by Davis Bunn
There came a sense of a natural pause. Poppa Joe’s eyes finally closed, his breathing eased. Connie went inside and came back with another quilt which she settled around her uncle’s form. Nathan sighed from the fullness and the sadness, and found he could see his breath, which was a surprise, because he had not noticed the growing chill at all.
Will Green signaled to the choir by lifting his fiddle, and he alone started into a song which seemed to drift from Nathan’s most distant memories. The women joined in naturally, their voices as soft as the sunset’s last rosy hues. “I will arise and go to Jesus,” they sang, and all the gathering seemed to catch and hold their breath.
Nathan found himself captured by the words and the moment, though his eyes remained held by Poppa Joe. A new force entered with the softness of the voices, a power so potent it squeezed his very soul. A tear escaped, pressed out by whatever it was that gathered there with the people and the night. He let it go, unhindered and unashamed. He watched the old man’s breath grow softer and softer, and heard the ladies sing, “In the arms of my dear Savior, O there are ten thousand charms.”
The last sound lingered, the bow scratched its way across the strings, and then the force was too great. No one else could move, or sing, or do anything but stand there and wait. Wait as the old man stilled, and the force pressed them all into one unified whole, burning with the power of a love far beyond this world and this fragile thing called life. Wait and feel the Spirit leave, and take the old man away.
Connie knelt there beside him for a long moment, then finally managed to whisper through her tears, “Poppa Joe has gone Home.”
Twenty-Six
There were far fewer tears at the funeral than Connie would have expected. Even from herself.
The church service seemed to come and go in an instant, which surprised her as well. Normally funerals seemed to drag on forever. But long before she was ready, she was walking out of the church and into the bitter cold day. The sky was no sky at all, just a covering of finest gauze, a shroud so thin the sun could still be seen, a brilliant guest to this strange and unmournful day.
She walked with a dry-eyed Hattie and Dawn from the church. Nathan walked behind them, alongside Chad Campbell and Duke Langdon, because she had asked him to. She had worked up the nerve to ask Nathan because she had been afraid she was going to lose control, and she did not want to be left to cling to someone else’s man. Now she was glad she had done it, simply because his closeness was nice. Strange that anything could be called that on such a day, but it was the truth.
Six of the musicians carried the coffin, led by a somber Will Green. It was her way of thanking the men who had 231 made that final night sing and had brought the mountains down for Poppa Joe to touch one last time.
Chad and Nathan sat up front as Duke drove his father’s huge dark Lincoln behind the hearse. Connie was seated directly behind Nathan, and spent the time looking out the window at the town and the hills. Finally Hattie reached over and gripped her hand. “How are you feeling, dear?”
“Like I’ve been waiting all morning for the sadness and the keening to begin.” Connie turned from her window, and had to smile at the astonishment on the two women’s faces. “You want to know how I feel? Fine. Does that sound crazy?”
Dawn answered before her mother. “I don’t think it sounds crazy at all. I’m sitting here feeling sad on one side and good on the other.”
Hattie confessed, “I keep thinking about that send-off Will and the boys gave Poppa Joe.”
“Me too.” Dawn touched Duke’s shoulder. “You think maybe you could arrange something like that for me when my time comes, honey?”
Duke shook his head. “I don’t like this kind of wild talk at all.”
Chad smiled at him. “Better get used to it, son, if you’re going to marry into this family.”
Connie looked from one face to the other, saw the humor there with the sadness. She turned to the one person still staring straight ahead. “What about you, Nathan?”
He stirred but did not turn around. “I was thinking about . . . before.”
All of the car’s passengers knew enough of that story to sober up. But Nathan took no notice. He kept staring forward and said thoughtfully, “I never went to a funeral. Not once. I couldn’t stand the thought of going. It was like bowing down in public to my own defeat.”
Connie felt her heart reach out with her hand as she leaned forward and grasped his shoulder. Nathan turned his head slightly at the touch, but not so far as to show her his eyes. Instead he reached up and took hold of her hand with his own. The touch was warm, and soft in the way of a strong man who knows how to be gentle. Out of the corner of her eye Connie saw Hattie give Dawn a look, but she kept her hand where it was.
Nathan went on, “But this doesn’t seem at all like I had expected. I don’t feel like there’s a defeat here. Not in the slightest.”
The car was quiet for a time, until Connie asked for them all, “What does it feel like?”
Nathan was silent until they reached the cemetery’s gates. As they drove between the ivy-covered pillars, he said quietly, “It feels like a healing.”
At the gravesite Connie sat down because it was expected of her. Reverend Brian Blackstone did a wonderful job of laying his old friend to rest. The town had turned out almost to a man, and they stood there in somber calm paying their final respects. Connie felt surprisingly good about it all, despite the hollow space that up to now had been filled by her uncle’s presence. Dawn and Hattie and Chad sat there 233 beside her, with Nathan and Duke standing behind them. Surrounded by friends and people she had known her life long. And they in turn were surrounded by their beloved hills. And God was in it all. She knew that without an instant’s hesitation.
She missed her uncle, she missed her parents, life was far from perfect. Connie took a deep breath, filled by a remarkable combination of sadness and contentment. She was far from alone, and the life she had ahead of her held so much to look forward to. How on earth she could think of such things as they lowered Poppa Joe into the ground was beyond her comprehension. But she wanted to be honest with herself this day. This and every day to come. And to be perfectly honest, she was indeed too full to be anything but content.
Three Sundays later, Connie knocked and peeked around the open door. “Brian, do you have a minute?”
The pastor swiveled his chair around from where he had been staring out his back window. “Connie, hello, what a nice surprise, come in.” He stood and walked around his desk. “I was busy daydreaming.”
Her nerves betrayed themselves with the double grip she had on her purse. “I wanted to thank you for the service you did for Poppa Joe. I’m sorry it’s taken so long to get by and tell you, but . . .”
“Don’t give it another thought.” He ushered her into a chair. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”
“I’m fine, thanks.”
“You know, it’s strange, but I’m still getting comments about that Christmas Eve service.” He went back around and seated himself. “Seems a lot of people have been touched by Poppa Joe’s passage. Attendance is up almost ten percent, did you know that?”
“No, no, I hadn’t noticed.”
“It’s interesting you should stop by today, actually. I was planning to come see you later this week.” His gaze drifted back toward the window, as though drawn by the memory which was bringing a little smile to his face. “I had quite a remarkable discussion this morning with another visitor.”
But she did not want to hear about other visitors. Not now. It had taken three weeks of arguing with herself to get this far. “Brian, it’s actually, well, there’s something I need to talk with you about.”
That caused him to put his smile away and bring her into full focus. “Of course, Connie. How are you getting on?”
“Fine. I’m fine. I’m, well . . .” The grip on her purse tightened. “One night I had a talk with Poppa Joe. He asked me, he said . . .”
Brian
settled back, sort of drawing away, giving her room to breathe and step through this at her own pace. But not speaking. Not urging.
She took a breath and pushed it out in one quick rush. “He said he was looking for a way to give a meaning to his passage. I’ve been thinking a lot about that. And I’ve been thinking about what you said on the road that day, when you said people like me were the hardest to reach. And that I needed to do more than just get by.”
His smile was back, softer now. “It’s nice to know you found my words worthy to remember.”
“I think . . . you were right, Brian. I’ve been going through the motions for too long. I’m fine now, really. I mean, better than fine. It’s not like I’m, you know, not coping or anything. But I want to live for more than just getting by day to day. Poppa Joe, he . . .” And then the breath was finished. Connie felt defeated by her own inability to voice what she was so unsure of.
“Poppa Joe lived for his hills and his Lord,” Brian offered quietly. “He had the gift of a faith that moved with him, breathed with him, carried him through the good and the bad.”
“Yes.” Connie was so relieved to be understood, a wave of weakness flowed through her. “That’s him.”
“And in his talk, he left you with the feeling that maybe you needed to do more and be more.”
“Like he was asking me to grow up,” Connie agreed.
“That’s a wonderful legacy to offer both his memory and your God,” Brian said. He steepled his fingers. “Nathan Reynolds and I are going to start meeting Thursday nights for Bible study. Would you like to join us?”
She felt herself blushing suddenly. “Nathan?”
“He’s a wonderful man, Connie.” Brian’s eyes illuminated the office’s quiet shadows. “I’m so glad you’re becoming friends with him.”
“I . . . Yes.” She felt as if the floor were shifting beneath her chair. “A Bible study would be nice.”
“Sadie has a women’s group she’s trying to put together, an outreach program for the poorer families up the valley. Nathan’s volunteered his time. We could certainly use some help with coordinating our efforts.”
So many doors opening. Some seen, others still hidden from view. “Count me in.”
“Good. I’m so very glad.” The smile strengthened. “Now I have something else to talk with you about. We were wondering if maybe we could borrow Poppa Joe’s meadow next Sunday.”
“I suppose so.” Connie cocked her head to one side. “Brian Blackstone, what are you not telling me?”
“It’s a surprise, Connie. And it’s not my surprise to be telling you about. Just promise me you’ll be there next Sunday afternoon.”
Twenty-Seven
As the week wore on, Connie found herself receiving little smirks and how-dos made musical by a secret she was not party to. Just walking down Main Street became an exercise in pretending she did not see what was making her quietly simmer. People crossed the street just to be able to smile their mystery in her face and to talk about anything under the sun except what she did not know.
By Thursday afternoon she had had enough. She stopped by Campbell’s Grocery for a few items, and found Hattie and Dawn clustered at the checkout counter sharing a good giggle. Connie felt something snap inside. “I’ll have you know it’s not nice to laugh behind somebody’s back. And it’s ten times worse to do it to their face!”
“Why Connie, darling, we’re not laughing at you.” Hattie turned her grin toward her daughter. “Are we, Dawn, dear?”
“Hattie Campbell, if your grin was any bigger it’d show your back dentures.”
“What a horrid thing to say. I don’t wear dentures and you know it.”
“Well, maybe we can correct that.” Connie planted hands on her hips. “I want to know what’s going on around this town, and I want to know right now!”
Dawn gave her innocent round eyes. “What, you mean about the church picnic?”
Connie stared at her. “A picnic? In January?”
Hattie said, “You don’t have to be warm to eat.”
Dawn added, “Up at Poppa Joe’s meadow. Didn’t anybody tell you?”
She looked from one woman to the other, felt her gaze narrow at the sight of half-hidden smiles. “You’re not telling me the truth, not the one, nor the other.”
“Why Connie Wilkes, what a thing to say.” Dawn raised her hand. “May my dear sweet momma wash my mouth out with lye soap and carbolic acid if I’m talking fibs.”
“What a positively horrid thought.” Hattie’s eyes crinkled at the edges toward Connie. “I just don’t know what to do with this child any more.”
“She’s too much like her mother for her own good.” Connie worked to hold on to her ire. “If all that’s going on is a picnic, why wouldn’t Brian tell me about it himself?”
“Maybe because Miss Nosy Britches is supposed to be the guest of honor,” Dawn said, tossing her blonde hair. “And ought to be willing to show a little patience.”
“Patience is a worthy virtue,” Hattie agreed solemnly. “Especially for a woman of your age.”
“You know perfectly well you’re nine months older than me, Hattie Campbell,” Connie kept her eyes on Dawn. “Why on earth would anybody want to make me guest of honor at a picnic?”
“That’s exactly what we were just talking about, isn’t it, Momma?”
Connie stared at them, defeated by their good humor. She picked up her groceries and snapped over her shoulder, “You two are about half as sharp as you think you are.”
“One o’clock Sunday afternoon, Connie dear,” Hattie called. “Chad and I will drive by to pick you up.”
That evening, the sight of Chad’s car and Duke Langdon’s truck both parked in the pastor’s drive was almost enough to turn Connie around. But when she thought of who else was supposed to be there, Connie felt a warmth flood her face and neck.
There was none of the afternoon’s bantering when she entered. Hattie and Dawn were friendly but subdued, saying simply they thought a weekly Bible study was long overdue. Chad looked as content as ever. Duke was wary and warm in turns, depending on whether his attention was on Connie or Dawn.
The evening passed too quickly. Brian was a delightful teacher, sketching their first passage in Romans, drawing them out with questions that invited them to think, to delve.
Connie found herself casting swift little glances toward Nathan, observing things anew. How his knife-edged features seemed softened by the light in his eyes. How his dark hair had tiny threads of silver-gray. How he listened to Brian with the same intensity he showed in the clinic, a total involvement with the matter at hand.
Toward the end of the evening, Connie felt as though the night caught its breath. It startled her, for the sensation was identical to the night of her talk with Poppa Joe. She looked around, wondering if anyone else felt the same. But they were nodding and listening and reading, continuing as though the night were just the same. But it wasn’t. Something was very different. A sense of soft and gentle power grew around her, a drawing in so intense that nothing outside this room and this moment had any importance whatsoever. She looked at them, her oldest friend and her first love and their daughter and Dawn’s fiancé. She studied the town’s doctor, the pastor and his wife whom she had known since childhood, and felt as though she were seeing them for the first time. A faint light seemed to surround them, an illumination she felt with her heart. She took a shaky breath. Strange how the night had somehow taken on a holy cast.
“Connie?”
She turned and realized they were watching her. Brian asked, “Are you all right?”
“Fine. I’m fine.” She knew she was smiling, knew the smile had a sad twist. And did not care. Here she could set aside her worries and her barriers and all the outside woes. Here was holy ground. “I was just wishing Poppa Joe could see us.”
For some reason, no one showed surprise at her comment. Instead, they joined with her, sharing the same happy-sad, longing smile. Dawn said s
oftly, “I’ve been thinking about him all night and I was afraid to say anything.”
“I felt like he was sitting right here beside me,” Duke agreed.
“I think Poppa Joe will be with us all for a while yet,” Brian said. “A very long while.”
Sadie served coffee and cake, and Hattie invited them to meet at her house the following week. Connie cooed over the baby with the others, listened as the Blackstones tried to express their appreciation to Nathan for his help, heard his shy acceptance. She felt deeply moved by the thought that dissolving his own angers had left him as exposed and uncertain as she felt herself.
As they slowly started getting ready to leave, Connie drew Dawn to one side and asked as casually as she could manage, “So how are things progressing about the wedding?”
“Oh, whew. I thought you were going to pester me again about the picnic this Sunday.” Dawn let her hair fall into her face as she slid into her coat, but not before Connie caught sight of the nervous flicker in her eyes. “Things are going all right.”
“Have you set a date?”
“Not yet.” Dawn flipped her hair back, her nerves fully exposed. “Actually, things have been put on hold for a little while.”
“They have?” Connie felt the attention of the entire room shift toward them. “Why?”
“Oh, hard to say.”
“Go on, Dawn, honey,” Duke said softly from his place by Nathan on the sofa. “It’s time you asked.”
“No, it’s not.” She tried to mask her fidgety nerves with quick gaiety. “You about ready to go?”
Connie watched the big man rise and walk over. “It’s okay, sweetheart. Sooner or later you’ve got to do it,” he said.
But Dawn’s strength dissolved with a slumping of her shoulders and a lowering of her face. “No. I can’t.”
Connie felt her heart go out as she watched the tender way Duke wrapped his arm around Dawn’s shoulders and held her close. She recalled the way Duke had spoken to the young boy at Poppa Joe’s that day, and realized she had never accepted his gentleness as real. She observed the love in his face and the kind-hearted touch, and felt dirtied by her own blind jealousy.