When Loretta stops playing the organ music, Daddy opens with a prayer, the same one he says at all funerals. He nods at Edna Warber, who walks up and sings “In Times Like These” and for once, does a pretty good job. Daddy approaches the podium and looks out at the smattering of people dotting the pews. The church is nearly empty except for Sheriff Conner, half a dozen church members, and a few people who are mostly just curious. Daddy calls them funeral-crashers. He says some people feel more alive when they are around death for some reason.
Daddy pulls a pair of reading glasses from his suit pocket and perches them on the end of his nose. He opens his Bible and begins to read the same verse he always reads at funerals.
“‘Fear not, for I have redeemed thee. I have called thee by thy name and thou art mine. When thou passest through the waters . . .’” Daddy pauses and looks at me. He seems flustered, like he’s lost his place. “‘I will be with thee.’”
He stops reading and gazes toward the window. He knows these verses by heart. He’s said them a thousand times. Something’s wrong. Maybe everything has finally taken its toll: Mama, the crazy exorcism thing, the fire, and now Lyle. I stop feeling sorry for myself and start feeling sorry for him. Come on, I think, you’ve got this.
He clears his throat. “‘And when thou walkest through the fire, thou shalt not be burned; neither shall the flame kindle upon thee . . .’”
His voice cracks. He takes a drink from a glass of water hidden under the dais. He looks down at the casket and frowns. People start fidgeting nervously in their seats, wondering if Pastor Carter is about to have a nervous breakdown. My sisters exchange worried glances, eyebrows furrowed in worry. Daddy squeezes his temples in the way he does when he has a headache. Mr. Franks starts to walk toward Daddy but he waves him away.
Daddy closes his Bible without finishing the Scripture passage and blurts out, “I hated this man,” pointing to the casket. “I hated him for running over my eldest daughter and then I hated him even more for something horrible I believed he did. And when I had evil thoughts I prayed to the Lord for Lyle Miller’s swift punishment rather than Our Father’s merciful forgiveness.” Daddy drops his head and wipes his eyes with a handkerchief. “I’m the one who needs forgiving. Lyle Miller was no saint, but neither am I. He was the victim of gossip and false rumors. I strive every day to be Christ-like in my desire to spread the gospel. But the Lord pays more attention to our actions than our words.”
Daddy steps down from the pulpit and grabs hold of a handle on the side of Lyle’s casket. “This man died trying to carry my baby girl out of a burning house. The least I can do is carry him out of the Lord’s house.”
Sheriff Conner stands and moves to the other side of the casket and grabs a handle. Then the deacons, Mr. Franks and Burt, walk up and join them. Joy tries to stop me, but I run up and grab a handle along with a handful of other men and, finally, a weeping Edna. We slide Lyle’s simple casket off the rolling platform and walk quietly past my sisters. We walk past Mrs. Franks, Burt’s wife, and three women I don’t recognize. No music. No prayers. Just Lyle and us. Just the way I think he would have preferred.
We carry Lyle past the hearse to the tiny cemetery behind the church, where the gravediggers have already made a hole. My sisters and the rest of them catch up to us just as we set the coffin on the ground next to a pile of dirt. Daddy looks around at our faces. He starts in on “The Lord’s Prayer.” “‘Our Father, who art in heaven, blessed be Thy name.’”
Everyone joins in, eyes closed, reverently praying over Lyle. My eyes are open. I want to remember this. I look up at the sky, imagining Lyle floating toward heaven. I look at the dirt, the hole, the wooden box. Then I look over at the flowers lining the edge of the cemetery. With the last “amen” I dash over and pull up a handful of Queen Anne’s lace. I run back and lay one on the casket.
“Goodbye, Lyle,” I say.
I hold out my handful of flowers for the others. Daddy takes one and places it next to mine. One by one, everyone takes a flower and lays it over the others.
* * *
People trickle back into the church basement for refreshments. I skip the food and sit on the front steps holding the last flower. Tears flood my face. I will miss him so much.
Someone hands me a hankie. I turn to find Robin standing over me.
“What are you doing here?”
“I came to see if you needed a friend.”
I nod my head. He sits next to me and reaches for my hand. My sisters spill out of the church and walk in a wide circle around us. They stand at the bottom of the steps whispering to each other. A pink Cadillac screeches to a stop in front of the church. Aunt Arlene jumps out looking more disheveled than I’ve ever seen her. Reddened eyes blink back a mixture of tears and mascara that streaks down both sides of her cheeks. She glances toward our burned-down house across the street, then moves toward us, her long arms outstretched. She gathers Joy and Chas and Hope close, squeezing them together like a bouquet in a too-small vase. She motions for me to join them, but I stay put.
Daddy appears in the front door of the church holding a plate of chocolate cake. “Arlene, what are you doing here?”
She lets loose of my sisters and races up the steps to hug Daddy.
“The funeral is already over, Aunt Arlene,” Chastity says.
Aunt Arlene turns toward her. “I couldn’t get through on the phone so I rushed here to tell you the good news. I was sitting there next to her bed when she came to.” Her blotchy face goes bright as she grabs Daddy’s hands in hers. “She’s awake, Henry. Isabelle is awake!”
Daddy’s eyes flash. He glances toward us girls, then pulls away from Aunt Arlene and races to her car, dropping the cake on the sidewalk. The Cadillac spins out, spitting gravel as it shimmies out of the lot onto the road.
“He took my car!” Aunt Arlene stands with her arms hanging at her sides like broken wings.
My sisters start jumping up and down. “Mama’s awake! Mama’s awake!”
Robin squeezes my hand. “Don’t you want to join them?”
I watch my sisters as they dance around in a circle, their smiles suddenly brighter than I can ever remember.
“Nah,” I say. “Let them have their moment. I’ll just ruin it for them.”
“Go on,” he says, nudging me with his shoulder.
I stand and walk toward my sisters. The closer I get the more they tighten their circle. I move past them and walk on up the sidewalk toward the lake. Robin catches up to me about a block away.
“You want to go see her?”
I stop in my tracks.
“More than anything.”
* * *
When I reach Mama’s room, she’s sleeping. Two doctors stand at the foot of her bed. One of them says, “I’m sorry, young lady, but Mrs. Carter can’t have any visitors yet, only her husband. He’s down in the cafeteria if you want to talk to him.” They both turn their backs to me, as if I’ll say, “No problem. It’s only my mama who’s been in a coma for over a year. I’ll just come back later.”
I walk closer. “Mama?”
One of the doctors, the tall one, reaches for me but stops when a sound comes from the bed.
“Grace . . .”
It’s only a whisper, but that one breathy syllable is all I need to know that Mama is back here with us. With me.
I rush to the side of her bed. “Mama!”
Her face is pale, but there’s a light in her eyes that was missing before she left us. She raises her hand slightly before it drops weakly at her side.
“Oh, Mama,” I say. I touch her face, feel her hair, and finally, her soft hand. “You’re back.” I lift her hand to my lips and kiss it.
Mama’s fingers crawl awkwardly across my cheek in the way that a baby tries to make her hand do its bidding. She fondles a lock of my hair that, even after shampooing twice, still smells like smoke. Her hand drops and her eyes flutter.
“Mama!” I say, dropping my head to her chest. “
Don’t go back!”
The shorter doctor puts his hand on my shoulder. “Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he says. “She’s not going anywhere. She’s just exhausted. Your mother visited with Reverend Carter for quite a while. We need to let her rest so she can get her strength back.”
He tugs gently at my shoulder and I back away from the bed. Mama appears to be sleeping peacefully, each breath drawing more life into her body.
“You can come back in the morning,” a nurse says, pulling me aside. “Go find your father. Just follow the floor arrows to the cafeteria.”
Fluorescent lights buzz above me as I walk the long hospital hallway. I’m suddenly so tired that my feet feel like chunks of cement. With my head down, I count the squares on the waxed floor to keep me from collapsing from sheer joy and relief. Sensible white shoes shuffle past me in both directions. A creaky cart with metal wheels rolls by. The hallway is a blur of whispering nurses, silent janitors, a bloody-gowned doctor. I don’t look up at any of them. I follow the arrows until a pair of familiar black shoes comes into view. I slowly raise my head.
He’s standing a few feet away from me, his shirt untucked, eyes red from fatigue or crying or both. My head spins dizzily. I freeze, not knowing what to expect.
“Grace,” Daddy says, moving toward me.
When I flinch he stops.
“Your mama says it was you who convinced her to come back, all those times you sat by her bed.” His chin quivers and a tear runs down his unshaven cheek. “She told me about how she was just like you until . . .”
I don’t move.
“I’m sorry, Grace. I’m so, so sorry.” He takes another step toward me. “Honey, please . . .”
I stumble forward and fall into his big arms, sobbing.
33
Fall 1974
Mama has come back changed. She may have told Daddy it was because of me, but I know she wouldn’t have awakened unless she’d decided to be here by her own choice. She’s stubborn like me. Joy says Mama’s back to the way she was before Isaac died. I still have a faint memory of how that was, the lilting way she carried us before the weight of the world crushed her heart. Maybe after seeing Isaac she finally understood that a person doesn’t have to be next to you to be with you. Whatever it is, she’s come out of that sleepy other place more awake than she ever was before.
We had to tear down what was left of our old house and build a new one. Mr. Franks owns the Farmers Agency in Cherry Hill so the parsonage had good insurance. Mama insisted on a front porch with a swing. She says she doesn’t remember anything from the time we found her in the barn until the day she woke up from her coma. She spent some time in rehab relearning to walk after being in bed for so long. Other than that she’s pretty much back to normal. Better than normal.
Mama’s not the only person who’s changed. Daddy’s shoulders have rounded, his foot falls less heavily, and day by day I see a softening inside him where it used to be hard. He gave Joy enough to pay for college tuition from money left over in the donation collections after the house burned down. Sometimes she calls and I can tell by the way he laughs he’s really proud of her. Hope moved to Africa, where she teaches Bible School in the jungle. Her letters come to us smelling like a whole different world. I was afraid Mama wouldn’t let her go, seeing’s how she’d missed out on nearly two years of her life already. But Mama’s not as afraid of things anymore. She’s not afraid of herself anymore.
And she’s started singing again. We finally figured out what gift Marilyn got from Mama. One day when Grandpa was visiting, Marilyn was sitting on his lap and out of the blue she started singing “In the Garden” in the most angelic voice ever. We all stopped what we were doing and listened until the last note; then Mama scooped Marilyn up and swung her in a full circle. She kissed her on the forehead and said, “We’re going to sing duets!” Marilyn grinned like a drunken jack-o’-lantern.
Robin and I are going steady. I wish I had a picture of everybody’s face when he first walked into our yard. I know Daddy wanted to tell him to get his long-haired hippie self off the property, but Robin was too quick. He pulled on a nail apron, climbed up the ladder, and started pounding nails into the roofing shingles before Daddy could object. By the end of the day Daddy saw what a good worker he was so he didn’t bother him. But he never took his sights off Robin the whole time.
Lola approves of my boyfriend. She calls him JC, for Jesus Christ. They get along because Robin is an artist like her and most of her family. He lives in an A-frame studio over in Little Dune that he rents from his uncle. He blows glass into all sorts of beautiful creatures, but his specialty is birds. People buy them as fast as he can make them. My favorites are the owls.
* * *
Mama and Daddy are sitting on the porch swing holding hands when I get home from school. Chastity bounds out the front door, headed for the beach.
“I’ll be back by supper,” she calls out behind her.
Chas has all the boys chasing her now that she’s in high school. Daddy keeps a pretty close eye on her. She joined the drama club and won the role of Dorothy in this year’s production of The Wizard of Oz. I suppose she’ll move to Hollywood someday, although I think she’d do better to stay where there’s not so much competition.
“You all right, honey?” Mama asks when I climb the porch stairs.
Today hasn’t been an easy day. Lola broke it to me that she’s moving to Berkeley, California, with her friend Stephanie at the end of the year. Stephanie has been accepted at the University of California. Stephanie is like Lola. Not an artist but in the way she prefers girls over boys. Lola says there’s more opportunity for artists out west. I expect there’s also a lot more room for free love, which Lola has plenty of.
“I’m all right, Mama,” I say.
Mama squeezes Daddy’s hand. “There’s someone here to see you, Grace,” he says.
I look around for Robin’s van, but I don’t see it. Maybe it’s broken down again and he had to hitchhike.
“Is he out back?” I ask.
They both giggle like a couple of little kids. Behind them, from inside the house, a figure appears at the screen door. My heart bends in half when she pushes it open.
“There’s my SweePea,” she says as she waddles toward me.
My knees almost buckle.
“Well, what you waitin’ for, girl? Come here and give your Aunt Pearl a hug before she dies of missin’ you.”
I throw my arms around her. I have to bend down because I’m a good foot taller than her now. She smells as wonderful as ever and her hug would like to melt me into a puddle of sweet cream.
“Lord have mercy, you’ve grown,” she says, when we finally let go.
So have you, I think, but I don’t say it. Aunt Pearl has gotten fatter since I last saw her. And her hair is nearly all gray.
Mama and Daddy walk quietly into the house and I swear Daddy winks at me. I swear it.
Aunt Pearl and I sit on the swing until suppertime, filling in the gaps in our lives. After supper we come back to the porch with iced tea and continue our talk well past dark. I tell her how much I’ve missed her. I tell her about Robin and Lola. I tell her about Lyle and how deeply it hurt to lose him.
“Sorrow is the good Lord’s toll for love,” she says, shaking her head. I know by the way she says it that Aunt Pearl has paid a great debt for the generosity of her big heart.
After we’ve tired of current and not-so-current events, she changes the subject to the Knowing. “How do you plan to use this gift God gave you?” she asks, pulling her sweater around her shoulders.
I sit silently for a minute, then get up and walk across the porch. Leaning against the white railing, I turn to face her. I know there’s no wrong answer to her question, but I so want her to understand.
“I think that the Knowing uses me, not the other way around. I think I’m just supposed to stay open and let the Knowing be a way to show other people how to listen for the truth rather than hide from it.
”
Aunt Pearl smiles. Her approval slips out with a pleasant sigh. I look down at her slippered feet and grin. They barely reach the floor. She takes a sip of her tea and pats the empty spot next to her on the swing. I stretch out beside her with my head in her lap. There are some things you grow more into than out of.
EPILOGUE
Summer 1977
Robin and I live in a cabin we built together. Aunt Pearl lives on our land in a trailer that she bought. After my high school graduation, Robin and I took a trip to visit Aunt Pearl. We never came back. When we saw the sign HEAVEN, MISSISSIPPI, POPULATION 147 we just grinned at each other, pulled off the highway, and started looking for our own piece of paradise. We’ve been here a year now. Although a part of my heart remains in Cherry Hill, Michigan, Mississippi has always owned me. I love sending Mama letters from Heaven.
I’m hanging wash on the line when my water breaks. It’s August, hotter than all get-out and humid, too. Robin is out in the shop firing some pieces for an art fair that’s coming up. I don’t call him or Aunt Pearl right away because I figure I have some time. But it turns out this baby is ready to be born. By the time I reach the house it feels like somebody is standing on my stomach, pushing everything toward my bottom.
I knew the moment I became pregnant. I felt a quickening in my heart of hearts. Not the one that beats inside my chest, but the one that feeds my soul. A few hours after Robin and I had made love in our water bed last November I awakened from a deep sleep. I sensed a reunion of body and spirit that was only a millisecond in time but infinite in its lasting effect on me.
Aunt Pearl warned me about the pains, but my labor is about as gentle as any woman could ask for, which is exactly what I did. Isaac used to say God isn’t a wishing well, but when I was feeling worn-out by the seventh month I asked Him right out to go easy on me. My prayers must’ve been heard because it isn’t an hour after I yank on the porch bell and Aunt Pearl and Robin come running that our son eases himself out into the world. Robin snips the cord like we learned from Aunt Pearl. She wraps our baby in a warm towel and hands him to me. I put him to my breast and weep as he suckles, running my fingers over the heart-shaped birthmark on his neck. When he whimpers in his sleep, I curl myself around him, tucking his familiar body against my belly, and nuzzle his delicate ear.
This I Know Page 27