Frances Mae was curled up on a couch, breast-feeding the Jackal, Chloe. If Mother could have, she would have gotten up from her coffin and buttoned Frances Mae’s blouse. She couldn’t, so the onus was on me.
“Frances Mae? Here’s Richard! Oh! You’re busy! Sorry. Maybe you’d like to go to the ladies’ room?”
She looked at me without a shred of embarrassment, pulled Chloe from her breast, the loosening of the suction making a loud pop, and looked up at Richard.
“You and me, darlin’—we ain’t ever gonna fit in with these people!”
“There, there,” Richard said, helping her to her feet, “let’s not be unpleasant at Lavinia’s wake. Come with me, Frances Mae, tell me what’s . . .”
They walked away. Thank God.
I had to see if Josh was filling Jack with the inappropriate details of my little fling with him. No, he was talking to Matthew! Right there and then, I started to laugh! The room was overflowing with people and I was in a very strange position. Oh, hell, I thought, let them all talk. I could not have cared less!
I turned to see Peter Greer signing the book on the lectern at the door of the room. He looked so sad. I couldn’t get to him as he worked his way over to Mother’s casket. He stood there, alone, and looked down at her. He was talking to her. When I finally reached his side I heard him say to her, “You were a helluva gal, Lavinia Boswell Wimbley, and this old fellow is going to miss you.”
“Hey! Mr. Greer! Thanks so much for coming! You made Mother’s last days so happy, do you know that?”
“She made me happy too, Miss Caroline. She made me young again.”
“And you thrilled her too, but I’m sure she told you that.”
“Better yet, she showed me, Miss Caroline! She did so many nice things for me, I haven’t ever known anyone like her before and I know I never will again. She was very special.”
“Thank you, Mr. Greer. You’ll join us back at Trip and Frances Mae’s, won’t you?”
“Dear lady, your mother won’t rest until each of us has toasted her. Do you think I want to be haunted by a lady in a paisley caftan?”
He chuckled and so did I. He was right. The reception would be packed.
After the prayer service, people began to leave. I was one of the last to go. Jack had waited for me. I was glad of it.
“Hey,” he said, “you tired?”
“Yeah, God, but I sure am glad you’re here.”
“No place I’d rather be than with you,” he said. “Come on. I’ll drive you to Trip’s. Eric went on ahead with him.”
I couldn’t blame Eric for wanting to get out of the funeral home. “Sure. In a minute. Just want to tell Mother good night.”
He waited for me at the door to the large viewing room and gave me a moment alone. I walked up to the edge of Mother’s casket and looked down at her. It wasn’t her. There, in front of me, was a shameful imitation of who my mother was. There was no other truth. Mother was gone. Still, out of respect for her and knowing she was on my shoulder or somewhere very close, I moved a stray hair from her forehead. She wore the most simple of jewelry, just her wedding band and tiny pearl stud earrings. Her dress was her favorite caftan, the lavender and blue paisley Pucci one from the sixties. She had decided to save her wedding gown for Frances Mae’s girls after all. She looked glorious.
Too many things went through my mind and at the same time, it was blank. I was standing before my mother’s casket and there were her remains, but not her. That was all I could think. Where had she gone?
I turned to Jack, thinking I may as well leave because there was nothing I could do. I took his arm and he walked me to his car, opening my door and seeing that I was safely inside. He came around his side, got in, started the car, and looked at me.
“Hold on, girl,” he said, “I promised your mother I’d keep an eye on you and that’s what I intend to do.”
He began to back up from the parking space and I felt myself smiling. He picked up my hand from the seat and kissed the back of it. I hoped I’d never forget that moment. I’d never known a man to be so tender and so strong at the same time.
“You are so wonderful, Dr. Taylor, do you know that?”
THE RECEPTION AT Trip and Frances Mae’s was the most beautiful party I had ever attended. A valet service from Columbia parked cars. Waiters in black tie met us with trays filled with goblets of champagne and tumblers of mint juleps. People wandered in and out of the crowd, their plates piled high with roast beef, barbecue, and classic southern dishes. There was no stone left unturned in Trip and Frances Mae’s quest to ensure a successful and memorable night. I was so tired I could barely stand to be on my feet for another minute. But I had to speak to Trip and Frances Mae and give them the compliments they so deserved.
I saw Trip at the bar. Big surprise. I worked my way over to him, thanking people every three feet for coming.
“Hey, Trip! Ya done good, bubba! This is a great send-off for Mother, it really is.”
“Think she would have approved? I couldn’t have done it without Millie though.”
“She would’ve loved this, Trip. Really. And where is Millie?”
“Look over there,” he said and pointed to the back porch.
There was Millie with her arms around Mr. Jenkins. I loved it.
No, the night was a success from start to finish. I even kissed Frances Mae on the cheek before I left and told her so.
“Mother would’ve been thrilled, Frances Mae, really.”
“Well, I did my best; that’s all I can say. And tomorrow we all gather to throw dirt on Miss Lavinia!”
“Throw dirt?” I said.
“Yeah, that’s what they call it, don’t they? When them monks up at Mepkin die, they just pull the hood over their face and put them in the ground, don’t they? Then all the monks pass by and put a shovel or two on the one in the hole? Isn’t that right, Trip?”
“She’s being cremated, Frances Mae, right now in fact,” I said.
“That’s horrible! Trip, honey? Is that true?”
I just walked away, but not before giving Trip the eye.
Millie and Mr. Jenkins drove Eric and me back to Tall Pines. I couldn’t wait to lie down and rest. I gave Richard a house key, since he wanted to remain behind, saying he was doing what he could as a host to help Trip and Frances Mae. Since when did he care about them so much? Maybe he was gathering material for a book.
I faced the next dilemma—being in Tall Pines without Mother and tucking Eric in bed after he’d seen his first dead body. All the way back, he slept with his head on my lap in the backseat of the car. His breath, slow and even, was reassuring and all I could think about was that he needed me.
Millie and Mr. Jenkins talked quietly about the evening and how Mother would have been so surprised to see what they had put together in her honor.
When we arrived, I shook Eric awake and we went inside through the kitchen door. Millie and Mr. Jenkins said good night and I thanked them for all they had done. Eric clopped up the stairs, moaning about being tired and please let him sleep late the next morning. I locked the doors, left a few lights on for Richard, and followed him.
He was under his covers, turned on his side toward the door.
“Good night, baby, I love you.”
“I can’t sleep,” he said.
“Wanna sleep with me?”
“Definitely,” he said. He headed toward my room.
“Wait!” I said. “Go to Grandmother’s room, I’m sleeping in there.”
“You be Miss Caroline now, girl!” he said and smiled from ear to ear. We were finally home.
“Go on git, fore I buss yo lip!” I said, laughing. “My ma wouldn’t hab she no utha way!”
It was a Lowcountry lullaby, sung in pitiful Gullah. We slept like angels.
Fifty
Day Clear
THE high sun of midmorning flooded Mother’s room. The sound of van doors slamming—the caterers—woke me; I turned to find Eric’s hea
d next to me in my mother’s bed. I assumed I would sleep there indefinitely.
Richard was in my old room. I could hear him snoring all night, like a foghorn in the distance. At some point, he had put his nose in Mother’s room, but seeing Eric there must have kept him at bay. I was glad for that. The last thing I needed the night of Mother’s wake was a drunken ex-husband in my bed.
Eric had protected me. Fact was, we all needed someone to give us shelter. It was his first and only experience with death. I kept my arm over his side all night so he’d know I was there to protect him.
I knew I had to get up and face the day. I was beyond exhaustion. The wake had taken place without a hitch. It just went on too long. Trip ignored Frances Mae the entire night and spent his time at my side or with Richard, Jack, and Josh.
And the preparations for the funeral were well under way. I looked out of my window and saw that the entire yard around Mother’s rose garden was tented. It was where we would gather after we spread her ashes. The funeral service was to be small; immediate family, her two best friends, and, of course, Mr. Jenkins and Millie would attend. It would be as she had wished. Some of her ashes would be spread next to Daddy and a marker would be placed there as well. Another reception would follow and the reading of her will would take place after that.
I washed my face in her bathroom and looked in the mirror as I patted it dry. Heavenly days! I could feel her looking at me through my own eyes! My eyes began to take on her twinkle without my permission! I stared at my reflection for what seemed like an hour. Every time I tried to deny that part of her had taken up residence in me, the feelings grew in intensity!
It was very confusing, to say the least! I dressed quickly to go to Millie and ask her what she thought. Was I losing my mind? I began to laugh as I dressed. Suddenly I didn’t want to wear jeans or shorts, but pulled a sundress from her closet and decided it was more appropriate. It wasn’t even black! It was red! It wasn’t even mine! I didn’t have shoes to match so I did something I thought I’d never do in a million years. I went to her closet and searched the Polaroids for a pair of sandals and found several choices.
A little poem ran through my head:
When I die,
Please wear red,
’Cause there ain’t no sense,
In me being dead!
Where did that come from?
When I finally finished gleaning my mother’s closet and went downstairs, I checked my face in every mirror I passed. By golly, there she was! Looking right back at me! It made me laugh like a fool!
I composed myself to enter the kitchen, knowing Millie was probably bustling all around, giving instructions to chefs and wait-staff. She was. She didn’t even look up from the table where she worked, going over lists and lists.
I poured myself a cup of coffee and sat beside her.
“Give me a job,” I said. “What can I do to help?”
She finally looked at me and her eyes got wide, traveling from my dress to my shoes.
“What . . .?” Then she stared deeply into my eyes and I twinkled at her for all I was worth. “Gee-za-ree! Lawd! Lemme have a good look at you!”
“Weird, right?”
“No, chile. We all become our mothers. We all do.”
“She’s just visiting,” I said.
“Let’s hope not!”
“Wants to be sure we don’t screw up her funeral!”
“Humph!” Millie said, followed by, “Glory be!”
And so, we had a prayer and music ceremony for Mother. I stood at the family chapel, dressed in a red suit of Mother’s, with a large red straw hat and sandals, wearing the pearls, with my arm around Eric on my right. And Trip stood on my left, his arm around Frances Mae. The girls were next to her and she held the squirming baby in her arms. Richard sat behind me with Miss Sweetie and Miss Nancy. Across the grave marker, Millie held hands with Mr. Jenkins.
Helena McKay sang more beautifully than I imagined anyone could. She had come with her husband, Fred, old friends of Mother’s from Charleston. Then, when Helena finished, Millie and Mr. Jenkins sang a song of their own.
I see a world of spirits bright,
Who taste the pleasures there;
They all are robed in spotless white,
And conqu’ring palms they bear.
Oh, what has Jesus done for me,
Before my ravished eyes;
Rivers of life divine I see,
And trees of paradise!
Mr. Jenkins pulled out his harmonica and played and Millie hummed. It was clear to all of us that Mother wasn’t going to paradise without Millie and Mr. Jenkins helping her make the trip. Rivers of life. Wasn’t that our river too? The Ashepoo, the Combahee, and, of course, our Edisto?
They sang that first song slowly and then gave us another more lively one to show to the Lord and all of us that going to God’s heaven—and they were sure Mother was there already but still watching us—was a happy and joyous occasion.
Why don’t you sit down? Mr. Jenkins sang out.
Can’t sit down! Millie replied, shaking her head.
Then, Sit down, I told you!
Go’way don’t bother me,
I can’t sit down
’Cause I just got to heaven
An’ I can’t sit down!
Every one of us clapped along with her and she repeated the lyrics again. On the third round, we joined her, singing with all our hearts, knowing somehow that Mother made it to the other side.
Now, Mother’s wish was to have her ashes spread over the river and that was the next thing on the agenda. The pontoon waited, decorated with white sheer fabric, white lilies tied with gold ribbons, a champagne bucket, and Mother’s finest Lalique goblets.
I got ready to leave and Miss Sweetie tapped me on the shoulder. “Can I say something?”
“Gosh! Of course!”
She walked to the top of Mother’s marker, a temporary one, but something to mark her place in history that day next to Daddy. Miss Sweetie cleared her throat and spoke.
“Lavinia Ann Boswell Wimbley was my dearest friend in this world and I shall miss her deeply, as we all will. Lavinia? If you can hear me I just want you to know that I love you and I’m going to pray for you. My life was richer for your friendship in every single way.” Miss Sweetie’s eyes filled with tears and Miss Nancy went to her side, pulling a tissue from her pocket and handing it to her, putting an arm around her shoulder. Poor Miss Sweetie began to sob.
“Lavinia?” Miss Nancy said, looking up at the blue sky. “See here! Do something to let us know you’re not gone! We just can’t stand this! ”And then she broke down.
Just then, out of nowhere, came a shower. The rain was short, warm, and if you asked anyone who was there, they would tell you it was Mother’s tears, at having to leave so many people she loved. The rain stopped as quickly as it had begun and when it did I looked from face to face; all of them were incredulous, mine included.
Millie was the first to speak.
“Devil’s beating his wife behind the kitchen door!”
It was what we said when it rained with the sun out. An old Gullah saying turned sorrow to faith—faith that there was more to life than us: God in His heaven waiting for us when we died.
“All right then,” Millie said, “let’s go make Lavinia Boswell Wimbley happy one more time!”
“Not yet,” I said, “gotta leave a little bit of the Queen of Tall Pines.” I opened the box and let some ash fall on Daddy’s grave. No one said a word. I simply closed it, smiled, and carried the box to the docks. Everyone followed. We walked quietly, thinking our thoughts.
“Where do you think she is?” Eric said to me.
“I think she’s all over and inside of each of us,” I said. “Can’t you feel her spirit?”
“Yeah,” he said, “you wanna hear something weird?”
“Sure, but you’re gonna have to have a whopper to tell me something that qualifies as weird, sweetheart.”
&nbs
p; “No problem,” he said, stopping.
We let the others pass.
“I had a dream last night, only I don’t think it was a dream.”
“Continue,” I said.
“Grandmother was sitting on the end of my bed. She said, Eric? I love you. I just stared at her and said, I love you too. Then she stared at me and said, This is your home, son. I thought, Shit! ”
“Eric? Do you think it’s appropriate to say that word when I’m standing here with her ashes in my hand?”
“It’s just her ashes, Mom, it ain’t her.”
The breeze picked up and all the leaves of the trees rustled in a song. I looked up to see the others in the distance.
“You’re right, baby, but we have a job.” He looked at me and waited. “Besides letting her ashes fly in the wind, we’ve got to figure out how to pick up where she left off. Come on. They’re waiting.”
We walked in the very back of our procession, reaching the dock. Mr. Jenkins had started the motor, Trip had opened and poured the champagne—Dom Perignon, of course. Millie began to hum again and soon she was singing as we made our way down the Edisto.
Oh, Jordan bank was a great old bank!
Dere ain’t but one more river to cross!
We toasted each other and said, “To Lavinia, Queen of Tall Pines! Queen of the Edisto! We love you, Lavinia!”
“These glasses were an anniversary gift to Mother from Senator Hollings, you know,” I said. “I remember the day she received them. Mother was so thrilled!”
“Caroline?” Trip said. “She got them from the Ross-Simons catalog.”
“Whatever,” I said and laughed. And then Trip looked at me, his face all funny. I gave him the “Miss Lavinia twinkle” and he shook his head in disbelief, laughing.
Then I opened the box and Millie continued.
We have some valiant soldier here,
Dere ain’t but one more river to cross!
Plantation Page 47