Traditional Gravity

by Stephen Armstrong

Chapter Eight

  Thursday at 10:45 AM, we walked into Hadenburg Baptist Church, a simple white country church located on one of the side streets of the quiet town. A steeple and a bell tower flanked the right side of the A frame facade of the church. The hearse parked outside along the street provided an ominous sign of what would transpire inside.

  Our uncles were already there with their wives and our cousins. The family sat in the front rows of the church, though my uncles and father still milled about in the back. They all possessed a restlessness which I attributed to undiagnosed cases of ADD, and wouldn't sit until the last possible moment. Jordan and I sought out Grandma, who was already being consoled by various family members and people from her church. We hugged her and expressed our condolences once more. Then we took our respective seats in the second row of the church. Jordan and Alex sat on either side of me.

  I surveyed the scene while we waited for the service to begin. My grandfather's casket lay in the front of the church, though this time it was closed. A large display of flowers encircled his coffin and rested on top of the dark, cherry wood.

  Neither Jordan nor Alex seemed primed to talk to me, leaving me to pass the time with my own idle thoughts. Samantha loomed in the backdrop of my mind, once again veiled in uncertainty. I had only received incomplete rumors, first spread by high school girls, which made me hesitant to arrive at any jurisdiction. Even if the information had been more substantial, and she did have an abortion as a pregnant teenager, I couldn't have fully processed it. Every so often, I glanced to the back of the sanctuary, indexing all of the mourners who entered the sacred space.

  While I tried to distract myself, I latched onto the recollection that spurred me to come home Sunday night. For the first time since that Easter Sunday service when I threw up my hamloaf, I sat in my grandmother's church. I looked to the back of the church once again, just as I had so many years ago. As I did, Samantha passed through the propped open double doors of the church. She wore a black dress that terminated an inch from her knees, and a dark gray sweater to cover her sleeveless shoulders. Her ensemble matched the clothes she picked out for me perfectly. The service still had not started, so I rose to meet her. Samantha saw me walking toward her and gave a small wave.

  "What are you doing here?" I asked, not intending to be rude.

  "I thought maybe you could use another friendly face here."

  "How'd you know when the funeral was?"

  "I read your grandfather's obituary."

  "Thanks. I'm glad you came."

  At that moment, Pastor Hodges took his place at the pulpit.

  "Do you want to sit up front with me?" I asked.

  Samantha looked at the front row and saw my family surrounding my empty chair. Alex and Jordan watched us, though my mom remained oblivious to Samantha's arrival.

  "No, that's okay. You go and sit with your family, I'll sit back here."

  I helped Samantha to her seat and then resumed my position. Alex gazed at me uncertainly. Seeing Samantha again dispelled any ambiguity in my feelings toward her - at least for the moment.

  The Pastor called us to attention. "I'd like to welcome family and friends, as we gather together to lay to rest a friend, soldier, grandfather, father and husband."

  Pastor Hodges looked and sounded the part of a man of the cloth. The balding, doughy and bespectacled middle aged man spoke with a clear and calm voice. I couldn't imagine a less threatening person, and easily pictured him standing beside a hospital bed, reminding people that God really did love them.

  Hodges opened his Bible and began reading. "For everything there is a season, a time for every activity under heaven. A time to be born and a time to die. A time to plant and a time to harvest. A time to kill and a time to heal. A time to tear down and a time to build up. A time to cry and a time to laugh. A time to grieve and a time to dance."

  The words sounded familiar. He was reading from the book of Ecclesiastes, which happened to be my favorite book of the Bible. Over the years, I probably read or heard most of the sacred book, just by virtue of going to church every week as a kid. Most of it I had forgotten. Ecclesiastes stood out because of its semi-agnostic viewpoint and devastating critique of human existence. I could clearly recall the opening salvo of the book - "Meaningless, meaningless, everything is meaningless". Other parts of the book remained in my consciousness, like the famous summary on human innovation - ("There's nothing new under the sun") and human activity ("everything was chasing after the wind"). I also vaguely remembered something about not knowing if humans had any greater hope for life after death than animals did. None of these sentiments was the stuff of funerals.

  "Unfortunately, today is the time that we must mourn Eugene Meyers. But I think it only appropriate, even as we mourn, that we celebrate the life he lived. He was blessed to live a long life, and see the next generations come after him. Eugene was part of some very momentous events in history and was a man who shared many wonderful memories with those who loved him. As we begin our service today, I think it is very fitting to sing some of Eugene's favorite hymns. Even in his later years at the Nursing Home, I was told that he frequently sang these songs and put on little mini-concerts for the residents who lived there."

  My grandfather had favorite hymns? Perhaps they were really my grandmother's favorites. That my grandfather became renowned for his own renditions of the old songs of the faith when he lived in the nursing home was also news to me.

  Pastor Hodges directed the mourners to hymn books located in the chairs in front of them. I opened my book to the correct page, but only slightly mouthed the words. Singing church songs never interested me, and I participated only enough to give the appearance of actually singing. Alex sang next to me, as did Jordan - I much preferred Alex's performance. I stole a few quick glances at Samantha, who seemed to be singing as well, and wondered what her voice sounded like.

  After we sang two hymns, Pastor Hodges led us into the next portion of the service. I tried to see Samantha again, but a person I didn't know obstructed my view. I turned my attention back to Hodges. He introduced a eulogy to be given by my mom.

  My mom walked up to the podium. I could tell that she was nervous. She never relished speaking in public, though she possessed a natural affinity for doing it. She placed her notes down on the lectern and began.

  "On behalf of our entire family, I just wanted to thank everyone for being here today, and for the love and support that you've given us during this time. Although my father lived a long life and we knew this day was coming, it is still hard for us to say goodbye for good. So we appreciate that all of you are here today to stand with us as we say goodbye."

  She shifted behind the pulpit a little and glanced down at her notes before she resumed speaking.

  "I have a lot of memories of my father. For starters, he was a lousy farmer. This wasn't because he didn't know how, mind you. He grew up on a farm and so he knew how to raise some crops and take care of the animals. But it turned out that his downfall was that he was too much of a softie. He hated to sell or slaughter the animals, even when it would have been much more profitable to do that. We even had some cows and chickens that died of old age! This always amazed us as kids, because he always seemed like such a hard man. But it just showed us what was really going on underneath that tough exterior that he couldn't always put into words."

  Mom continued, sharing some anecdotes of Grandpa stealing food from her plate, his fishing exploits, words he mispronounced and some of his other eccentricities. Throughout, her voice remained calm and resolute. I only hoped that she wouldn't cry, because I hated it when people cried in public.

  "And as many of you know, my father was a soldier in World War II." Her tone grew serious and the smile faded. "When I was just a baby, he was drafted into the service, and sent over to Italy. While he was there, he was captured, and served several months in a prison camp before he was liberated. And though he was returned to us, he was different. He never spoke much of the wa
r, or what he experienced in combat. But I know it was on his mind. I remember one time when a car backfired, and it sent him running for cover, just out of instinct. He was so frightened that it brought him to the point of tears."

  "But in time he came to a kind of peace about what happened to him during the war. As he got older, and we kids moved out of the house and started families of our own, he began to open up about his experiences. We learned how he led an infantry unit to defeat a German military unit, and forced a tank to surrender. And we discovered that when his unit was captured, he was the highest ranking soldier left, and had to announce their surrender. So we learned a lot of things that we never knew."

  She searched her notes again and her voice cracked a little. I started to question whether she would make it or not.

  "More importantly, he became more open to us. We were able to enjoy being with him more. It was as if he found the strength to move more fully into the present. We played a lot of pinochle games, and shared a lot of apple pies."

  A few tears slid down her face.

  "When I retired from teaching, I was able to visit Mom and Dad a lot more. Every Tuesday, I'd go over to Hadenburg, go shopping with Mom, and come back and eat lunch and then play three handed pinochle games. Those will be my memories of Dad that will burn the brightest."

  Then something unexpected happened. I felt a torrent of emotion rising up in me. I did my best to stave off this wellspring of grief, but to no avail. I started to cry. And then I started to sob - uncontrollably. Jordan put his hand on my shoulder and handed me a tissue. No one else in the family was crying, except for my grandmother. My grief shocked me, and even made me angry. I had already said goodbye to Grandpa and spent the last three days processing his death. The eyes of everyone in the church seemed to bear down on me. I hoped that Samantha wouldn't see me. Alex put her arm on my other shoulder. Mom gave me a discreet smile from the pulpit and continued her eulogy.

  "My dad was a good man. If he hadn't been a good man, his experiences in the war would have consumed him completely. But he made it out of the battlefields before it was too late, so he could reconnect with his children, his wife and his God. We're going to miss you Dad."

  With those words she walked delicately off the stage. Pastor Hodges resumed his role of officiate, and led us through some familiar passages from the Bible that told us Jesus was the resurrection and the life. Then he assured us death was not the end, there was hope in Jesus and we needed to have faith. I managed to get myself under control, which had nothing to do with the content of Pastor Hodges' message. We sang another song and then the time came to carry his coffin out to the hearse.

  I had been tapped to be a pall bearer, along with Jordan, all of the male cousins, my dad and my two uncles. We somberly escorted my grandfather to the hearse for the last ride he would ever take. I wanted to hide my face, so people wouldn't see the stains of my grief. I ended up on Samantha's side, and she gazed at me sympathetically as I moved past her. If she didn't know I was crying before, she did now.

  I met up with her after we completed our grim task. "Are you staying for the graveside service and lunch afterwards?" I asked.

  "Is it okay if I do? I didn't really know him, so I don't want it to be awkward or anything."

  "No, it's fine. My family would just appreciate you being there. Why don't you ride over with Jordan and me." We drove over separately from my parents, in case they needed to stay late, we wanted to leave early from the lunch, or go out later with our cousins.

  Jordan and Samantha reacquainted themselves with one another and we moved to our car. Since Jordan drove, Samantha sat in the back. Jordan looked like he wished we could have discussed her placement. Before we pulled out into the procession, we saw Alex running toward us in her heels, motioning to us. I rolled down my window.

  "Can I ride with you guys? My brothers are idiots, and I've seen them way too much the last few days."

  "Sure, come on in," I said.

  She shuffled over to Jordan's side and got in.

  "Alex, this is Samantha," I said, assuming that Samantha might not remember her. "Alex is our cousin."

  "Hi," said Samantha. "I'm sorry about your grandfather."

  "Thank you. I don't know if you remember me or not, but we went to the same youth group for a little while during high school."

  "I knew you looked familiar!" Samantha exclaimed.

  The two reconnected with each other, reviewing their current situations in life. Samantha didn't mention any child and Alex didn't ask. We followed the line of cars behind the hearse to the Hadenburg cemetery, a scant five minutes from the church.

  "I wanted to tell you guys what an awesome job your mom did with her speech," said Samantha, after she and Alex hit an impasse.

  "I know, she was so touching," seconded Alex.

  "Yeah, she did do a good job," I said, hoping no one would bring up my display of emotion.

  We arrived at the cemetery and carried the coffin to my grandfather's grave. Our family gathered around the casket. Pastor Hodges read some more scriptures and gave a few more words in parting. Then the Military Guard took over. An elderly man, who wasn't markedly younger than my grandfather, played taps on a bugle and two soldiers in dress uniform folded the flag and gave it to my grandmother. Her eyes were streaming as she clutched the flag. I didn't shed any further tears.

  The mourners stood around my grandpa's grave, talking reverently to one another. Eventually, people started dispersing to their cars. My grandmother and mother walked a few plots over to another headstone.

  "Do you have other family buried here?" Samantha whispered to me.

  "Don't know. Maybe my great-grandparents, my mom's aunts and uncles. We never really went to visit graves or anything."

  "My family didn't do that either." Though not a substantial revelation, it was the first piece of information Samantha volunteered about her family.

  My mom and grandmother didn't spend long at the other grave before they began making their way back to the car. Jordan and Alex had already started back for the car too, so Samantha and I followed after them. I placed my arm in Samantha's and clutched her hand. She welcomed the touch and we walked side by side back toward the car.

  "This is our second trip to a cemetery in the week," I observed.

  "Oh yeah, you're right."

  "Maybe that can be our thing - we go to cemeteries together."

  She smiled. "I guess we could give it a try."

  I remembered Samantha being paralyzed by that one headstone at the East Guilford Cemetery. After the dog chased us, I forgot to inquire about why that one stone seemed so captivating.

  "I was meaning to ask you, what made you stop at Loretta Taylor Scott's headstone?" The name had stuck with me.

  She seemed perplexed. "Who?"

  "The head stone at the cemetery next to the falls, before we got chased by the dog."

  "Oh. I didn't remember the name - how did you?"

  "I have a good memory. So what was so special about her?"

  She shrugged. "Probably nothing. I was just thinking."

  "About what?"

  "Who she was. I always do that when I go through a cemetery. I wonder who they were, what their life was like, that kind of stuff. It kind of fascinates me."

  "I know what you mean." I still suspected something else had been on her mind when she considered the life of Loretta Scott Taylor.

  "Are you guys coming?" Jordan yelled to us from his car. Samantha and I had been walking extremely slowly. Most of the cars had already departed to the church for the luncheon. Even my mom and grandma had made it back to their vehicles.

  "Did you want to come to lunch with us?" I asked.

  "It won't be weird for me to go, will it?"

  "Of course not. I'm sure everyone would be glad to have you there."

  Well, maybe not everyone. But at worst, people would be indifferent toward Samantha's presence. My mom at least would be very interested in seeing her.


  "Okay, I'll come." She was a welcome addition to the proceedings.

  We emerged from the trail of headstones, holding hands, and very much alive.

  Back at the church, the mood shifted from somber to celebratory. Since he was ninety-three and in ill health, the funeral morphed into a family reunion with a heightened gravitas from the stark reminder that life was temporary.

  Alex, Samantha, Jordan and I seized some seats at the same table. The church held the luncheon in the fellowship hall beneath the sanctuary, which was basically a glorified basement. A generous amount of casserole dishes spanned a long buffet table.

  "Did you want something to drink?" I asked Samantha after we served ourselves some food.

  "Water would be fine. Thanks."

  "And you?" I asked Alex.

  "Well if you're offering, I'll take a diet Pepsi or coke, or something diet. Thanks."

  I walked away from them toward the beverage table.

  "No really, I'm fine!" Jordan called after me as I reached the drink table.

  My father stood quietly next to the beverages, observing the scene.

  "Aren't you eating?" I asked.

  "Eventually." He faced away from me but I couldn't tell what he was looking at.

  "Mom did a great job with the eulogy," I said.

  "Well, your mom is a good talker."

  "I guess she is."

  "Got a little emotional back there didn't you?" He finally abandoned his surveillance of the room and gazed at me, half-smiling.

  "Yeah, I did. I don't know what happened to me."

  "That's okay. He was your grandfather," Dad said, as if giving me permission for my outburst.

  I could have just agreed and walked off. Instead, I began to explore what happened with him.

  "I know, but I didn't cry like that at your dad's or mom's funeral."

  He smiled. "Don't worry - I won't hold it against you."

  "And if anything, I had a better relationship with your mom, than I did with Grandpa."

  My dad meditated on the fact for a bit before he replied. "Grief isn't exactly rational son. You're trying to apply logic where logic doesn't apply."

  "Yeah, I guess so." Talking to my dad actually made me feel a little better.

  I decided to throw one more question that popped into my mind about what my mother said in her eulogy. "Do you think Grandpa was really able to redeem all of those years that he lost after the war?"

  "That I don't know. But maybe you should ask your mother. Or your grandmother. They would be the ones who could answer that question."

  "I guess so." I doubted they would tell me anything different.

  He gestured toward Samantha. "Is that the girl your mother was telling me about - the one you've been seeing?"

  "Yes. Her name is Samantha." She saw us looking at her and smiled.

  "She seems nice."

  "Would you like to meet her?"

  "Maybe later. You should get her drink back to her. I think she's waiting." My dad gave me a knowing smile. I left my father still standing by the beverage table. He resumed his vigil on the room.

  On my way back I bumped into Pastor Hodges, who was making his rounds.

  "Hi." He extended his hand to me, apparently oblivious to the drinks I was carrying. "I'm Gary."

  "Hi, I'm Evan. Uh, sorry, my hands are a little full here."

  He looked down. "Oh, sorry, I didn't realize."

  "It's okay."

  I wanted to be on my way, but Pastor Hodges didn't let me go.

  "You must be one of Mary's boys."

  I nodded. "Yes, that's right."

  "And I hear from Mary that you're interested in going into ministry."

  "No, I'm the other one." I contemplated identifying myself as the apostate son, but held my tongue. "Jordan is the one who wants to do the ministry thing."

  "Oh no? I thought it was you your mom said was heading that way."

  I shook my head. "Nope - it's not me."

  His confused look dissipated, and he smiled cheerfully again. "That's all right Evan. God can use all of us, even if you don't go into full-time ministry."

  Pastor Hodges' warm smile and insipid Christian comments started to bother me. Various angry rebuttals cycled through my mind before I just agreed, and even thanked him for his 'encouragement'. At least doing that made it easier for me to excuse myself. I returned to my table thinking that it was highly unlikely that God would use a backslidden Christian and borderline agnostic for any of His purposes.

  "Here you go." I handed Samantha and Alex their respective drinks.

  "Wow, you really didn't get me anything!" exclaimed Jordan, slumping back in his folding metal chair.

  "I only have two hands."

  "Do you know where the restroom is?" asked Samantha.

  "Here, why don't you come with me," offered Alex. "I need to use the ladies' room too."

  The two walked off together toward the steps that led to the bathrooms.

  "So should you make the obligatory comment on how women use the bathroom together, or should I?" asked Jordan.

  "I think you just covered us."

  "You got a little emotional at the funeral, huh?" he asked abruptly.

  "So it would seem." I gritted my teeth slightly.

  "I was quite taken aback."

  "Yeah, I really don't know what happened."

  Jordan leaned forward. "I have some theories - do you want to hear them?"

  "Sure, why not. I don't suppose I have a choice anyway."

  "Okay, theory number one. You realized that after this week is over, you have to go back to Pennsylvania and you just couldn't handle the thought."

  "Interesting. What else do you have?"

  "Theory number two: You started crying as Mom was telling us about how her relationship with Grandpa had been recovered because that reminded you that you have unresolved issues with Mom, and you wonder if your relationship could be recovered before it is too late."

  I didn't comment on theory number two. Jordan waited a few moments before he continued.

  "I have one more theory. Theory number three..." he trailed off. "Actually, I'm still trying to put my finger on that one. Hmm. There's definitely something else going on."

  "I'm waiting with bated breath."

  "I figured you would be."

  He continued to stare at me, furrows forming on his brow. Samantha and Alex came back to the table, sparing me from the verbal formulation of theory number three. Tom and Clay also made their way over.

  "Who's the girl Evan?" demanded Tom, undoubtedly interested in the only eligible young woman at the church that day.

  "This is Samantha," I said, debating whether or not I should add the qualifier 'girlfriend'. Everyone saw us holding hands at the funeral, so most would assume we were attached somehow. "These are my cousins, Tom and Clay."

  "They're the idiot brothers I was talking about before," interjected Alex.

  "What did I do?" asked Clay. "He was the one who did all of the talking!"

  "But you laughed at him, which encouraged him."

  Tom seemed disappointed. "Come on Alex, I don't need encouragement to be an idiot - it just happens."

  Samantha smiled politely through the family banter, which became a virtual replay from the night before. Fairly quickly, Jordan, Samantha and I faded from the scope of the discussion altogether. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my mom sitting at the table behind us, casting frequent glances at Samantha. My dad now sat next to her, though he wasn't looking at us. I figured I should introduce her to Mom, before my mom initiated the meeting, if only to prevent her from using the likely line, "And who is this lovely young lady?"

  "Would you be okay meeting my mom and dad?" I asked Samantha. Under normal circumstances, I wouldn't bring a girl to meet my parents after only three dates. Since this was a family affair, it seemed inescapable.

  She showed no signs of hesitation. "Yeah, of course, no problem. Do you want me to do it now?"

 
; "Yeah, I guess now is as good a time as any."

  I brought Samantha to my mom's table. Fortuitously, the people sitting by them had vacated their seats for the time being, which would cut down on the number of introductions I needed to make.

  "Mom, Dad, this is Samantha."

  "Hi, I'm Mary. So nice to meet you. We've heard a lot about you."

  Mom shook hands with Samantha.

  "I'm very sorry for your loss. It sounded like your father was a very good man."

  "Oh, that's sweet of you. He was, and he'll be missed."

  "I'm Charles," spoke up my dad, also shaking her hand. He settled back comfortably into the role of an observer.

  "The eulogy you gave was very moving," said Samantha.

  "Thank you Samantha. That's very kind of you to say. And it's very nice that you came here today. Now, I hear that you're studying to be a teacher - is that right?"

  "Yes, I work as a teacher's aide right now and I'm getting my Master's at Oneonta."

  "That's where I went to college too. Though back when I went, we didn't have to get a Master's degree to be a teacher, which made it a little easier."

  Samantha nodded. "Yes, that definitely would have helped. What grade did you teach?"

  "I taught kindergarten, second grade, and first grade. But kindergarten was my favorite. What grade would you like to teach?"

  "Right now I work with first graders, but really anything in elementary would be fine with me."

  "Well Samantha, you've chosen a very noble field to work in. Some days it will be hard, but in the end you won't regret it."

  The conversation continued along those lines for a few more moments. Samantha and my mom treated each other very graciously and my dad remained predictably quiet. Eventually, one of my aunts called my mom away to go over some family business, which served as a nice end point to the introduction.

  "Your mom is really sweet," said Samantha as we walked back to the table. Just about everyone agreed with Samantha on that point.

  I enjoyed the rest of the luncheon. Alex, Jordan, Samantha and I had a very pleasant conversation. People started leaving around four. The people from my grandma's church departed first, and then the more tangential family friends made their exit. By five, the family began trickling out. I said goodbye to Alex, who hugged me and instructed me to keep her in the loop. If she harbored any misgivings about my relationship with Samantha, she didn't disclose them.

  "Here Evan, why don't you drive my car home," Jordan handed me the keys. "I'm going home with Mom and Dad. That way you can do whatever you want tonight, and don't have to worry about me when you leave. Don't stay out too late though," he commanded, feigning parental concern.

  "Thanks."

  Mom gave me a hug.

  "You did do a really nice job with the eulogy," I said.

  "Thank you," she said, "I'll see you tonight."

  The three of them left with my grandmother, giving me another unexpected opportunity to be alone with Samantha.