The Sittin' Up (8 page)

A
fter the womenfolk were done cleaning, they started polishing the silverware that Ma got from Miss Remie. When Miss Remie turned sixty, she bought brand-new sterling silver and fancy china to match. She decided to give her old dinnerware to Ma. Actually, nothing was free. Ma's boss lady would happily swap her nice belongings for a day's work. If we had enough money for the month, Ma would gladly take the fine things instead of cash. She would only use the fancy silverware on Sundays, and at Thanksgiving and Christmas.

Ma was still polishing when Miss Lottie Pearl announced she was walking over to Stony Hill to get the cabbage and white potatoes. She said the cabbage Miss Dora Mae cooked “sho' ain't good.”

There was nothing in the world wrong with that cabbage, but Miss Lottie Pearl wasn't satisfied unless she was outdoing the other womenfolk. She wanted her cabbage to be waiting on the stove just in case Miss Dora Mae came back with more.

“Bring them blue glasses you won at the county fair last fall,” Ma yelled as Miss Lottie Pearl walked out the kitchen door.

“You need me to go with you, Mama?” Pole asked, pulling off her gloves for the one hundredth time.

“No, child, stay here and help out.”

Me and Pole had wiped everything in the house down, so I went to help Ma with the polishing, while Pole put the last cleaning cloths away. Ma wasn't talking, so I thought it was a good time to ask some questions that me and Pole had been wondering about.

“Why are we bringing Mr. Bro. Wiley back to the Low Meadows? Can't we just go out to the funeral home to have the last sittin' up?”

She stopped shining the big spoon and looked at me as if I'd stolen her fake pearl earrings from her old tin jewelry box.

“Lord, child, ain't I raised you no better than that? It ain't right to let a man lay in that lonely funeral home all week and not bring him home the last night. A man got a right to come home.”

I loved Mr. Bro. Wiley too and I surely wanted him to come home one last time even if I didn't exactly understand what Mama had just said. I stopped asking questions and helped her with the silver.

While we were working in silence, Pole went outside and picked the few flowers that were left in the backyard to fill the vases in the house. When she ran out of vases, she used mason jars.

Mama saw the daisies and her sadness went away for a short while.

“Thank you,
Dr. Cofield.
”

“You're most welcome, Mrs. Magnolia Jones,” Pole said. My friend already had a way of making folk feel better.

“I would appreciate you two going in the pantry and getting my green Depression plates. I do not have enough china dishes for everyone.”

“Ma, why do you call the dishes Miss Remie gave you Depression plates?”

Pole would not hold her tongue.

“Bean, you ain't listening in school. How you gonna be a lawyer if you don't listen?”

She sat down so she could explain.

“These plates were made real cheap for folk to save money till the Depression is over. The folk who make the Quaker Oats oatmeal put a cup or saucer in every container to keep even poor folk buying the brand. You know, Bean, if you can throw a straight horseshoe you can win a Depression glass at the fair. Aaaaand,” Pole said real long to get her point across, “the gas station will give you a piece of Depression glass if and only if you buy a whole tank of gas.”

Pole went on and on until she was out of breath. Finally, stopping for air, she looked at Ma.

“Miss Magnolia?”

“What is it, Pole?”

“Why do people really have sittin' ups and why do they have to do it every night? And why is the last night so important?” Ma put the last piece of silver back in the wood box.

“I don't know if it's so, but my papa, Melton Sr., told me that folk been having sittin' ups for over one hundred years. He said that a long, long time ago, folk get sick and fall into a deep, deep sleep. Something they call a coma. He said that the family would dress the body and then put them on the bed or in a casket if they had one. According to Papa, they wouldn't bury folk for over a week to make sure they didn't wake up. You see some of these people weren't dead, just sleeping from the illness. Folk would sit with the dead to make sure someone was there if they woke up.”

“What would happen if they did bury somebody and they were just in a coma and not dead at all?” Pole asked.

“I hear tell of a few folk been buried alive, so they started burying them with a bell in their hands.”

I couldn't hold my tongue another minute.

“A bell! Why they need a bell?”

That's when Miss Lottie Pearl came back with a wood crate full of food.

“Girl, stop scaring them children.” But Ma didn't pay her friend no mind; she kept right on talking.

“Papa said they would have a string on the casket that led inside to the person's hand. If the person woke up, they would pull the string so the bell would ring really loud.” Pole almost jumped out of her chair when Ma said that. I didn't move.

“You ought to be shame of yourself,” Miss Lottie Pearl said. “Anyway, I got to go back to get my glasses. I don't want to send the children 'cause I'll be mad as all get out if they drop one.”

“Are they Depression glasses?” I asked Miss Lottie Pearl so that I would sound as smart as Pole.

“Yes, Bean,” Pole said as she twisted her body from side to side in her know-it-all position.

“Stop it, Pole.” Miss Lottie Pearl tried to save me from another lecture. “They sure are Depression glasses, child. They ain't made of much, but they pretty,” she said as she headed back to Stony Hill.

Me and Pole got us a glass of ice tea and went outside to sit on the front porch and rest our bones.

“Ma never did say why they bring the body home the night before the funeral,” Pole said.

This was my chance to show her that I was just as smart as she was.

“A man got a right to come home one last time, Pole.”

Not even Pole had a comment for that.

So we just sat there drinking our tea before all the ice melted.

Only a few minutes had passed when we heard a car coming down Low Meadows Lane. Pole stood up to get a better look.

“It's Mr. Gordon! Do you want me to get Mr. Stanbury?” Pole called into the house. Ma came to the door.

“Ain't no time for that.”

That black hearse was so much longer than it looked sitting at the funeral home. It seemed bigger than when they carried Mr. Bro. Wiley away. The twins had shined the car so bright that the trees were reflected on it.

“They coming, Miss Magnolia. They coming to bring Mr. Bro. Wiley home.”

“Yes, they is, child. Yes, they is. It ain't but one thirty.” Ma thought for a minute and looked down at herself. She pulled the red-and-white apron over her head and threw it behind Mr. Bro. Wiley's chair. She rubbed her hair to make sure it was lying flat. “Don't worry, Miss Magnolia. You look real pretty,” Pole said. She smoothed the right side of Ma's dress down. Pole could help Ma look pretty, but she couldn't keep her from crying. The tears ran down her face, down her neck, and all the way to her bosom. Pole walked to the end of the porch and yelled towards Stony Hill.

“Hurry up, Mama. Mr. Gordon here with Mr. Bro. Wiley.”

“It ain't no need to yell. It ain't no need to rush. Mr. Bro. Wiley gone forever. Ain't no hurry at all. Mr. Gordon just bringing his shell back to us. His soul is already resting.” Then Ma stuck her hands out like a stop sign. She bent her knees, stooped down real low, and began to holler.

Don't know why she told us not to yell when she was shouting all over the porch. Pole ran behind Ma, fanning her the best she could.

I peeped down into the back window of the hearse. The wooden casket was covered in the flowers me and Pole picked on Thursday. I felt mighty proud.

Mr. Bro. Wiley appreciated anything you did for him and I knew the flowers made him smile from heaven.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Jones. Good afternoon, Bean, Pole,” Mr. Gordon said. He was wearing a fine double-breasted black suit and white gloves again.

He looked dignified, but something was missing from his spirit. His serious face was darker. Then I realized that he was not just the undertaker bringing Mr. Bro. Wiley home. He was a broken-hearted man, just like Papa, Mr. Jabo, and Mr. Creecy.

“Afternoon to you, Mr. Gordon,” Ma said.

“Afternoon,” me and Pole echoed.

“Where is Mr. Jones?”

“Husband's not home. He's in the field getting up 'bacco 'fore the storm comes. He'll be back directly. We were expecting you at two. Lottie Pearl will be back any time now.” Ma was talking a mile a minute.

“Do you want us to wait?” Mr. Gordon asked.

“No, bring Mr. Bro. Wiley inside. The Lord is with us. You just come right on in.”

Mr. Gordon and his men pulled the casket out of the back of the hearse real slow.

“It ain't fancy 'cause Mr. Bro. Wiley didn't have no bury legion,” Pole whispered in my ear.

“Bury legion? What in the world is that?” I whispered back.

“Boy, you know a bury legion—life insurance.”

“Well, that don't make no sense. Why don't they just call it life insurance?” I asked.

“I don't know. That's just the way grown folk in the Low Meadows do. They call words whatever they want to.”

I knew Pole was telling the truth because even though the folk at church took up a collection at Bible study on Wednesday night to help Ma and Papa pay for the sittin' up, it still wasn't enough. I believe they sent Papa thirty-one dollars and some change by Mr. Jabo. Papa thanked him and went under the house to dig up his mason jar of money while Mr. Jabo waited with a lantern.

I thought about what Mr. Bro. Wiley told Ma about his own funeral. It was an evening last fall right after supper. We were all sitting on the front porch eating pumpkin pie.

“Magnolia, when I leave this here earth, you sell this rocking chair. You'll get enough money for my funeral. I don't need nothing fancy. Just a pine box to carry me home.” Mr. Bro. Wiley never took his eyes off Ma as he ate his pie.

“I will do no such thing. I ain't selling your rocking chair. Besides, you already home.”

“Home! Child, this ain't my home. My home is in
hev'n.
I'm just a stranger passing through this here ole earth. We all just strangers passing through.”

“I hear you, Mr. Bro. Wiley,” Ma said.

“All right now. You know white folk love antiques. You'll get a pretty penny for this chair, I can tell you that. Sell Celie Mae's chair too. We'll have our seat together with the Lord.”

“Who you think got money for chairs during this Depression? Just keep on working on getting to hev'n. God will take care of the rest.”

“I reckon you ‘bout right, Christmas,” Mr. Bro. Wiley said with a chuckle.

“H
old the door, son,” Mr. Gordon said as they got closer with the casket. I rushed over as fast as my legs could carry me. Pole fanned Ma with an old newspaper as sweat ran down all of our faces. The newspapers were filled with good news about white folk but they never printed a word about coloreds unless we did something bad. They gave us our own section called “Colored News.” Enough space to let others know if we stole or killed. Never mentioned when we got married or when we died. I wondered if the paper would print that Mr. Bro. Wiley was gone. I thought about my letter to President Roosevelt and wondered when it would arrive in Washington.

I was still holding the door when the Holy Ghost went all over Ma.

“Don't cry, Miss Magnolia,” Pole said.

“That's right, Ma. Don't cry. You said yourself that Mr. Bro. Wiley's in a better place.” But she still cried until she was satisfied. We followed Mr. Bro. Wiley's casket to the sittin' up room.

“Here, Mr. Gordon,” Ma said, watching the men carefully place the casket. “Put him here and put the flowers around him.” Then she leaned close to the casket. “Welcome home, Mr. Bro. Wiley, welcome back home where you belong.”

Mr. Gordon looked some kind of upset as he reached in the pocket of his suit and pulled out his smelling salts, putting the bottle under Ma's nose. “The flowers look nice,” LJ said to his twin brother.

Then they went outside and came back with some brown wooden folding chairs and the other arrangements Miss Ada Bea sent.

“I brought extra chairs for your company. Anything else I can do for you?” Mr. Gordon asked as the men placed the chairs around the house. Me and Pole pitched in. Just one more thing we could do for Mr. Bro. Wiley.

“No, Mr. Gordon. You done more than enough.”

He talked to Ma for a few minutes as she walked the men to the door.

“We'll be back at eleven thirty tomorrow to pick up the body.” He knew that Ma wanted the funeral to start on time. Not a minute past one o'clock.

Then Mr. Gordon removed his gloves and put his big hands on Ma's shoulders.

“I have buried every colored man, woman, and child that has left Northampton County in the last twenty-five years. This has shaken my very soul, so I know you are hurting. God bless you and your family.”

Their eyes came together, not as a customer and an undertaker, but as two people with something in common. Love for the slave man. Nothing else was said. No more words were needed. Mr. Gordon headed back to town and Ma went back inside.

Me and Pole were sitting on the hot porch when we heard Papa's truck coming down Low Meadows Lane.

'Fore I could say a word, Ma came running past us like her dress was on fire. Soon as Papa stopped the truck, she opened the door and wrapped her arms around him.

“Lord, Husband, they brought Mr. Bro. Wiley home.”

“Calm-calm down, Wife. It's gonna be-be all right.”

Me and Pole followed them inside as he held her tight.

Miss Lottie Pearl came through the back door with her Depression glasses. She put the box on the dining room table and rushed down the hall to the sittin' up room, but she didn't go inside. She stood in the doorway and watched. Me and Pole stood beside her. We knew better than to go a step farther without permission.

“Now-now, Wife, we got to open the casket. I want you to help me see to it that Mr. Bro. Wiley look-look good for the sittin' up.”

Ma and Papa opened the casket. I couldn't see the body but it hurt me so bad to know he was lying in that casket. I grabbed Pole's hand and held it real tight. Miss Lottie Pearl cried too and she reached her big arms wide enough to hug me and Pole.

“My Lord, my God,” Ma hollered out.

“The-the Lord will make a way,” Papa said.

Ma threw her arms out wide like a giant bird and hollered some more. It took Papa a while to calm her down, but he finally did.

“He sho' look good, don't he, Husband?”

“Yes, he-he do, Wife. He really-really do.” Papa turned and asked, “You want to-to see him, Lottie Pearl?”

“Lord, naw. I'll wait for Jabo. I want to see Mr. Bro. Wiley with my husband.”

Papa didn't ask me and Pole nothing! I guess we weren't gonna see Mr. Bro. Wiley.

Not yet.

They looked at Mr. Bro. Wiley awhile longer, then came in the hallway with us.

Miss Lottie Pearl followed Ma and Papa into the kitchen, where they sat for about thirty minutes. The women held hands while Papa got them some water. When he went back into the sittin' up room, he pushed all the windows up. Then he checked the screens to make sure no bees could get in the house. Me and Pole stood in the hall and watched till we heard Miss Lottie Pearl coming out of the kitchen as if she was on a mission from God.

“You take care till I get back, Sister. I need to get dressed,” she said.

“All right, Lottie Pearl. I'm gonna take a short nap before I get dressed.”

“Come on, children.” She motioned to me and Pole to come on the front porch.

“Bean, Stanbury going back in the field for a while. When he leaves, you the man of the house, so act like one. Pole, you stay over here till the clock say it's five o'clock, then you come on home to get dressed. Help Sister if she needs you now.”

“Yes, Ma, I'll help,” Pole said, but Miss Lottie Pearl had already turned her back to us and was halfway down the steps. Then I heard Papa coming down the hallway.

“All right, children. Y'all stay-stay outside. The door to the sittin' up room is gonna stay closed till tonight.”

“Closed!” I thought to myself. Papa made me as hot as pee water. He really did. One minute he want me to be a man, the next minute he got me on the porch like a two-year-old. It just wasn't right.

While I was trying to cool off, he just got in the truck and drove away. He left a big cloud of dust for me and Pole to choke on.

“Sho' is hot out here,” Pole finally said.

“It's too hot,” I answered. Then I got my handkerchief out my pocket and wiped the sweat off her pretty face.

“Thank you,” Pole said, smiling at me like she did when I gave her the flower.

She is pretty as a pie when she smiles. One of these days I'll tell her so. One of these days I'm gonna ask her to go to the school dance with me. She ain't no kin to me. She don't have one drop of Jones blood in her veins and I don't have a drop of Cofield blood. It ain't a thang in the world wrong with us going to the school dance together.

Another hour went by and me and Pole was still sitting on the porch sweating.

“I think we need to see Mr. Bro. Wiley right now. He was our friend too,” Pole said. “We got just as much right as anybody.”

“How we gonna see him with the door closed?”

“Well, if you really want to see him, the windows ain't closed,” Pole said, jumping off the porch.

I followed her around the house to the sittin' up room window at the corner of the house.

“We can't see Mr. Bro. Wiley through the curtain,” I told Pole.

She stood on her tiptoes with a stick in her hand, pushing the screen up. She moved the dead folk fabric back.

“It worked,” she said.

“Not so loud,” I whispered. “Ma might hear us.”

We looked in the window at Mr. Bro. Wiley's casket across the room under the other window. There he was. He was all dressed up fit to go to church. His black suit looked brand new and his Mason pin stood out the most.

“He sho' don't look dead to me. He even got a smile on his face,” Pole finally said.

“He looks dead enough for my eyes,” I insisted. “You know Joe Gordon is the best undertaker in the whole world. He can make the dead look alive. He probably could make the people that are alive look dead if he wanted to. You know what Ma said about Mr. Gordon and why he so good at his job?”

“No, what did Miss Magnolia say?”

“Well, she said the man is dignified. She said he is a friend to the friendless and family to those who ain't got nobody. So that makes him real special.”

“Friend to the friendless, that's Mr. Gordon,” Pole said, sounding just like the deacons in the amen corner at church.

“Okay, now hush up before someone hears us and we get a whupping or worse.”

“I can't imagine what's worse than a whupping,” Pole said.

“Worse than a whupping? Are you crazy? You know our folk will catch us out here peeping at Mr. Bro. Wiley and not let us go to the final sittin' up tonight. That is worse than any whupping to me.”

This is our first time going to a sittin' up and I wasn't letting nobody, not even Pole, mess up the last night for me. We always had to stay at home in the past when a sittin' up was going on; but not this time.

I gave Pole a hug as we stood there looking at Mr. Bro. Wiley. Then I looked up at the big cloud over our heads. A storm surely was on the way. I thought about how Mr. Bro. Wiley used to say his bones would be hurting before every storm. When that happened, Mr. Bro. Wiley would walk down to the river to check the water. When he got back home, he had a full weather report for us.

“Christmas,” he'd yell through the screen door, “that river got waves as thick as a log of wood and my knees hurting. A storm is surely on the way.”

“Yes, Mr. Bro. Wiley, so stay away from that water. And you best stop taking Bean and Pole down there. All y'all gonna end up in the bottom of Ole River.”

“What you talking 'bout? I didn't take Bean and Pole nowhere. Bean is right here with you, and Pole home with her folk.”

“Well, you had them down there last week. I saw you,” Ma would fuss.

“Bean and Pole young folk. They can run home where it's safe if a storm come. Don't worry about me. I'll go on to glory if Ole River decides to wash me away. Yes, sir. I will just steal away from here.”

Ma kept on fussing but Mr. Bro. Wiley got so tickled.