Remarkably, at the moment Elise composed herself, her parents broke down. Her father, her strong, bent father and her melancholy mother, reached out for her.
They hugged her and all three shook and Elise couldn’t tell where the trembling of one let off and the next began.
Not until Mutt leapt from the bed, left the room and returned a second later to paw at Elise’s ripped toenail did she hear the knocking at the hall door. She and her parents gaped at each other.
With a semblance of her old vigor, Phoebe commanded, “Mutt! Get up here!” The surprised dog obeyed, and she shoved him under a particularly fluffy set of pillows.
Nelson composed himself for his stoop-backed trek to the door. Elise followed, trying not to limp or grimace. Before her father turned the lock on the knob, he glanced around the room like a bootleg whiskey man hoping his still was hidden. He opened the door enough to peer through the crack.
“Hello, Mr. Ashe. Don’t know if you remember me. Russell Martinez?”
“Of course I do! Were your ears burning? We talked about you not more than half an hour ago. Come in.” Nelson pulled the door open and extended a hand to the intruder. Elise made a face over her father’s shoulder. Russ ignored her and stepped into the small apartment.
“This is nice. One of my congregation lives here, in another wing. Very comfortable. Homey.”
Nelson smiled, almost shyly. “Won’t be home for long. We’ll be moving in with Elise as soon as she finds a new place to live. Who knows? We might end up in Palm Springs, or a hamlet in Vermont.”
Russ’s transparent face looked as though it had taken a sucker punch to the jaw.
Oh, Russ. Please please don’t love me. You’re too important. I need you too much to let you love me.
His eyes met hers and she shrugged lightly. “Hi, Russ. I’m surprised you’re here. Dad, Pastor Martinez is supposed to be doing a funeral soon.”
“Praying. Just praying. I’m pretty sure taxis don’t allow dogs, Elise, so I thought, since I’m plenty early, I’d take you and Mutt home.”
On cue, Mutt tore out of the bedroom and hurled himself at Russ, and behind him, walking slowly but firmly, with a mulish set to her mouth and Nelson’s bathrobe over her nightgown, came Phoebe.
“I couldn’t stop him.” She stuck a defiant chin in Russ’s direction. “He’s just visiting. He’s…he’s here for my mental health. First time I’ve been out of bed in weeks. I’m certain it’s all because of him.”
“Mom, he isn’t from the governing body of assisted living homes. This is Pastor Russell Martinez. He is my self-appointed chauffeur and does not care one bit that Mutt is in your apartment. And he won’t tattle. But it looks like I need to go.”
She drank in the sight of her parents. Phoebe held her husband’s hand, the birdlike clinging to the tremulous. Elise’s heart swelled. “I’ll call tomorrow. Remember, Sunday afternoon drive. I love you both.” She didn’t need to hug them goodbye. They were bound in an embrace transcending physical touch.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
My freshness spent its wavering shower i’ the dust;
And now my heart is as a broken fount
“The Hound of Heaven,” Lines 136-137
“You are sort of a mother hen, Russ, you know that?”
“Why didn’t you tell me you’re moving?”
She deliberately misunderstood him. “I did. Remember how I told you the house isn’t mine? The Ambersons aren’t going to kick me out before Timothy is cold in the grave. It wouldn’t look right. But I have to go somewhere.”
“Vermont? Palm Springs?”
“That was just my dad indulging in a daydream. But truly, Russ, I’m going to get them out of there. It’s a nice place, but not for them. They have that thing you don’t want for newborns—failure to thrive. They are failing at thriving so I’m reclaiming them and I won’t be living at the Amberson estate and they won’t be living at Golden Sands.”
He reached over and patted Mutt. “And I was just getting to know you, pup.” He sounded so dejected Elise should have laughed. She couldn’t.
“Russ. Don’t get too attached to Mutt. He may seem like a lot of fun. He’s even cute, in that way short dogs have. But he isn’t trustworthy. He’s fickle and unpredictable, and—and sometimes he is mean to Jeff.”
Hands back on the steering wheel, Russ concentrated on driving and they arrived at the estate with no further conversation. “It’s nice to see the gates locked for a change.”
“What do you mean?”
“When I came charging over here this morning they were open. Along with the rest of the house you keep telling me you are so secure in. Only reason I can imagine they were closed when we got back from the doctor was that Corey figured out how to shut them after you and I left.”
Elise tried to remember the previous evening. “Russ, I used the remote to open them last night, when I came back from your prayer meeting. Unless I push the ‘Hold’ button they close automatically after ten seconds. I had no reason to keep them open.” From her purse she pulled the spare remote she’d remembered to grab before the doctor visit. “Watch.”
The button to open the gate was on the upper left of the small remote and she pushed it now. The gates moved majestically inward. “And way down here, on the opposite side, is the button to keep the gates open. I’ll push it now since you’ll be leaving in a minute, but I can’t remember the last time I used it. Why would I have last night?”
“I don’t know, but I wish you had. It would at least be an explanation.” Russ’s eyes narrowed as he pulled in front of the house. “I suppose you want to collapse into bed and sleep for hours.”
“You suppose wrong. I never needed much sleep and heaven knows this house is not conducive to a cozy midday nap.”
He fidgeted at the steering wheel. “I’d like you to come to Saul Washington’s funeral with me. The ceremony won’t be long. And it would mean the world to Jerusha. She called me after the prayer meeting, to ask how you were doing.”
“You’re using guilt to convince me to go?”
“Yes. But I think gratitude and compassion will make you stay.”
“Along with having no way home.”
“How’s your shoulder?”
“It hurts. But it isn’t horrid.”
“So come with me. Give Mutt and Jeff a chance to reacquaint. Show Jerusha Washington that Saul meant something to other people besides her. It’s the best gift for a grieving widow—to know her loved one is missed by others.”
Mutt pranced on her lap, whining. In Elise’s first widowhood she hadn’t cared who else Christopher’s death affected. The bomb that ripped through Christopher penetrated fragments deep into her own heart. She barely contained her own pain. And Timothy. She thought about her husband. She’d so little regard for Timothy. She only observed him in the lens of her own scornful derision. Not everyone saw him as the pompous, tedious husband of Elise. He was a son, brother, father, grandfather. Timothy in life had been advisor and do-gooder and lover of Mutt and Jeff. And she had never really bothered to understand how his death affected others.
“I’m not dressed for a funeral.”
“What? You have a dress on. You look really, really good.” He stopped, apparently deciding Mutt needed another pat on the head.
Elise’s laugh shook slightly as she unclipped the leash from the dog’s collar. “Men. They think just because a woman is in a dress she’s dressed up. I’ll go with you. Give me five minutes.”
She hopped from the small pickup and immediately regretted it as bone, nerve and muscle berated her. Mutt begged for a minute to heed the call of nature, sniffing among the expensively-tended plantings in the front yard and deliberating on which one to lift a leg. He finally decided on all of them, working his way down the drive. Seeing Russ’s set face behind the wheel, Elise clipped Mutt’s leash on again and tugged him into the house.
Jeff, more overjoyed to see Mutt than Elise, trotted with his friend to the kit
chen for bonding. Elise smiled after them and limped to the long stairway, wondering what snobbery made her decide chambray, only a distant cousin to denim, was inappropriate funeral attire. She groaned on the bottom step and continued groaning all the way up to her room. Her cell phone chortled and she grabbed it.
“Elise? Don’t get mad, because I know I’m twisting your arm. But are you coming soon?”
She wanted nothing more than to get out of the house. “I’ll be there in one minute. Literally. Start counting.”
She snatched a thin, three-quarter sleeve sweater from the closet, chose a narrow belt and changed on the descent. Tossing her shirt over the railing and gingerly pulling on the sweater, she reflected that suffering for beauty was never truer. As she reached the pickup she pulled the belt around her waist and cinched it.
“…Fifty-eight, fifty-nine, sixty. Dang, you’re good.” Russ smiled. “Now go back and lock up. And set the alarm.”
She grimaced but realized she’d been pushing her luck lately.
He helped her up but barely touched her. Elise wouldn’t have minded strong arms around her. Not, she assured herself, for any other reason than the very human need for a good hug now and then. He grinned up at her. “You know what?”
“What?”
Russ jumped behind the wheel, put the pickup in gear and aimed for the gates. “That sweater you have on looks nice. I see now that it is dressier. Women are so versatile.”
“You ain’t seen nothing yet.” She undid the high ponytail, and in a few swift motions repositioned it lower on her neck. A deft twist and a couple of bobby pins from a small bag in her purse contributed to a loosely gathered bun.
“Very nice. That you could do it with your shoulder in its current state would make a hockey player gawk in admiration.”
“The brace really does help. Which is why I can’t wear the dress without something over it.”
“Elise, I’m going off the grid for a minute. I mean, I’m going to go over my prayer. Don’t tell me I should just wing it. I usually do, but there isn’t anything unbiblical about a little pre-planning.”
They sat in silence the rest of the way, Elise congratulating herself that she had no urge to fill the quiet with chatter. It was a holy silence and almost made her wish for those days when she could chatter silently to God. Who ignored it as effectively as Timothy had.
The parking lot of the funeral home was packed. Russ pulled into one of the furthest stalls. Head bowed, hands clasped behind his back, he strode to the covered entrance.
“He forgot all about me.” Elise spoke to thin air. She opened the door to follow him at the same time he wheeled and trotted back.
“I am so sorry!” Skidding to her side he laid a careful hand on her upper arm. She grimaced. “Sorry again. Wrong arm.” Sidestepping behind her he took the other arm and together they entered the cool, crowded lobby.
The mood struck Elise first. Christopher’s funeral had been all grief. Possibly some attendees had “rejoiced in hope” but kept the hope to themselves. One look at the faces of the dead hero’s family, and words of optimistic consolation died on lips. And almost everyone at Timothy’s had been genteel and civil and perfectly proper.
Visitation, according to a small sign near the door, was from noon to two. It was one-forty. Russ led her into a large room, even more crowded than the lobby. Instead of the somber, grade-school perfect line of visitors shaking sympathetic hands with the family and filing past the casket, knots of smiling, crying people stood or sat and talked and pointed at photos or a continuous-play video of Saul Washington. They hugged and regrouped and did it all over again. Cheerful, colorful cut flowers in brightly colored cylindrical vases reminded Elise of something she couldn’t quite grasp.
“Let’s go say hello to Jerusha.” Russ almost had to shout to be heard over the happy din and piped-in gospel music.
Saul’s wife stood at one of the photo displays, pointing at something that had two teenaged girls in convulsions. She grinned as Russ touched her shoulder. “I wanted Ruby and Aliyah to see the picture of our first and last Halloween party. We wanted to go as King Solomon and the Queen of Sheba and we ordered costumes. But they mixed up the sizes and mine was too big and Saul’s was too small and we just had to go to that party. So I went as Solomon and my poor Saul was the queen. Of course we won first prize and no one ever let Saul forget it.” Still laughing, she moved past Russ and hugged Elise. “You poor sweet. I can’t imagine what you’re going through. When I was your age my Saul and I had barely started. Now we’re on a little hiatus, but I’ll join him again someday and we’ll never have to say goodbye.” The tears springing in Jerusha’s eyes weren’t for her own loss. She mourned for Elise and Elise squirmed with guilt.
“Thank you.” She looked to Russ for help but he had moved on to talk to someone else. “Your husband was a good man. You both treated me with such kindness.” Some foolish impulse to right the good deeds deficit made her add, “Is there anything I can do for you?”
“Not one single thing, honey. It’s enough to see you’re here. Saul loved you and that husband of yours like his own grandchildren.” The tears spilled over and Jerusha pulled a dainty hanky from inside her sleeve. “We missed you both. Terribly. It would bring me joy to welcome you back to worship.”
A man, like Saul enough to be his twin, stepped over to Jerusha and spoke, low-voiced. She nodded and hugged Elise again. “Time for the family to gather. I hope you’ll come to the house for lunch after. Sometimes the only one who understands a widow is another widow.”
From behind her came a cheery, “Why hello! You’re looking rather smashing.” Corey wore his perpetual grin. “Feeling better?”
“Yes. And cleaner, and drier.”
“You been up to the casket yet? They’re going to close it in a minute.”
She hung back. Funerals, besides those of her husbands, had been an uncommon occurrence in her life and she’d always thought the idea of an open casket a barbaric one.
“It’s all right. Saul wanted the casket open so people could see that old, frail body isn’t the essence of him. The real Saul, he said, could rejoice and worship and have fun a lot easier without the creaking, crumbling old shell.”
It was all right. The body in the coffin bore a stiff resemblance to the man who had been so kind to her, but lacked the essential Saul-ness. Now she realized that every bright flower vase had, in a previous manifestation, been a can. Coffee, vegetable, soup, all had been spray-painted in primary colors and wrapped with ribbon.
“You have anybody to sit with? I’m in the last row. I need to slip out right after the service. If Jerusha sees me she’ll insist I come on over for a bite and a chinwag.”
So Elise sat in back with Corey. People filtered in from the lobby, the people standing around took seats, and soon the room filled to bursting. The gospel music wasn’t canned. An ancient man sat at a piano, playing song after song, no sheet music, just a capacious memory stuffed with melodies. The family came in, everyone on the arm of another, smiling and touching shoulders of those lining the aisle. The stately old pastor led the way, and Russ brought up at the rear.
Afterwards Elise couldn’t remember what the pastor said, or the many tributes family and friends offered. She did know Saul Washington left a gaping hole in his community. And everyone there fully expected to see him again.
Elise was happy for them. Being with Saul, though, meant they would probably be with God. They didn’t seem to mind—actually anticipated the day with pleasure. And there lay the monumental difference between Elise and the rest of them. She didn’t want to be with God. Timothy’s eternal nothingness struck her as vastly preferable.
The service drew to a close. Saul’s youngest grandchildren and oldest great-grandchildren sang a song. Russ rose to pray. With typical Russell lack of theatrics, he simply walked up to the podium, glanced around the room, and invited all to bow heads. He gave thanks for Saul’s life and legacy and his testimony to his Sa
vior’s faithfulness. He paused for a second. When he continued, his strong voice rang in Elise’s ears.
“The word ‘slave’ reminds us of the evil man does to his fellow image-bearers. But Saul Washington was a slave. He loved and served his Master. He obeyed this Master, was devoted to Him, and depended on Him for everything. Dear Lord and Father, You are that Master and he was Your willing slave, a slave bought and paid for with the blood of Your Son. We praise You, Father, that the chains tying him to You were forged in mercy and love. We thank You that Your slave, Saul is also Your son Saul, who lives and will reign with You. In and because of Christ Jesus who made it all possible. Amen.”
Elise shook with rage. Heads in the room were still bent and hands folded when she flew out of the room and into the lobby, Corey right behind her.
“Hey, Elise. Mrs. Amberson. This had to be tough on you, so soon after losing your own husband.”
Dimly she realized he’d mistaken the cause of her distress. “Corey, could you take me home?”
“Sure thing. I’m working the medical tent at the state fair. They’ll understand if I’m a little late.”
She fled the funeral home, running. Corey called after her. “Mrs. Amberson! My car is over this way!” Blindly she turned to follow him, but he paused. “Oh, wait. Hang on a minute, Russ is waving us down.”
Some flickering modicum of common sense beneath the anger told her that screaming for Corey to get behind the wheel wouldn’t work. Already he swerved toward the entrance and Russ bore down on him. Elise leaned her head on the roof of the nearest vehicle. She knew exactly what would happen. She closed her eyes and waited.
He was behind her. “I know you must hate me.”
Not lifting her head, she answered, “But you don’t know how much.”
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