,” said Larry, warming up. “He was a family man.”

People said “Umm-hmm” and “Yes, Lord” and “Amen,” but I wanted to hear Larry back that up before I opened my mouth.

“He was a good husband.”

I wondered what gave Larry the authority to say this. Out of the corner of my eye I could see people looking at me, nodding their heads. I think they expected me to be crying, but I couldn’t seem to get started.

“A good father.”

Horace and Elaine both squeezed my hands, tears streaming down their faces.

“A loving grandfather, and a kind and generous great-grandfather.” He looked at Alice holding Eric in her lap. “You see, Amory Clyde lived to a ripe old age,” he went on.

“A ripe old age,” someone echoed in the back. It sounded to me like Jeb Gregory, the handyman from the old place, who’d never had much
use for Amory as far as I could tell. We hadn’t seen Jeb in years. Why had he felt compelled not only to attend Amory’s funeral but to take an active part in it? I wanted to turn around and find out if it was him, but good manners forced me to keep my eyes forward.

“And in his full and active lifetime, he touched many of us with his warmth and generosity. His gentle spirit. Yes, Amory Clyde was an industrious and upstanding pillar of our community.” Larry put the emphasis on “industrious.” I thought he was really going overboard; but then, I suppose evangelists aren’t known for their restraint. And so far nobody had stood up and screamed that it was blasphemy, though I wouldn’t have been at all surprised if someone did. Death does interesting things to people.

“How many of us have benefited from the presence in this community of the Whitfield Mill?” asked Larry in a quiet voice. There was silence in the room. Even the most vociferous were stumped by this question. “How many of us can say, ‘My life has been enriched and enlivened by the people I have met and the business the mill has brought to our little town ‘?” Some woman finally emitted a halfhearted, “Praise the Lord,” enabling him to continue.

He tried a different approach. “Amory Clyde was a good man. He gave and gave to this community, and he never gave up.” Larry smiled, evidently pleased with this neat turn of phrase, and I wondered for a moment if he expected applause. “He always strove to be fair and just in his business and personal dealings. In many ways, he was a role model for the people of this town.”

“God love him,” somebody cried.

“He experienced personal tragedy, Lord, and it made him stronger. He weathered the strike at the mill, staged by a vicious and corrupt union, and it made him stronger. He lived in this town for over fifty years, through thick and through thin, a whole lot of good times and some bad times too, and it only made him stronger!

“Yes, my friends, Amory Clyde was a good man.” Larry stopped and wiped his brow. Then he paused meaningfully, looking out over the audience as if he were about to divulge a tremendous secret.

“My friends, let’s be frank here for a moment. Amory Clyde was not known for being a man of God. He didn’t go to church a whole lot, and he did not freely discuss the role of Jesus Christ our Savior in his life.” Larry’s eyes roamed the room as if he were awaiting a sign from heaven. “But let me tell you, people, that Amory Clyde was a man of God.”

“That’s right,” “Yes, Lord,” “Umm-hmm,” came from the pews in a dislocated chorus.

“He was a man of God, my friends. Jesus said, By their fruits ye shall know them.’ He said, ‘Let my actions speak louder than my words.’ Amory Clyde was a simple man, and a good man. He lived a life of faith without even trying.”

By this time my ears were ringing. Amory had been by no means a simple man, and certainly not a good one. He had abandoned the Baptist church and started worshiping more tangible gods long before we were married. Over the course of his life the trinity of women, work, and whiskey provided him with far more inspiration than the church ever had.

Beside me, Elaine was sobbing, overcome by the power of her husband’s oratory. Horace was still holding my dry hand in his clammy one. I had had enough.

“I want to leave,” I whispered fiercely to Elaine.

She clasped my hand. “I know this is hard for you, Mama,” she soothed. “Please try to hold yourself together just a few minutes more. Larry’s got a grand finale planned.”

Dry-eyed and defeated, I sat listening to the grand finale. It was filled with clichés like “God helps those who help themselves,” which, I had to agree, described Amory to a T. By the end, more than half the congregation was audibly in tears, which must have been a satisfaction to Larry and Elaine.

When the service was over, I received people’s condolences and heartfelt embraces with the appropriate air of a bereaved widow, and allowed myself to be helped into the limousine that would lead the parade to the cemetery. As I sat there in the dim plushness, squeezed
again between Horace and Elaine, I thought of Ellen, and of her funeral, which had been so different from the one today. The bright sun, the shock, the horror of it. Her death had been like the amputation of a healthy limb; Amory’s was like finally giving up a part of you that is serviceable but diseased. I was relieved that the pain was gone.

On our way to the cemetery, drivers in both directions pulled respectfully to the side of the road to let us pass. I had forgotten this custom, and it made me feel like a queen. But I would not be like Queen Victoria mourning Albert; I would not, as I read somewhere that she had, let my husband’s death consume my life. I thought it was about time, finally, to live for myself. And though I couldn’t tell anybody, I was looking forward to doing it alone.

“Y
ellow roses!”
Elaine exclaimed… “I was
hoping
these would be for me. My friend Bernadette saw you walking down Main Street this morning with that old busybody May Ford—I hope she didn’t talk your ear off—and Bernadette said you were carrying yellow roses and I just started anticipating. I guess May told you these are my favorite, favorite things in the whole wide world.” Cradling the bouquet as if it were a baby, she brought it up to her face. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. “Ummm. Perfection.” She held the flowers out in front of her and headed down the hall, motioning for me to follow. “Everybody else is already here. They’re out on the deck.”

“I’m late,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

“Just a little. Don’t worry, we wouldn’t have started without you.”

In the kitchen Elaine found a vase and filled it halfway with water. She opened the little foil packet of preservative that came with the flowers and poured it in. Then she unrolled the paper wrapping, separated the roses from the greenery, and began arranging them in the vase.

“They look a little tired,” I said. “They sat in my car for a while in the sun.”

“They’ll perk right back up, you wait and see,” Elaine said, concentrating on the arrangement.

I looked around the spacious kitchen. It was as neat and folksy as Clyde’s. A collection of bright copper objects covered one wall; a
pine sideboard against another wall was filled with cheery plates standing on their rims. Above the breakfast nook hung a cuckoo clock identical to the one Clyde had in her living room.

The house was a two-story gray-shingled split-level in one of Horace’s developments, Whispering Pines. It was only a few miles from Ridge View. The houses were larger and more distinctive here than in Clyde’s neighborhood; it had taken me a while to figure out, as I drove along the broad, quiet streets, that each house was a variation on three or four standard models. Some had shutters, some large oak doors, some shingles, some siding. “You won’t believe it, but every house in the neighborhood is less than five years old,” Elaine had said as she gave me directions over the phone. “Horace has quite a flair. Who knows, maybe that’s where you get it from.”

“This place is lovely,” I said.

“Why, thank you.” She set the vase of roses in the middle of the round kitchen table. “I try my best.” She wrapped the extra greenery in the paper and deposited it in the trash bag under the sink. “So,” she said casually, “what did May Ford want with you this morning?”

“Oh, I don’t know.”

“What’d you all talk about?”

“Nothing important. She just wanted to gossip, I think.”

“About what?” She propped her elbows on the counter between us.

“Um, not much. I don’t really remember.”

She looked at me closely. “I have a little piece of advice for you. I suggest you stay away from that old woman. She’s mean and spiteful, and she’s a liar.” She stood up straight. “People in this town gossip a lot because that’s all there is to do. Most of it’s outright lies. So you come to me if you hear something that doesn’t sound right, okay?”

“Okay.” I fidgeted under her sharp gaze.

“Is there anything you want to ask me about?”

“I can’t think of anything.”

“Well,” she said, looking troubled. After a moment her expression
changed to a tight smile. “Then let’s join the others on the deck, shall we?”

I followed her out of the kitchen into a wide, sunny room at the back of the house, with a cathedral ceiling and a slate floor covered with dhurrie rugs. A couple of overstuffed couches, a large-screen TV, and a spotlessly clean fireplace dominated the room. The entire rear wall was glass; through it I could see Alice, Kathy, and the back of Clyde’s white head. They were sitting in lawn chairs on a red-stained deck, bowls of tortilla chips and salsa on one folding table, and a blender half-full of a slushy green drink on another. Behind them stretched a well-kept yard, penned in on three sides by neighbors’ fences.

“Look who’s here!” Kathy said, jumping up as I came out on the deck. “My goodness, it must be nearly three weeks since you moved into that house, and I haven’t even had you over. I said to Horace this morning, ‘She must think we’re the snootiest people she ever met.’ I did come by once last week—did you get the pie?”

“Thank you, yes, it was beautiful. I found it on the porch railing when I got home from work. I’ve been meaning to call and thank you for it.” I glanced around at the group. “I’d like to have all of you over one of these days, as soon as I get a few more chairs.”

“We can
bring
chairs,” Alice said. She gave a little wave. “Hi! I’m not getting up, I’m too comfortable.”

Clyde looked at me over her shoulder. “Hello, Cassandra.”

“Hello, hello, hello,” I said.

“Over here,” said Elaine, patting the seat next to Alice. “Now, let me find one more.” She disappeared inside the house.

I sat down. “Well.”

“Well,” Alice said.

“Well!” said Kathy. “And what have you been up to lately?” Everybody looked at me expectantly. “All moved in and everything?”

“Just about,” I said. “I got a dog.”

“Well, that’s good. I don’t know how you can stand it out there all by yourself.” She reached for the chips. “I get nervous when Horace
is gone overnight on a business trip, and we’ve got neighbors.”

“She’s an artist,” Alice said. “They like to be alone.”

“Want a chip?” Kathy offered the basket around.

“What have you been doing with yourself?” I asked Alice.

“This and that.” She craned her neck toward the house. “Well, okay—quick, before Mother gets back—Hal and I are in love.
Truly.
He invited me and Eric to Knoxville for a few days last week, and we just packed up and went. Stayed in a great hotel, room service, the whole bit.” She grinned. “I’m thinking maybe it’s time to move. We’ll see how it goes.”

Clyde frowned. “Your mother doesn’t know about this?”

“No, and don’t you say a single word, either,” Alice said. “I’ll tell her when I’m good and ready.”

“Well, it’s nice to be loved by somebody,” Kathy said diplomatically.

“Don’t I know it. I have never been treated this way before, not by Chet, not by anybody. I didn’t have any idea how wonderful it could—”

“What are we all gabbing about out here?” Elaine returned, lugging a chair behind her.

There was a short, awkward silence.

“We’re still talking about chairs,” Alice said. “Cassie needs some chairs. Do you have any extra ones in the garage or somewhere?”

“We maybe could rustle some up. I don’t have enough lawn furniture myself, as you can see. Will you remind me to order more from Penney’s, Alice Marie?”

“Don’t
call me that, Mother.”

“Touchy, touchy. My Lord, I can’t say a single thing.” Elaine smiled apologetically at the group. “Mother-daughter tiffs. I thought it was just a stage.”

Alice got up. “I’m going to check on Eric.”

“I just did. He’s fast asleep,” Elaine said.

“I think I’ll check on my own child myself, if you don’t mind,” Alice said, and went inside.

“Well, what will it be tonight? Monopoly or bridge?” Kathy looked around at everyone brightly.

“It’s been bridge the past four times,” Clyde said.

“Monopoly, then. Okay with you, Elaine? Cassie?”

“Fine,” said Elaine shortly.

“Sure, whatever,” I said.

Kathy began setting up the board. “You think it’ll be all right with Alice?”

“Who knows what’s all right with Alice. I don’t. Anybody wants to go in and find out, be my guest.” Elaine waved vaguely toward the sliding glass door.

“I’ll go,” I said.

I found Alice at the kitchen table, flipping through a magazine.

“They sent you in here to get me, huh?”

“I volunteered.” I sat down. “What are you reading?”

“Some trash.”

“How’s Eric?”

“He’s breathing. As predicted.” She looked at me quizzically. “Is something up with you? You seem a little jumpy.”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“She drives me nuts. What’s your excuse?”

I reached for the magazine. It was
Good Housekeeping.
‘“A Hundred and One Holiday Gift Ideas for You and Your Family,’” I read aloud.

“Yeah, she saves the old ones. This is a woman who gets ready for Easter at Thanksgiving and goes Christmas shopping in the middle of July.”

I turned the page. “Twenty-seven kinds of Christmas cookies. Yikes.”

“Do you celebrate Christmas?”

“Jews for Jesus? No.”

“Hmm,” Alice said. “But your mother wasn’t Jewish.”

“My dad is, though. It’s all he knows, so I was raised that way.” I thought for a moment. “Sort of. By the time I came along he wasn’t
much of anything. We lit the menorah. I got presents for eight days. Most of my friends did too, so it wasn’t really a big deal.”

“You know, I think you’re the first Jewish person I’ve ever met.”

“Really?”

She nodded. “And I have to say it’s been a pleasure,” she said. “But you never answered my question.”

I shut the magazine and fiddled with the cover, bending and unbending a corner. “What do you know about Bryce Davies?”

“Bryce Davies?” Her eyes widened. “Who’ve you been talking to?”

“Nobody, really. I went to my mother’s grave today, and I saw the marker, and I just—I just wondered what the story was.”

“That was a long time ago.”

“So you’ve heard of her.”

“Did your dad just tell you about this or something?”

“No. I don’t think he knows.”

“Have you been talking to May Ford?”

“May Ford?” I tried to sound surprised.

“Cassie, I think you should be aware of something,” she said, lowering her voice. “People talk a lot in this town. Rumors are like brush fires. They get started with a little spark, and pretty soon if you’re not watching they get out of control. And they can burn for years. I told you this before. May Ford—”

“That’s why I’m asking you.”

She sighed. “What’d she tell you?”

“Not much.” The corner of the magazine came off in my hand. “She said something about how she died. Drowned or something.”

Alice leaned back, crossing her arms.

“And Clyde was there when it happened. I guess they were friends.”

“What else?”

“That’s all. That’s all she said.”

Alice plucked a napkin from a holder on the table and tore it into narrow strips. “It was a terrible accident. Can you imagine having to witness something like that?”

I shook my head.

“That’s part of—that’s what I didn’t want to drag you into before. She’s never really gotten over it.”

I nodded. Questions were lining up behind my teeth. I pushed them back.

“Anyway, I think Bryce Davies’ husband married somebody else pretty soon after and moved away to Virginia or somewhere. There aren’t any Davieses left around here.” She bunched up the shredded napkin and rolled it into a ball between her hands. “It’s probably just as well. The memories and everything.”

“Um-hm.”

“So—anything else you want to know?”

“I don’t think so.” I forced a smile.

She tossed the ball at me. “Well, we’d better get out there. They’ll be wondering what happened to us. Maybe if I get drunk on margaritas I can sit through a whole game of bridge.”

“Monopoly. We voted after you left.”

She groaned. “Monopoly! That’s three hours.”

“There’s a lot of tequila,” I said. “I checked.”

    “Mother, you’re a bandit,” Alice said, sitting back in her chair. “You win. I’m out.”

Elaine counted her money, dividing it up into piles of green, blue, yellow, and pink. “Now, Alice M—Alice M, can I call you that, at least?”

“No.”

She shrugged. “You’re just a poor loser, is all.”

“I’m out too,” I said. “Bankrupted by a member of my own family.”

“Stop that,” said Elaine. “You’ll only encourage her.”

Kathy looked at her watch. “Goodness! The time has flown! Horace will be wondering where I am.”

“He knows exactly where you are,” Clyde said. “But it
is
getting late.”

“Don’t tell me y’all are leaving right when I’m about to win,” Elaine protested.

“Those fajitas or whatever you call ‘em were just great,” Kathy said, collecting glasses and napkins on a tray. “And those brownies.” She patted her stomach. “I spend all week taking off a pound, then I come over here and put it right back on.”

Elaine looked around in exasperation. “You’ll stay, Mother, won’t you?”

Clyde shook her head and yawned.

“Well, holy smokes!” Elaine tossed the money on the board.

“Elaine, you should’ve gone into real estate,” Kathy said. “Eight hotels. And the best I can do is a couple of railroads and a utility.” She wrinkled her nose.

“Give me a call sometime this week,” Alice said to me. “Let’s go out for lunch.”

I started sorting red and green plastic houses into Ziploc baggies. “Should we make a time now? How about Saturday?”

“Um … no. I think I’m going away this weekend. Camping.”

“Who with, Alice Marie?”

“Mother—”

Elaine clamped her hand over her mouth. “Alice! Sorry, I forgot. It just slipped out.”

“Anyway”—Alice gave me a tense smile—“maybe next week sometime.”

I got up. “What can I bring inside?”

“You’re all terrible sports,” Elaine said. “Alice is so bad she won’t even answer my question.”

“What question?” Alice dumped the melted margarita mix over the side of the deck.

“I asked you who you’re going camping with. Is that so hard to answer?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Tell me,” Elaine said, turning to Clyde. “How could I have raised a daughter like that?”

“You spoiled her rotten, what do you expect?” Clyde said. “Kathy, which way are you headed?”

Kathy folded up the Monopoly board and put it in the box. “Horace is over watching a football scrimmage at East High practice fields, so I thought I might stop by there.”

“Oh.”

“But I’d be happy to drop you home if you need a ride,” she added quickly.