Nolan opened the door to the second hearse, the one Mr. Fulton had him bring over from the funeral home in Pikeville. This hearse was new, and the chrome trim shone bright in the morning sunlight. The wagon stood a full foot taller, and the rolling cart carrying Leona’s casket could not be adjusted any higher. Nolan shifted the weight of Leona’s casket onto his right shoulder. He bent his knees low and drew in a deep breath. He straightened his legs slowly, exhaling as he placed the corner of the casket onto the wagon’s floor. He crawled underneath it and did the same on the other side, taking another deep breath as he sucked in the strength needed for the task. He pushed the box forward. It slid off the cart and into the back of the hearse.
Mr. Fulton patted Nolan on the back. “Well, done, sir. We’ll get the rest of the flowers loaded up, and then we’ll all head over to the church. You and Emmalee take Miss Leona. We’ll drive Curtis.”
EMMALEE
CULLEN CHURCH OF CHRIST
Emmalee scooted into the front seat of the hearse, holding the baby on her lap. Nolan pulled his shoulders back and gripped the wheel. “Here we go,” he said and turned right onto the street. He glanced in the mirror every few yards. “I can’t get too far ahead of Mrs. Fulton or she’ll go to flashing those headlights,” Nolan said.
“Not too surprised by that.” Emmalee could see Mrs. Fulton liked to keep everything to her way of thinking and doing.
“You look real nice, Emmalee,” Nolan said without looking at her.
“Ain’t once ever heard you say that.”
Nolan’s compliment sounded strange to Emmalee, but with Runt and Mettie scheming against her, she liked hearing it. Her father’s kindness offered some unexpected comfort. And with Leona nearby, even sealed up tight in the back of the hearse, a calm washed over Emmalee.
“Never seen you looking so cleaned up neither,” Emmalee said.
“Never had a reason,” he said. Nolan stroked his clean-shaven chin.
Emmalee picked at the skin around her fingernail. She felt the tears coming again. She pinched her nose and stared straight ahead.
“You hear me? How’s the baby?”
“Good. Getting fat.”
“They grow like weeds once they get going,” Nolan said. “You look like you’re doing good. Sure got some pretty clothes.”
“They ain’t mine. Rachel’s. Mrs. Fulton’s pissed at me for wearing them.”
Nolan laughed and kissed Kelly’s head. Emmalee cracked the window. A burst of fresh air poured across her face. Nolan glanced in the rearview mirror.
“There ain’t too many days that bitch ain’t pissed at something. Like now. Shit, old woman, I ain’t going but five miles an hour. Quit flashing your damn lights.”
As they drove closer to the church, Emmalee picked harder at her finger till the cuticle bled. She held her thumb to her mouth and tasted blood.
“What’s wrong with you? They not feed you at Fulton’s?”
Emmalee dropped her hand. But she still picked at her finger where Nolan couldn’t see.
“Nolan,” she said. “I didn’t tell you about Billy before ’cause I didn’t want to ruin things between you and Mr. Fulton. I figured you’d go off and do something—kind of like you did.”
Nolan eased his foot off the accelerator. “Billy going to do right by you?”
“I don’t think his mama would let him do right by me, even if he wanted to.” Emmalee pushed her index finger against her thumb. “Truth is, he don’t want a baby.”
Nolan glanced again in his mirrors. “Mr. Fulton going to do right by you?”
“You mean take me in, take care of me and Kelly?”
“Hell yeah, that’s what I mean.”
“Hey, you know how Mr. Fulton feels about cussing around the dead.” Emmalee pointed to the back.
Nolan kept his eyes on the road. “With you chewing on your finger I know you ain’t telling me something. Now spit it out.”
Emmalee hesitated, but for once, she believed her father was the only one left who could help her. She felt Leona behind her, but Leona was cold as stone and not going to be much help to her now.
“Runt and Mettie say they’re taking Kelly Faye.” Emmalee’s words strung together so tight she barely stopped to catch her breath. “They brought Mrs. Cain to the Fultons’ this morning. They’re thieves, like you said, Nolan. Thieves.” Emmalee commenced to rocking Kelly Faye. “Runt’s planning on taking her. Right after the funeral. He called the sheriff.”
Nolan’s anger swept through the air like an electrical current sparking and burning her skin. “That baby is yours.” He pounded his fist on the steering wheel. “What the hell is Doris Cain doing in our family business? She’s been butting in where she don’t belong for too long. I swear that woman thinks she’s God Almighty. Shit.”
Nolan’s talk grew more fierce, and for the first time, Emmalee found her father’s anger reassuring. The hearse rolled on past the post office, and a couple of men standing out front stopped and saluted.
“You ain’t giving that baby to Runt and Mettie. How many times I have to tell you that. Like your damn head’s made of concrete or rock or something.”
“I’m scared it ain’t all that simple anymore.”
Nolan steered too fast into the church parking lot. The tires screeched as they made the turn. People gathered around the front of the sanctuary looked toward the road. Emmalee could see in the side mirror Mrs. Fulton flashing the wagon’s headlights off and on. Off and on. Off and on. They strobed faster and faster. Nolan shot down to the end of the drive. Emmalee clutched Kelly Faye to her so she wouldn’t bounce out of her arms.
“Shit,” Nolan said, steering the hearse to the church door and throwing it into park. “Hell, Emmalee, I dropped you right there at the Fultons’ door thinking you’d be able to make this right. Now I got to deal with Runt and that damn Doris Cain. Shit, girl.” Kelly Faye’s cries had grown shrill and Nolan held his hands to his ears. “Can’t you shut that thing up for a damn minute and let me think?”
Emmalee shoved the door open. “That thing’s name is Kelly Faye, you old sonofabitch.” She rushed up the brick stairs past a small gathering of men and women singing softly in front of the church. She slowed down as she stepped inside and scanned the room for Runt and Mettie and Mrs. Cain. When she didn’t see them, she hurried deeper inside as one hymn rolled into another, the final note of the first blurring into the next. She hoped Nolan didn’t follow her.
Some women were already seated. Some whispered in their friends’ ears. Others held a handkerchief to their noses. Others smiled as if to offer some unspoken comfort to those around them. The men shook hands with other men and led their wives to an empty pew. Emmalee bent her shoulders forward and lowered her head, trying to melt away among the gathering crowd.
The walls were a creamy white, and the windows were clear, not all different colors like they were at the Baptist and Methodist churches in Cullen. Emmalee darted like a field mouse trying to find cover. She longed to be back in Red Chert, hugged tight there at the mountain’s base. At least there she understood the landscape.
Emmalee dropped her head against the baby’s soft crown and tried to hide behind the pink crocheted blanket while everyone settled in their seats and waited for the preacher to begin. She pretended to pray and wiggled her toe against the hole in her right boot. Cora and Mrs. Whitlow sat three rows from the front among the other collar makers collected there. Mrs. Whitlow’s hair looked even taller today, and a shiny gold pin shaped like a butterfly was clipped near the top. It looked to Emmalee as though it might flutter away from its well-teased perch. Cora waved. Her eyes were red and wet, but Emmalee pretended she did not notice and scooted farther down the hard wooden pew.
Most of the lapel makers sat on the other side of the church, also near the front. Pattern makers, machinists, even the boys working on the loading dock found a place in the Cullen Church of Christ. And every woman and man from Tennewa held a finished collar in her or hi
s hand. Emmalee wept at the sight of it all.
Wilma and Easter left their seats and took a spot on either side of Emmalee. Easter took Kelly Faye and held the baby on her lap. She whispered in Emmalee’s ear. “I sit with those women every day. Much rather be back here with you two.” Emmalee relaxed a bit with Wilma and Easter there. She even rested her head on Easter’s shoulder.
Mr. Clayton and his wife sat on the pew two rows in front of her, next to Dr. Greer and his wife. Mrs. Greer looked to be holding a basket filled with fresh baked muffins, and Emmalee’s mouth watered imagining a taste of the sugary treats. A few moments later, Mrs. Cain and her husband walked down the center aisle and took their place behind the collar makers, and Emmalee’s stomach grew ill. She wrapped both her hands around Easter’s thick forearm and snuggled closer to her body.
“You’ll be okay, hon,” Easter told her and patted her hand.
Sissie and her mama stepped into the church late and filled the space next to Wilma. Emmalee was glad to see them. Sissie reached across Wilma and handed Emmalee a red carnation. “Been thinking of you,” she said and faced the preacher, who had taken his place at the front of the church.
Emmalee did not see Runt and Mettie. Still she hunkered against Easter.
The preacher opened his Bible, and the room fell quiet. A few women could be heard stifling their tears. Even Mr. Clayton coughed and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. His wife, who held her purse clutched tight in her lap, cut a stare toward her husband. He placed his arm around her shoulder, but she turned her back to him.
“We are gathered here to celebrate the lives of Leona and Curtis Lane, beloved members of the Cullen Church of Christ,” Brother Herd said. He looked more like a grown man today in his dark suit and dark tie. “It wasn’t but a few days ago Curtis and Leona were headed here for Wednesday-night supper. Curtis had already chopped a pile of wood for us earlier in the morning. Leona had made another one of her famous hash brown casseroles to feed our bodies.” He closed his eyes and lifted his face upward a bit. “I can still smell that casserole. Can’t you?”
The preacher’s words jumbled in Emmalee’s head. As his voice carried on about the Lanes’ good deeds and their strong Christian faith, she made less and less sense of what he was saying. The preacher’s message was meant to offer solace, but Emmalee’s thoughts took her from the church back to Red Chert Road and the morning Leona had come to see her.
Nolan had taken to the woods before sunrise, but Emmalee feared he was lurking about. She had begged Leona to go, afraid what Nolan would do if he found her and Curtis there.
“I’ll be coming back for you. Thursday morning. On the main road,” Leona called to Emmalee. “Thursday morning. You hear me? We’ll be waiting for you.”
Emmalee nodded as she peeked at Leona from behind the thick blanket covering the front window. Leona had looked back at her and smiled.
“Shall we bow our heads in a closing prayer,” the preacher said, and heads dropped low. People shifted in their seats while the sound of women crying grew stronger. “Dear Lord, we know you understand the loss we are feeling. We know you can heal our hearts. And we take comfort knowing you have welcomed our brother, Curtis, and our sister, Leona, into your heavenly kingdom. In all your gracious goodness, you have prepared a special room for them, and we look forward to reuniting there someday, in your heavenly mansion. In all things, dear sweet Jesus, we give you thanks. In your name, Lord, Amen.”
Emmalee did not close her eyes like the others. Instead she watched the preacher grow red-faced as he pleaded with the Lord to care for his friends. A mumbled Amen swept through the room, and the men and women who had sung before the service offered a closing hymn. Everyone stood. Some sang along with them. Others wept. The preacher kept his place between the caskets and watched as a dozen men came forward and first carried Leona and then Curtis out of the building. The preacher followed behind Curtis’s casket and everyone else poured from the pews and fell in place behind him. Emmalee kept close to Easter and Wilma.
Granite headstones dotted the ground to the side of the church. Bunches of flowers decorated most of the markers while a few others stood bare. Emmalee wondered if their families had moved on and forgotten them. As mourners fanned out among the gravestones, a gathering of gray-feathered chickadees scurried across the cold ground and flew in unison to a branch hanging low just beyond a rickety iron gate. Tsic-a-de-de-de, they called back to the crowd, singing a final dirge.
Wilma and Easter escorted Emmalee through the cemetery toward the tent pitched above two graves carved into the dirt as if they were guiding her through an intricate maze of corn. FULTON-PITTMAN FUNERAL HOME was printed in bold white lettering across the tent’s edge. Cora and Gwen followed Easter and Emmalee. Easter paused to place a red rose on her mother’s grave, and the bevy of women all bowed their heads for a silent moment.
Other mill women walked past Emmalee, but she did not recognize them at first dressed in finer clothes than she had seen them wear at Tennewa. A couple of lapel makers stopped and spoke to Easter and Wilma. They hugged Emmalee even though they had never said much to her before.
Together they walked a few feet more and stopped in front of a tiny tombstone with a lamb resting on top. The marker read CURTIS, JR. “You’re with your mama now,” Easter said and wiped another tear. Easter pulled Emmalee close and the women huddled on the land’s gentle slope before turning their attention toward the two mounds of fresh dirt, each covered with a blanket of fake grass. The caskets rested on four thick canvas straps, each stretched across a large rectangular hole.
Two men dressed in identical green jumpsuits stood quietly apart at the back of the cemetery, both leaning on the long wooden handles of shovels kept by their sides. People collected around the caskets and the mound of flowers, following Leona and Curtis everywhere they went.
Emmalee scanned the faces at the graveside. She knew Runt and Mettie were there, hidden among these people, keeping a close eye on her like Nolan did when he lurked about the woods. She held the baby tightly in her arms and kept close to Easter.
The preacher read Scripture from the first book of John, chapter five, verse twenty. He thanked the Lord for the beautiful day, choosing to ignore the clouds rolling in from the west. He thanked the Lord for his faithful servants, Leona and Curtis Lane, and lifted his Bible into the air and said Amen. The service concluded, and some of the crowd shuffled back toward the church where tables ladened with food awaited. A few looked to the darkening sky and quickened their pace toward the parking lot. Some lingered behind, chatting to one another or visiting other graves. One old man in a dark coat knelt beside a marker, picked stray weeds, and dusted a tombstone with his handkerchief.
Emmalee remained by Leona’s grave, finding it hard to leave her friend behind. The other seamstresses stood faithfully around her, never once urging her along. Some other mourners stopped and complimented Emmalee on her beautiful sewing. One or two reached out to hug her. Others only paused and stared. A few spoke in hushed tones.
Mr. Fulton leaned close to Nolan and pointed to the sky. He motioned for the men at the back of the cemetery to come forward. One walked to Leona’s grave and knelt on one knee. He placed the shovel on the ground and bowed his head. He mumbled a few words before turning a large metal crank. The crank squealed as the straps began to lengthen, and Leona’s casket dropped slowly into the dark, damp ground.
Emmalee tossed the red carnation Sissie had given her on top of Leona’s casket and said her final good-bye. Emmalee couldn’t help but wonder if Leona and Curtis were as terrified at this moment, packed close in their silk-lined boxes, as they had been when they drove off Old Lick a few days ago. She liked to imagine they had reached for each other and died in one another’s arms. Emmalee wondered if maybe they were happy to have said good-bye to this world now that they walked together on the golden streets of heaven. Leona was a woman of simple means though, and Emmalee worried she would be unhappy living in such a f
ancy place. She waved her hand as if she was pushing the thought off into the clouds, not convinced those gold streets even existed.
“Hey there,” a man’s voice called out among the others. “Emmalee, hang on there a minute.” Emmalee’s heart thumped. She clutched Easter’s arm, the baby snug between them.
“You okay, Emmalee?” Easter asked.
Runt called again, his voice thundering amid the gravestones as he pushed his way past mourners drifting away from the cemetery.
“Emmalee,” he yelled. Mettie marched behind him.
Easter’s body stiffened, and Cora threw her hands on her hips, further widening her thick frame.
“We need to talk to you,” Runt said, his tone firm and a little too loud. Emmalee’s milk dropped, wetting her blouse and the pretty gray sweater underneath her coat. The baby would be rooting for her next meal any minute.
Nolan lurched forward, but Mr. Fulton yanked on his arm. Nolan quickly fell back in place. Wilma covered the baby’s head with the pink crocheted blanket.
“Emmalee,” Runt repeated more softly. “It’s time.”
“Time for what?” Easter asked. “What are you talking about, Runt Bullard?” She held her right hand to her head, trying to hold her hair in place, as the wind gusted stronger.
“I don’t mean to sound rude, Mrs. Nichols,” Runt said. “But this ain’t your business. This is between me and my niece.”
Emmalee spotted Doris Cain walking toward them from outside the cemetery’s gate. Emmalee tried to bury her face behind Easter’s arm.
“Well, I know you got this girl shaking in her boots. And since she’s glued to me, I’d say it’s some of my business.”
Runt ignored Easter and reached for Emmalee’s arm. “Why don’t we finish this in the parking lot, Em.”
The Funeral Dress Page 26