“Sugar.”
Tears were in Lucy’s eyes again, now tears of joy. “Right, Pop,” she said. “It’s Sugar. God, I haven’t heard that name in years.”
Sugar had been Hardy’s nickname for the squirrelly little girl with long red hair. It was something from his past, something deep in his memory that his damaged mind had pulled forth.
Of course he knew his only grandchild; he loved her more than all of the stars in the heavens. He’d told her that once, back before his mind had left him completely. But before Lucy could get too excited about the recognition, Bill got in his father’s face.
“Daddy?” he said, hoping Hardy’s recognition of Lucy meant that he had some manner of cognitive ability, something they hadn’t seen in him in months. “Do you know why you’re here? I told you last night that Mama has passed away. We’re here today for her funeral.”
Hardy was still looking at Lucy; his focus hadn’t wavered. Bill wasn’t sure if his father had even heard him but, clearly, there was something going on in the cobwebs of his mind, something that centered around Lucy. He was fixated on her.
Bill finally stood up and motioned to the attendant pushing the wheelchair.
“Bring him in here,” he said quietly. “His wife is in here.”
Dutifully, the attendant wheeled the chair across the old, stained carpet of the entry and onto the hardwood floors of the room where Ms. Victory was laid out in her mahogany casket.
As Bill and Lucy went to the coffin, flanking it, the attendant pushed the wheelchair right up to the open casket so that Hardy was parallel with Victory’s head. The attendants and the nurse stepped back respectfully as Bill leaned over his father.
“Daddy?” he murmured. “It’s Mama. Can you see her? She passed away from cancer three days ago. She was comfortable when she passed and not in any pain. Do you remember what I told you last night? She’d been sick for about three years. She was one hundred years old and it was just her time to go, Daddy. She… she was sorry you weren’t with her when she went.”
Hardy wasn’t looking at the casket. In fact, he was still looking at Lucy, who was standing by the end of the wooden chest. Bill could see where his father was looking still and he waved Lucy away. After she quickly moved out of Hardy’s line of sight, there was nothing left to capture Hardy’s attention so the man just stared out into space.
“Daddy?” Bill tried again. “Say goodbye to Mama. She’ll be waiting for you on the other side when it’s your time. She’ll be right there when it’s your time to go. Can you say goodbye to her?”
No response. Bill sighed faintly, turning to look at Lucy and his wife, who were now standing together a few feet away. Mary, having escaped a horde of chatty relatives, now stood with her daughter, watching as Bill tried to move Hardy’s attention to the casket. Mary could see the distress on her husband’s features.
“It’s okay, Bill,” she said quietly. “You’ve done all you can. He simply can’t understand.”
Bill sighed again, turning to look at his dad, seeing that the man was still staring off into space. Moving around the chair, he knelt down in front of his father and tried to capture his focus.
“Daddy,” he said softly. “Maybe you can understand me, maybe you can’t. You loved Mama and she loved you, and I know you want to say farewell to her. I’ll just step aside so you can be alone with her for a few moments, okay? I’ll be right over there with Lucy and Mary if you need me.”
Hardy didn’t react. Disheartened, Bill moved over to where his wife and daughter were standing. They all stood back with the nurse and the attendants, with cousins and relatives and the man from the funeral home, waiting and watching for some movement from Hardy that would indicate he was saying farewell to his wife of sixty years.
But the seconds ticked by, and finally the minutes, and there was no movement from Hardy. It was becoming increasingly evident that there wouldn’t be. Resigned, Bill went over to the funeral director to tell the man to start moving guests into the chapel, which was a cheap add-on to the side of the house. He wasn’t halfway through his request when he heard a collective gasp go up. Whirling around, he saw his father standing out of his chair.
Hardy was on his feet next to the casket, hunched over Victory’s body. The man hadn’t been on his feet in over a year so he wasn’t particularly steady, but he was standing nonetheless. It was a pivotal moment and the buzz of conversation died down, people quieting as if afraid to break the spell that now hung over Hardy.
As an entire room watched, holding their breaths, Hardy stared down at his wife. It was possible that the lights of recognition were struggling to fire because he simply stood there and leaned on the casket, staring at the nearly unrecognizable body cushioned by the white velvet. Did he recognize her? Did he even have a clue?
… could he tell her goodbye?
Finally, he moved. Hardy lifted his hand and grasped Victory’s cold, soft fingers. He didn’t say a word, however. He simply stood there holding the woman’s hand for the longest time as if reconciling himself to what he was seeing. The lights of recognition had ignited and, in that brief moment of awareness, Hardy finally saw his wife for the last time. In his damaged mind, something was registering, something deep and sorrowful.
A tear fell from his eye, hitting Victory on the cheek.
It was a gesture not missed by anyone in the room. Eyes grew moist and people began sniffling. In awe, but very aware of the man’s privacy, Bill and Lucy moved up on either side of Hardy, hoping to offer what support they could. Just as they came up beside him, they heard a string of barely audible words.
“I hope you find him.”
It was Hardy’s voice, very faint. The man, mostly silenced by years of dementia, had found his voice when he needed it most. But just like that, the spell was broken and Hardy tottered backwards, plopping down into his chair.
Lucy and Bill had hold of him, making sure the chair didn’t roll away or tip over, and the attendants hurried up to help. But the moment of awareness was over and Hardy’s expression remained empty of emotion even though tears had so recently fallen.
Whatever light had gone on in his mind was out again and the vacant eyes, though misty, were vacant once more.
Lucy knew that because she was looking at him. Those eyes she knew so well were dim, the realization of his wife’s death perhaps more than he could bear. Still, the words out of his mouth had been very odd. Curious, she knelt in front of her grandfather again as the attendants secured the old man in the chair.
“Pop?” she asked softly. “What did you mean? Who is ‘him’?”
“Jesus,” Bill said with quiet confidence. “I’m sure he meant Jesus.”
It made sense but something told Lucy that wasn’t the case. She didn’t know why, or how, but she just wasn’t convinced that’s what Hardy had meant. Call it a hunch, but she didn’t think her grandfather had meant that his wife should find the lord. She’d already found him, a long time ago.
This was something else.
“Is that who you meant, Pop?” she said, holding the man’s hand again. “Did you mean that Mamaw should find Jesus?”
Hardy didn’t reply. All strapped into his chair again, he was devoid of recognition, once again, as Bill directed the attendants to take his father into the chapel where people were starting to gather. Lucy stood up and walked next to her grandfather’s chair, still holding his hand, still puzzled over what he’d said to his wife.
Just as they neared the chapel entrance, a small, elderly African American woman, who had been seated in a corner, suddenly stood up. Lucy recognized the woman as the lady who had faithfully tended Mamaw for the last few years of her life.
“Hello, Aunt Vivien,” Lucy said. “I’m so glad you’re here. I’m sorry I didn’t see you when I came in.”
The woman was dressed in her finest; a cheap but clean blue suit, a rather beaten blue hat, and an old white purse. She clutched the purse against her chest.
“Tha
t’s okay,” the old woman assured her. “You saw who you needed to see. Ms. Victory would have been angry if you’d come to talk to me before you saw her.”
Lucy laughed softly, letting go of her grandfather’s hand and letting him, and her parents, pass on into the chapel as she remained behind to talk to Vivien. “That’s very true,” she said, walking up to the old woman, looking her over. “How are you? It’s been a while.”
Vivien nodded. “It has,” she agreed. “Ms. Victory said you done got a new job.”
Lucy nodded. “I did,” she said. “A big law firm in Los Angeles. It takes all my time.”
“No new husband yet?”
Lucy grinned and shook her head. “Not yet.”
“Ms. Victory wouldn’t like to hear that.”
“No, she wouldn’t.” Lucy noticed that her family was starting to sit down inside of the chapel. “Shall we go in? I know Mamaw would want us right where she can see us. If we’re late, she might crawl out of that casket and try to beat us.”
She meant it as a joke but she wasn’t far off; both she and Vivien knew of Ms. Victory’s penchant for spanking or pinching when she was angry. Tardiness was a major sin in her book. Vivien started to follow Lucy but she didn’t get very far; abruptly, she came to a halt.
“Can I talk to you a minute before we go in, Ms. Lucy?” she asked. “All I need is a minute.”
Lucy came to a halt beside her. “Sure,” she said. “What’s on your mind?”
Vivien looked rather uncertain, still clutching that old, white purse to her breast. There was a nervous edge to her manner now.
“Ms. Victory was one of the few great ladies left,” she said sincerely. “She was good to me and we understood each other. But… but that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about. You see, before your Mamaw passed away, she told me to tell you somethin’.”
Lucy was instantly curious. “She did?” she said. “What?”
Bill, standing in the doorway of the chapel, called to Lucy and when she looked over at him, he waved his hand at her, indicating for her to join him. Lucy held up a hand to assure him she was on her way but she looked back to Vivien first.
“Dad wants us to sit down,” she stated the obvious. “What did Mamaw want you to tell me?”
Vivien put a wrinkled old hand on Lucy’s wrist, a powerful gesture in spite of the light touch. Looking into Vivien’s hazel eyes, Lucy could see something quite serious within the liquid depths.
“Your Mamaw told me to tell you this,” Vivien whispered. “There’s a big ol’ chifforobe in her bedroom and in the bottom drawer, your Mamaw done left you somethin’. She says to tell you to not let nobody see it, ’cause she wants you to have it. She says not to let your daddy see it. It’s for you and only you.”
Lucy’s curiosity deepened. “What is it?”
Vivien dropped her hand from Lucy’s wrist. “It’s a note,” she muttered. “I was there when she wrote you a note and put it in the bottom drawer of her chifforobe. Go get it and don’t let nobody see it, Miss Lucy. Your Mamaw wants it that way.”
“But why?”
“Don’t ask no questions. Just do as your Mamaw says.”
Lucy wasn’t any less curious than she had been moments earlier. As Vivien slipped away into the chapel, Lucy followed, mulling over what the woman had just told her.
A note. Lucy could only imagine it was some kind goodbye note to her only grandchild but she wondered if she was strong enough to read it. Still, she was more than a little eager to get her hands on it.
The funeral was a somber occasion bordering on morose. The mood was sad, as it should be, but there was something more to it, something that spoke of … relief. Various cousins and relatives filled up about half of the chapel and the remaining seats were filled up with people from the community who had come to pay their respects to the last of a great but brutal dynasty, the last woman to be born with the name of Hembree.
Victory’s death was the passing of an era, the preacher said when he eulogized Ms. Victory Jewel Hembree Bondurant. He didn’t speak of her father’s darkness or of sins of the past. It wasn’t the time or place. A great lady from a great family, he had said. A few songs and then a brief eulogy by Bill followed.
Thirty-five minutes later, it was over and a hearse was positioned next to the chapel so Ms. Victory could be loaded up for her last ride to the cemetery.
It seemed odd that someone’s entire life could be summarized in less than an hour. Lucy was thinking that very thought as she stood with the funeral guests, holding her grandfather’s hand as her grandmother’s casket was loaded into the hearse. To think this was the end of a woman she’d known her entire life didn’t seem real.
Maybe she’d wake up and this would have all been a nightmare. All she wanted was one more chance to talk to her grandmother on the phone and listen to the woman bitch about the fact that Vivien made better biscuits than she did. Just one more time to laugh at the old woman from two thousand miles away. That was the only safe distance when laughing at Victory.
But the truth was that she would never wake up from this. Neither would anyone else in her family. When Mamaw’s casket was finally secured in the hearse, the people from her grandfather’s living facility came forward to put the man back into the van and return him. He couldn’t make the burial in a wheelchair because of the location of the grave, so Bill kissed his father goodbye, as did Lucy, and they watched the attendants wheel him back over to the white van.
I hope you find him.
Those words came back to Lucy as she watched them put her grandfather onto a platform that gently lifted him back up into the van, wheelchair and all. She thought about them as she headed to her car, preparing to follow the hearse. Those words were going to drive her crazy but maybe they really were the ramblings of an old man who had no idea what he was saying. She was sure she’d never know the truth.
With her parents already in their rental car, Lucy scooted out to the street where she’d parked, noting that it was a bright day with a hint of humidity in the air. That was something she didn’t miss about her summers visiting in Mississippi, that sticky moisture that clung to everything. She could already feel the sweat on her back.
Digging into her purse, she made her way down the walkway to the curb. As she went, she noticed a lanky, very old African American man standing on the sidewalk, looking at the funeral home.
She wouldn’t have paid much attention to him except for the fact that she had to walk around him to get to the curb where her car was parked. As she passed by, she glanced into his leathery, long face, flashing one of those fake polite smiles that one does when acknowledging someone unfamiliar.
“Hello,” she said.
The old man stepped back and tipped his equally old hat at her. He was nicely dressed, in clean clothes that were exquisitely old.
“Good morning,” he said.
Lucy continued on to the car, hitting the remote to unlock it. Opening the driver’s door, she tossed her purse in and was about to climb in after it when she realized that the old man was still standing there, still looking at the funeral home. Lucy thought he might have been lost and she would have felt bad not finding out, just leaving him standing on the sidewalk in confusion. He was pretty old, after all. Maybe he had just lost his way.
“Sir?” she said to him. “Are you looking for someone?”
The elderly man looked at her, startled by the question. “No, ma’am,” he said. “I’m right where I need to be.”
He had a strangely deep and steady voice, for all of his obvious old age. It occurred to Lucy what he might have meant. “The funeral, you mean?” she asked. “The funeral for Victory Bondurant? You just missed it.”
The old man nodded his head. “I just came to say a prayer, ma’am.”
A smile creased Lucy’s lips. “Did you know Victory?” she asked. “She was my grandmother, by the way. I’m Lucy. Her son, Bill, is my dad.”
The old man just seemed to star
e at her, an odd sort of expression on his face. But he was distracted when the hearse came around from the back of the home, down the driveway with a line of cars already behind it. The movement of the cars had his attention now and he paused when he saw the hearse, his yellowed eyes fixed on it.
For a moment, he simply gazed at it. Riveted to it, really. Then, the hat came off, respectfully, and he held it across his heart, watching as the hearse slowly rolled past him. A weathered hand with long, gnarled fingers reached out to gently touch the car as it moved by. Although he didn’t speak, there was something in his touch that bespoke of grief.
It was odd, really. As the hearse pulled out and began its trek north towards the town square, he continued to stand and watch. He didn’t seem inclined to speak with Lucy any further, however, so she climbed into her car and fired it up, making a U-turn to follow the funeral procession.
In her rearview mirror, she could see the old man still standing on the sidewalk, hat still over his heart, but that vision was cut short when she had to make the turn to head west.
The old African American gentleman was quickly forgotten. Lucy’s thoughts were turning to Mamaw’s burial now and Vivien’s mysterious message. There was something in the bottom drawer of that old chifforobe, something meant for her, and the more Lucy thought about it, the more curious she became.
There was to be a reception at Mamaw’s house after the burial and Lucy was determined to slip up to Mamaw’s bedroom and dig around in that bottom drawer. What do you have to say to me, Mamaw? she thought. And why don’t you want Dad to see it?
It was going to drive her crazy until she read the contents.
CHAPTER TWO
~ All of Us, Dying ~
“Daddy, how could you do it?” A young woman with short, wavy auburn hair wept bitterly. “You… you killed him! I know you did!”
A big man, tall, with a full head of dark hair and piercing dark eyes watched the woman as she sat on her bed, crying. It was deep into the night now, the soft breezes off of the river lifting the curtains in her bedroom, filling the air with a moist, heavy smell.
In the Dreaming Hour Page 3