“You’re still here, Aunt Florentine!” I’d say, and I’d scramble her an egg and feed a biscuit to Dismay.
Aunt Florentine would sneak a piece of bacon from the paper-toweled plate on the stove and say with surprise, “My heavenly bed’s not ready yet!”
So, when she finally went, I figured that some efficient angel had made Aunt Florentine’s bed and it was time for her to go.
“Tell Peach about it,” said Aunt Goldie, so I told Peach. He held his hands tightly against the sides of his head as I spoke, as if his head might pop off his body if he didn’t keep hold of it.
“So you see, Peach Pickle,” said Aunt Goldie, “Aunt Florentine in the casket last night was not really Aunt Florentine . . . She has gone to Glory Land . . .”
Immediately, Peach slapped his fingers back over his eyes and squealed, “Stop!”
“She’s already gone, sugar.”
Peach moaned and shook his head back and forth with a forceful sway, his fingers still glued to his eyes.
“Now be still,” said Aunt Goldie, stopping Peach’s head with her hands. “You’re going to pop an artery and give yourself an apoplexy!” She held Peach’s head still until his shoulders slumped and he was quiet, then she peeled his hands from his face.
He blinked at her with enormous blue eyes. He was pale and looked like he was 285 years old, with the grief of the whole world etched on his face. My heart felt softer toward him until I reminded myself that I hated Peach. I stared at my prune bread.
When I looked up, Aunt Goldie had leaned over and pressed her forehead to Peach’s forehead. They were staring at each other, eyeball-to-blue-eyeball.
“This body is a shell of who you are,” Aunt Goldie whispered. She tapped Peach’s chest with two fingers. “Here is who you are, sweet thing. It’s inside, not outside. Death can’t touch that.”
Peach didn’t move. He didn’t say a thing.
Aunt Goldie planted a firm kiss on Peach’s forehead. “Let us eat this cake and be glad for it.” She picked up her fork. “It’s good to be alive, isn’t it, Comfort?”
“Yes, ma’am.” I took a bite of Aunt Goldie’s prune bread. It was delicious. I told her so.
“Thank you, puddin’. I always say, there’s nothing like fresh hot cake and cold milk to make a body feel better on a funeral day. Throw in a bottle cap collection, and your day is made!”
Peach cleared his throat in a great gargle. “And after that, can we play marbles?” Peach coveted my cat’s-eye. I wouldn’t let him have it. But . . . I’d play marbles. I lived to serve.
“Promise you won’t cry if you lose,” I said.
“I promise.” He picked up his fork. Color was coming back to his cheeks.
“Get dressed first,” said Aunt Goldie. “Then marbles.”
Peach gave Aunt Goldie a sloppy grin. We ate cake. Rain peppered the roof. It would be a wet funeral day. I was draining my milk just as Declaration stepped into the kitchen.
Chapter 16
“Mercy!” said Aunt Goldie as she spotted Declaration. “I believe we have a lost kitten in our midst!”
Declaration was wet and unhappy. She mopped at her arm with a Snowberger’s handkerchief.
I stood and wiped the milk off my upper lip.
Declaration had been bowling and eating birthday cake while I’d been sleeping in my closet, avoiding everyone; while I’d been crying at the dinner table; while I’d been telling Aunt Goldie and Peach all about finding Great-great-aunt Florentine in the garden. Declaration hadn’t even asked me about how Aunt Florentine died. It wasn’t like her. But nothing she did seemed like Declaration anymore.
“Can we help you, darlin’?” Aunt Goldie said.
“This is my friend Declaration,” I said. Declaration stayed put near the door. “You remember Declaration, Aunt Goldie . . .”
“Oh!” said Aunt Goldie. “Mercy, I remember you, Declaration. I haven’t seen you in ice ages! Just look at you! You’ve grown into a beautiful young lady!”
Declaration’s eyes softened. She even smiled. “Thank you,” she said, full of good manners. “It’s nice to see you again.” She tucked her handkerchief into her pocket. Declaration was dressed like Declaration again. She wore her Sunday school dress, gloves, and a hat. I hoped she’d gotten all gutter balls at the party.
“Have some prune bread,” said Aunt Goldie. “It’s warm from the oven!”
“No, ma’am, thank you.” Declaration glared at me. “I’m here to . . . help . . .”
I swallowed and my stomach sank.
“Is it that time already?” Aunt Goldie looked at the clock on the wall and shot out of her chair. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, it is! Come on, sugar, let’s get dressed, quick!”
“You’re already dressed, Aunt Goldie,” I said.
She removed her apron. She was dressed entirely in purple. “So I am. I plum forgot. I’m wearing plum, too.” She laughed at her joke. “We’ll be right back, dears. Peach has a new suit! Just you wait and see!” She hung the apron on a peg by the stove as Peach put his napkin on his plate and pushed in his chair. He kept his eyes on Declaration. She glowered at him.
“We’ll get these dishes later,” Aunt Goldie said. “I was having so much fun, I forgot all about the time! Tell you what—we’ll just see you girls downstairs. How’s that?”
I nodded, and Aunt Goldie patted my cheek and gestured a Hurry up! toward Peach.
“Don’t forget about playing marbles, Comfort!” said Peach as he passed me.
“I won’t.”
Declaration stared at the ceiling.
“Marbles after the funeral, Peach Pie,” Aunt Goldie said as she left the kitchen, pushing Peach in front of her. “It’s raining to beat the band . . . perfect marbles weather!”
Declaration eyeballed me, and in the same tone of voice she would have used to say, The Black Plague?, she said, “Marbles?”
“Did Mama talk to you?” I took a step toward Declaration but thought better of it and stepped back.
“Oh yes!” said Declaration. “She corralled me downstairs, right in front of my daddy and yours!” She walked toward me, pulling off her gloves one fingertug at a time.
“I’m sorry,” I said, trying not to take another step backward. “I told her you wouldn’t do it . . .”
Declaration’s voice was full of frustration. “Well, of course I’m going to do it, Comfort! How do I say no to your mama? Or to my daddy!” She held her gloves in one hand and said, “Just because you get stuck with Peach shouldn’t mean I have to be stuck with him, too!” Her face was a deep, angry red. “I cannot believe you would stoop this low! I told you I would not go anywhere near your loony cousin!”
I shook my head at her, “No! It wasn’t like that! It wasn’t even my idea!”
“I’ll just bet it wasn’t!” said Declaration. “I know you, Comfort Snowberger!” She crossed her arms in front of herself. She was inches away from me.
I crossed my arms back at her. “Well, I know you, too, Declaration Johnson! Who did you think you were this morning, with Kristen and Tiffany, acting all high and mighty and laughing at me? That was a terrible trick you played on me! I hate it when you’re hateful!”
Declaration flailed her arms at me, her gloves flapping around her fist. “I couldn’t help it that Daddy wanted to stop by here before we went on to the bowling alley! I wasn’t going to get out of the car, but you came running over in your pajamas . . . What was I supposed to do? Ignore you? Sometimes you are so thick, Comfort! I tried to tell you that you weren’t invited!”
“You told them about my Life Notices!”
“So what?” She jutted her chin at me.
“That’s private!” I snapped.
“Says who?” She stood straight.
“Says me! You know that!” I choked.
“Comfort, you write about the dead! Don’t you think that’s just the least little bit odd?”
“You never thought it was odd before!”
“
Well . . . it’s odd!”
“Who says it’s odd? Kristen? Tiffany?”
Declaration stuck her face so close to mine, I could see the downy hairs on her cheeks—and then she hissed: “No! They don’t say it’s odd! They say it’s stupid!”
I shoved Declaration fast and hard.
She slapped me with her gloves.
I was so stunned, I couldn’t move. Neither did she. We just stared, wide-eyed, at each other.
An ice age later, the grandfather clock struck 2:00. We blinked, and both of us started to breathe again. I shuddered and tried not to cry.
“I’m so sorry . . . ,” Declaration whispered.
“You’re not my friend,” I whispered back. I cradled my slapped cheek in my hand.
“You pushed me . . . ,” she said.
“You hate me,” I said.
Declaration shook her head. “No, I don’t,” she said. She smoothed the front of her dress. “I’m just . . . I’m just . . . I don’t know . . . I’m just . . .”
“You’re overwrought,” I said.
“Yes, that’s it.”
“Well, I can see that. And, you’re damp. You hate to be wet.”
“Yes.”
There was silence.
Uncle Edisto always said, “A real friend sees past the trouble and into your heart.” I was willing to do that. I needed Declaration. So I asked her, “Would it help to have dry clothes? I could lend you my last year’s funeral dress.”
“No.” She began to pull her gloves back on. “I’m not that wet.”
“Are we still friends?” I held my breath.
She shrugged. “I guess so.” It made my heart cramp. Then she changed the subject. “You’re not dressed.”
“I know.” I glanced at the kitchen clock. “Do you want to come to my room?”
She shook her head. “I’ll clear off the table while you get dressed. Daddy told me to be useful.”
“I didn’t ask Mama to make you help,” I said, but she didn’t comment on that.
“I’ll meet you downstairs,” Declaration said. She picked up my plate and glass arid walked them to the kitchen sink.
I felt like a balloon that had just been popped. I listened to my flip-flops flap against my heels as I walked to my closet, where I listened to the rain falling while I got dressed.
Chapter 17
I felt low, going down the back stairs, until I ran into Daddy coming up the back stairs to get me so I could see Great-great-aunt Florentine before he opened the doors to the Serenity Suite. Aunt Goldie had had her time with Aunt Florentine early that morning, and here was my chance to say good-bye, after all. Dismay greeted me as I arrived, and I hugged him. He was wearing a wreath of lavender that Mama had woven through his collar. Mama, Daddy, Tidings, Merry, and I stood at the open casket one last time, staring at the glory that had been Great-great-aunt Florentine.
“She looks so natural, Bunch,” said Mama.
Tidings poked me in the side. I poked him back.
Daddy put his arms around all of us. “It’s just us now, rattling around in this big old place.”
“We’ll do fine,” said Mama.
“Your flowers, Joy . . .” said Daddy. “You outdid yourself.”
“I think I did, at that,” said Mama, delighted. Flowers were crammed into every available space behind the casket, on the casket, around the casket. The room smelled like a lavender heaven.
“There sure are lots of ’em,” I said.
“It will make troop movement difficult,” said Tidings.
“We’ll manage,” said Daddy. “There’ll be plenty of room in the parlors and folks can mingle.”
“You don’t suppose this rain will keep folks away?” Mama moved toward the chairs with Merry in her arms.
“I think we’ll have a full house,” said Daddy, following her. “In fact, I think the rain is letting up.”
Mama and Daddy sat down on the front row of chairs and put Merry between them. It looked so strange, because Daddy never sat during a funeral. He was always on his feet, helping . . . serving. Tidings and I were left looking at Aunt Florentine for the last time.
“She looks so . . . ,” said Tidings.
“Don’t say it,” I said.
Tidings put his arm around my shoulders and I leaned my head on him. I’d seen people do this a thousand times, and now I knew why. It felt good.
“She was a lot of fun,” said Tidings.
I nodded my head. “She said you were going to end up the Big General of the Whole Shebang.”
“She was right.”
I blew a kiss to Great-great-aunt Florentine. I knew she wasn’t in that shell, and yet, at that moment, I felt like she kissed me back. It was all I wanted.
“It’s time,” said Daddy. He stood up and looked at his watch. “Are we ready?”
“Ready!” said Merry.
Daddy kissed her. “Here we go.”
A magnificent spray of white carnations, red roses, lavender, and baby’s breath blanketed the length of Great-great-aunt Florentine’s closed casket. The Serenity Suite began to fill with our damp friends and neighbors—our Snapfinger family. Declaration stood by the doors with Mr. Johnson, being useful. I left her alone.
Folks streamed into the Serenity Suite like water eddying around rocks, trickling their way up to the casket, swelling around to the family, shaking hands, hugging, laughing, crying, and gurgling out the doors to join other mourners in the parlors and the hallway—everyone talking in low, loving, tidelike tones.
Some folks cried. If a box of Kleenex wasn’t handy, I’d give them a Snowberger’s handkerchief. I tucked a handkerchief into one of the big pockets of my funeral dress, just in case I needed it later.
I had managed to forget about Peach until he made his entrance. He processed down the grand front staircase, clinging to Aunt Goldie. He was stiff and straight and white. He wore a sky blue suit and a red tie with white polka dots all over it. He stared at a space in front of him, looking at no one and nothing.
Like the Red Sea parting for Moses, the crowd at the bottom of the stairs—the same crowd that had watched Peach make a mess of Uncle Edisto’s funeral—parted to make a pathway for Peach.
Mrs. Powell started playing “A Mighty Fortress Is Our God,” so, like a wave closing in behind Peach, we all flowed after him, ready to celebrate the life that had been Florentine Snowberger’s. Dismay stood at the doorway to the Serenity Suite, panting and letting himself be patted. Peach paused at the doorway to hug Dismay ferociously. Then he sneezed. Dismay shook himself and wagged his tail.
I had to sit in the front row with the family (I am usually a back-row sitter; from the back row I can see best and take notes). Daddy had asked Mr.Johnson and Declaration to sit with us, too. As we got settled to the tune of “Nearer, My God, to Thee,” I found myself sitting next to Declaration. I could feel anger rolling off of her and onto me. I scooted a little closer to Aunt Goldie, who sat on my left. Peach sat on the other side of Aunt Goldie. He had buried his face in her purple armpit. He began a low moan, so Aunt Goldie began humming to the organ’s “Abide with Me.” She nudged me with her elbow, but I didn’t hum along. Mama did. Merry, who was sitting on Mama’s lap, started humming “Jingle Bells.”
“Shhhh,” said Daddy.
Great-great-aunt Florentine lay in front of us all, waiting, it seemed to me, for us to tenderly and truly send her to Glory Land. I felt she could hear us; I was certain of it. Maybe she could even hear our thoughts. I love you! I thought, toward the casket. Shut up! I thought, toward Peach. At Uncle Edisto’s funeral, Peach had sobbed so much, Aunt Goldie had to take him out of the room as he gagged on his tears.
“Dearly beloved!” said Preacher Powell in his rich, Sunday morning voice.
Everybody got still.
Uncle Edisto always said, “Every ending is a new beginning.”
We began.
Chapter 18
“We are here to celebrate life!” Preacher Powell start
ed. I’d heard him say this 248 times. He never glossed over sadness or tragedy, but he always said, “Life is such a gift!” Now he said, “Let us celebrate the gift that Florentine Snowberger was to her family, her community, and the world.”
From Aunt Goldie’s purple armpit came a loud, snot-filled snort.
“Amen!” said Homer Hindman.
“Amen!” said Merry.
“Shhh,” said Daddy.
Aunt Goldie whispered into Peach’s head.
Declaration seethed next to me. “What are we supposed to do with him after this?” I shrugged, and she hissed, “I’m not staying in this house and playing marbles with Peach Pit all afternoon!”
“Shhhh!” whispered Mr. Johnson.
Preacher Powell was looking at us. I put my hands in my lap and paid attention. I willed Aunt Florentine to see me sitting there, missing her. I smiled at Dismay, who was now in his place beside Aunt Florentine’s casket. He perked up an ear at me and panted.
Through the prayers, hymns, and stories that neighbors stood up to tell, Peach moaned every time the word death was used. He gave forth with a low, muffled “Gaaaaaaaaaa!” all through the emotional remarks Daddy made about Aunt Florentine. He sounded like the little motor that putt-putted us around Lake Jasper in Daddy’s fishing boat. Daddy wiped at his eyes with a Snowberger’s handkerchief and spoke over Peach and just kept going.
Then something wonderful happened. As we talked and sang Great-great-aunt Florentine to heaven, a little bit of heaven opened up and came down to us. The rain stopped, the sky cleared, and the afternoon suddenly brimmed with sunlight. A sunbeam streamed through the big glass windows of the Serenity Suite and bathed Aunt Florentine’s alabaster white casket in a golden light.
“It’s a sign!” whispered Aunt Goldie. “Look, Peach!”
Peach snorted his snotty self upright, took one look at Aunt Florentine’s casket, whooped like he’d been pinched to death, and dove into Aunt Goldie’s armpit again.
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