The Sittin' Up

by Shelia P. Moses

  I reckon it was Mrs. Gordon who combed his hair straight back from his face with a little part on the left side. She didn’t know Mr. Bro. Wiley like we did ’cause he didn’t wear no part in his hair.

  “You got your comb with you, Bean?” Ma asked. She noticed it too.

  “Yes, ma’am. I got it right here.” She reached down and touched Mr. Bro. Wiley’s head like she was touching a piece of cotton and combed the part away.

  “There,” she said. “That’s our Mr. Bro. Wiley.”

  “It sho’ is, Ma.”

  I think she laughed for a second, but I couldn’t hear ’cause Uncle Goat was still carrying on.

  “Ma, why is Uncle Goat carrying on? Does he know Mr. Bro. Wiley didn’t think much of him?” I whispered.

  “Oh, child, that ain’t so. He thought the world of Goat. He just wanted him to stop his lying. He wanted him to be a better man. Now hush ’fore your uncle hear you.”

  “I don’t want to look no more, Ma.”

  “Okay. You all right?”

  “Yes, ma’am. It’s sad to see him in that casket.”

  “Yes, it is, child, but God don’t break a heart he will not heal. Mr. Bro. Wiley’s truly free now.”

  I knew what Ma said was right, but it still hurt my heart to know that my friend was gone forever. We turned and walked away from the ole slave man. Uncle Goat was in the hall crying like he had lost his best friend. We all had.

  FIFTEEN

  I went on the porch and sat in Mr. Bro. Wiley’s rocking chair so that I could feel close to his soul. I could hear him singing the way he used to do right after supper.

  “Steal away, Lord. Steal away. I don’t have long to stay.”

  “Sing, Mr. Bro. Wiley . . . sing all you want to,” Ma would say as she ironed our clothes for the following day. When Mr. Bro. Wiley got tired of singing, he would just hum. Hum till bedtime.

  Come morning, Mr. Bro. Wiley and Ma would sing some more while Ma fried us one egg each and some fatback. After our plates were ready, Mr. Bro. Wiley would pray till the cows came home.

  “Dear Lord, I know you hear me this morning. I want to thank you for waking us up and starting us along the way. Thank you for waking us up clothed and in our right minds. Thank you for Bean, Magnolia, and Stanbury. Have mercy on the folk back here in the Low Meadows and all over this world. Have mercy, Lord. Thank you for this life and the life after this one. Thank you for this mouthful of food this morning. Amen.”

  I would never hear Mr. Bro. Wiley pray again.

  When I looked up, I saw the Cofields walking down Stony Hill.

  “Evening, Bean,” Mr. Jabo said.

  “Evening, Mr. Jabo. Evening, Miss Lottie Pearl. Hey, Pole.”

  “Hey, Bean,” Miss Lottie Pearl said.

  Pole didn’t say nothing ’cause she thought Papa was gonna come outside soon and tell on us for peeking at Mr. Bro. Wiley.

  Mr. Jabo had on the same black suit he wore every Sunday that God sent, and Miss Lottie Pearl had on an ugly black dress that she made. Poor Pole. Miss Lottie Pearl made her a dress too. It was white and wide at the bottom. It looked as if it had a big balloon under it. Miss Lottie Pearl made a big ugly green ribbon to tie around Pole’s little skinny waist. The ribbon seemed to make Pole’s body lean to one side.

  “Let’s go see Mr. Bro. Wiley before the house get full of folk,” Mr. Jabo said.

  I winked at Pole to let her know we were safe from Papa telling on us.

  “Got something in your eye, son?” Mr. Jabo asked.

  “No, sir. I believe a fly just went by.”

  Pole winked back ’cause she knew that’s our code when we ain’t in trouble. But before Pole could get too happy, Papa came to the screen door.

  “Good evening,” he said.

  “Evening,” Miss Lottie Pearl and Mr. Jabo replied.

  “Glad you early so-so I wouldn’t have to walk over to Stony Hill to tell y’all how no mannered Bean-Bean and Pole was acting earlier today.”

  “Well, I’ll be doggone!” I thought Papa was gonna keep his mouth closed, at least till the sittin’ up was over with. Miss Lottie Pearl didn’t look happy. I didn’t know why he had to tell on us. Why? Why? Why?

  It was sad enough on Low Meadows Lane without us getting beat. Papa should’ve been ashamed of himself. He really should’ve. Now I was just saying that to myself. I knew better than to say a word out loud to him.

  “What did you do, gal?” Miss Lottie Pearl asked.

  “Not just her, both-both of them,” Papa said. “I gave Bean a good talking to. They were peeping in the window at poor-poor old Mr. Bro. Wiley this afternoon after I told them to sit on the porch. Peeping at-at a dead man like they ain’t got no home training. I didn’t tell Miss Magnolia, ’cause she-she already tore all to pieces.”

  Papa looked at me real hard like he forgot we were kinfolk.

  “Being upset is one thing, forgetting your manners is another. Bean ain’t in-in the clear either. He gonna rake the-the yard tomorrow soon as the funeral over with.”

  “I am? Well, that was my first time hearing that,” I thought.

  “I guess they both will have to do extra work next week,” Mr. Jabo said.

  “Get-get out of that chair, boy. Lottie Pearl might want to sit there after viewing the body,” Papa told me as he opened the door for the Cofields. “Y’all come on-on in and take a good look at Mr. Bro. Wiley. Say-say your good-byes in peace. Ain’t nobody here yet but Goat.” Papa left out the fact that my uncle just finished hollering. Me and Pole followed the grown folk inside.

  “Hey, y’all,” Uncle Goat said as he rushed past us, wiping his tears away. “I’ll see you after I change clothes.”

  Everybody spoke softly as they walked in the sittin’ up room.

  “Take your time. Take your time,” Mr. Jabo told Miss Lottie Pearl.

  “Come with me, child,” Miss Lottie Pearl said to Pole as she motioned for her to walk to the casket. “Come view the body like you supposed to, girl. Not through a window like you ain’t got no home training.”

  “Lord, have mercy, Mr. Bro. Wiley gone,” Miss Lottie Pearl said. She reached down and rubbed Mr. Bro. Wiley’s face as if he could feel her touch. Then she went to fixing his necktie. She knew good and well Ma already had Mr. Bro. Wiley looking the way she wanted him to look, but she wasn’t satisfied unless she helped.

  Pole strong. She cried a little bit, but not aloud like the womenfolk and Uncle Goat. I stepped up to the casket and held her hand so that Mr. Jabo could tend to his wife.

  “Good-bye, Mr. Bro. Wiley. I am going to miss you,” Pole said as she pulled one of the flowers out of the arrangement and put it in his hand. That girl just do whatever she want. I was kind of proud though.

  Seeing her put that flower in Mr. Bro. Wiley’s hand tore her mama all to pieces.

  “He looked like he never been sick a day in his life,” Miss Lottie Pearl cried out. “He looks asleep. Sleep on, Bro. Wiley, sleep on. I hope you didn’t suffer while you were leaving here.”

  “He didn’t suffer at-at all,” Papa said.

  Next thing we know Ma was shouting again. Right then I knew that Mr. Bro. Wiley’s funeral was gonna be a mess and a half tomorrow. According to Uncle Goat, anytime you go to a sittin’ up and the folk crying a lot you knew it was gonna be a funeral filled with hollering and carrying on.

  It ain’t gonna be quiet like Mr. King David Lightfoot’s funeral was last year. He lived in an unpainted house that sat right at the foot of Stony Hill. He was one mean man.

  Now, folk didn’t just get up one morning and start disliking Mr. King David. He gave them plenty of reasons. He was just plain hateful. Never even bothered to say hello to the children. Didn’t talk in the fields. Didn’t attend church. Nothing. He had only one son, named Bob, if you don’t count our neighbor Real Kill. I did
n’t know if it was so and I better not ask, but folk said Real Kill was really Mr. King David’s blood son by some woman with a mustache who came through here with the circus. She stayed long enough to give birth and leave her baby on Miss Penny’s doorstep. Miss Penny died years ago and Real Kill raised himself with a little help from the Low Meadows women. Mr. King David never claimed Real Kill, so when he died he was all alone.

  After Papa found the body, he called Bob, who lived up North in a place called Baltimore. For someone who hadn’t been home in twenty years, the man Ma called Big Shot Bob sho’ got to the Low Meadows fast.

  Folk said he came to get the bury legion money. I didn’t know him and he didn’t stay long enough for us to get to know him. I just remember he came to the Low Meadows in his black Chevy, with his fancy clothes and his pretty wife, Miss Marie. She was Mexican and looked liked an angel.

  Miss Marie wasn’t a tall woman like Miss Lottie Pearl, but she looked tall because of her long legs. On them legs she wore stockings every day. She didn’t know Low Meadows women only wore stockings when they were going to church. Miss Marie had dark hair and a mole on the tip of her nose. She barely spoke English, but I didn’t need to hear her talk. Just looking at her was good enough for me. I think every man in the Low Meadows went over to the sittin’ up just so they could get a good look at her. She smelled of honeysuckle that grew on the edge of the fields come springtime.

  Ma and Miss Lottie Pearl left the field early when they got word that Big Shot Bob was gonna bury his daddy without having a sittin’ up. They went to that man’s house and took over. They talked some junk to him as sho’ as you born. Me and Pole weren’t there, but Miss Marie managed to get out enough English to tell us what happened. The grown folk wouldn’t talk to the pretty lady, so she just talked to us when she saw us sittin’ on my porch watching folks go in and out of Mr. King David’s house. We weren’t about to tell Miss Marie that Low Meadows grown folk don’t tell Low Meadows children nothing!

  “‘No sittin’ up!’” Miss Marie told us Ma yelled at the city man. “‘You just pay for the funeral with your bury legion money. Us womenfolk will do the rest. But we gonna have a sittin’ up. You can’t come down here acting like you better than us. You ain’t nothing but a Low Meadows boy just like your papa, my husband, and your brother, Real Kill, if you want the truth. Now, go on out to town and give that policy to Mr. Gordon so we can pick out a casket before the sun go down.’”

  Then Miss Lottie Pearl jumped in. “We didn’t think much of your pappy and don’t feel no different about you, but we gonna bury him the way we bury all Low Meadows men.” When Big Shot Bob rolled his eyes at the womenfolk, Miss Lottie Pearl got real mad and the rest of the devil came out of her.

  “Go on and give Mr. Gordon that policy! Don’t try to keep half the money, because I ain’t picking no cheap casket.” Miss Marie said that Pole’s mama was jumping up and down like a rooster with his head cut off.

  “By the way, your papa ain’t been to church since your ma died twenty years ago, so his one suit too little for that big belly! Buy your daddy a suit. If you ain’t careful, you’ll need a suit for your own sittin’ up,” Miss Lottie Pearl added. Big Shot Bob walked out the door steaming mad.

  After the womenfolk ran Big Shot Bob to see Mr. Gordon, they cooked up all the food Mr. King David had left in his pantry.

  Me and Pole were eleven at the time, so we missed the funeral, but Miss Marie filled us in. She said that Ma put Real Kill’s name on the obituary right beside Big Shot Bob’s name. Right after Mr. Creecy said a few words, Miss Lottie Pearl read the obituary out loud at the funeral, but she skipped over Real Kill’s name. That made him some kind of mad. Miss Marie said he stood up and starting acting crazy.

  “Hush up, Lottie Pearl. Y’all act like you love me, but you don’t. What you and Magnolia put my name in the obituary for if you scared to say it out loud? All y’all going to hell.”

  Then he walked out the church. Big Shot Bob didn’t say a word. He didn’t care. He had the rest of that bury legion money in his suit pocket.

  Papa and Mr. Jabo was still laughing when they got home. Ma didn’t laugh because she and Miss Lottie Pearl were too busy walking up and down Low Meadows Lane looking for Real Kill so they could tell him a piece of their mind. Big Shot Bob and Marie went speeding past the two mad women without waving.

  No need for Ma to be mad at Real Kill.

  No need for Miss Lottie Pearl to be mad neither.

  They knew Low Meadows folk wasn’t thinking about Mr. King David dead or alive. Folk said there wasn’t one tear shed at the funeral. Not a one. Well, maybe that’s if you didn’t count the folk that laughed until they cried after Real Kill showed his sinning ways. Nobody really loved Mr. King David; but folk sho’ loved our Mr. Bro. Wiley. His sittin’ up was proof of that.

  SIXTEEN

  No sooner had Miss Lottie Pearl calmed down, Miss Moszella and Miss Dora Mae came in holding each other up the way two old friends in pain and sorrow would do. Poor Miss Moszella, she done got so big that the floor was making noises when they walked across the floor.

  “Help me, Jesus!” Miss Moszella yelled. Then she fainted. Two boards popped up, throwing her legs in the air. Her black dress went clean up to her waist. Papa pushed the boards down with his foot, while Miss Dora Mae held her dress before everyone saw her big white cotton bloomers. Ma helped cover Miss Moszella’s private parts and Pole was fanning her with an old Life magazine that Ma got from Miss Remie.

  “Bean, get the smelling salts,” Ma said.

  I ran in the hall to get the salts out the desk drawer. You would think it was worth a million dollars the way Ma kept it in the pink Depression bottle. She had the glass all wrapped up in dead folk fabric.

  I was running back to the sittin’ up room when I bumped into Pole. Down went the smelling salts! The bottle landed on the floor and broke into pieces.

  “Look what you done, girl!”

  “I didn’t do it! You did. I was coming to see what was taking you so long.”

  “So long? I just left the room. Now you done broke Ma’s favorite piece of Depression glass.”

  Ma loved that one piece ’cause Papa gave it to her. He got it when he bought a whole thirty gallons of gas in Jackson for Mr. Thomas’s truck. He said Mr. Thomas’s wife, Miss Ellen, didn’t want no cheap Depression glass. She had fine china like the Gordons and Miss Remie. Papa was glad that the white folk didn’t want the Depression glass. It gave him a chance to give Ma a real present.

  Ma heard the crash. Next thing I knew she was running down the hallway looking at me like I’d dropped the baby she was carrying in her belly.

  “Bean, please tell me you didn’t break my Depression glass!”

  “No, Ma, I didn’t drop it. Pole ran into me and made it fall right out of my hand. I swear she did.”

  Ma popped me in the back of the head with her hand.

  “Stop swearing, boy.” Then she looked down at her pretty bottle all broke into pieces.

  “I’m real sorry,” Pole finally said as she rubbed Ma’s arm.

  Miss Lottie Pearl came running in the hallway acting as if it was her smelling salts on the floor.

  “No need to worry, Sister. I got plenty smelling salts. You children run up to Stony Hill and get it. Pole, you know where it is. Now bring it back without breaking it.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Pole said, already running out the back door. I was right behind her.

  But Ma came to her senses. “Bean, where are you going? Come back in this house and clean this salt up.”

  “Ma!” I said before I remembered who I was talking to. I didn’t have to turn around to know that Ma’s hands were on her hips and I was in trouble.

  “Boy, don’t ‘Ma’ me. I will take care of you after the sittin’ up. Now get in this house before I get you for old and new.”

  “Yes, ma’
am.” I never understood what Ma meant by getting me for old and new. Heck, she whips me within five seconds every time I do something wrong.

  It didn’t take long for Pole to get back from Stony Hill. We stood in the doorway and waited to see how long it would take for Miss Moszella to come back amongst the living. When she fainted at church, she sometimes woke up right away or she took her own sweet time. It depended on if she had a solo to sing. She would jump up quickly if she was on the program to sing. If she wasn’t on the program, she would just lie there and take a nap.

  “You all right?” Ma asked Miss Moszella as she put the salts under her nose for the third time. Miss Dora Mae was still holding her friend’s dress down.

  “Yes, child, I’ll be fine.” The men were glad Miss Moszella was awake so that she could stand up on her own. On the count of three, Papa and Mr. Jabo helped her to her feet. By the time the sun set, our house was full of folk. All was calm in the house but the wind got higher outside. The women went in the kitchen to get supper ready. The menfolk sat around talking about the storm. Me and Pole walked from room to room to make sure we didn’t miss a word spoken.

  We were making our way to the front porch again when we noticed a car pulling up in the front yard.

  “Who in the world is that?” Pole asked.

  “Don’t know, but they colored.” We looked a little closer.

  “It’s Reverend Hornbuckle!” Pole said as she rushed to the screen door.

  Reverend Hornbuckle had gone out and bought himself a brand-new car. I wondered what the deacons would have to say about that. He better watch his spending because four winters ago they got rid of Reverend Luther Reiding for the very same reason. Folk said he got too big for his britches. They also claimed that Reverend Reiding was missing too many Sundays from the pulpit, but that wasn’t so. The truth was he was put out of Sandy Branch Church because he dressed too fine for the Low Meadows menfolk and he had a fancy car.