Stargazey Nights

by Shelley Noble

  His forehead had been victorious—­Hadley was bald as an egg. A rush of affection rolled through Cab. A ­couple of silly grown-­ups, trying to make a lonely little boy laugh.

  Cab smiled tentatively.

  Hadley squinted at him, then his eyes widened. “Cabot Reynolds. Is that you, boy?”

  “Yes, sir,” Cab said, reverting to his childhood manners—­gentleman manners in these parts. And today they sat comfortably on Cab’s shoulders.

  Hadley lumbered down the steps and pumped Cab’s hand, then pulled him forward and clapped him on the back.

  “Glad you could make it.”

  Cab started to say he hadn’t known. It was just by luck that he’d found out about the funeral at all. But that seemed an indictment of his relationship with his future wife and a larger indictment of himself.

  “You going on over to the church now?”

  “Thought I’d walk.”

  “Mind some company?”

  “I would appreciate it,” Cab said. Hadley was wearing a suit, shiny where it had been hand ironed, and a yellowed button shirt not buttoned at the neck. As they started down the street, he pulled a paisley tie out of his pocket and flapped it in the air before hanging it around his neck.

  While they walked, Hadley ran the tie under his collar, wrapped it, knotted it, and yanked on it until it turned into a colorful, if somewhat wrinkled, nod to fashion.

  More than ever, Cab was tempted to take off his jacket. He was beginning to sweat. Partially from the afternoon September sun and anticipation, and nerves—­and a soul-­clinging sadness.

  They walked side by side in silence. After the initial recognition and hellos, there seemed to be nothing to say. All of their mutual experiences were behind them. The man who had connected Cab to this place was gone. And he felt like an interloper.

  The feeling didn’t change when, two blocks later, they turned the corner, and Cab saw the Zion Baptist Church a block away. It was a small church, white, with a stumpy little bell tower that Cab didn’t remember ever pealing. But it was the crowd out front that checked his steps.

  “Got a nice turnout,” Hadley said.

  “Yeah,” Cab said, and cleared his throat. There had to be a hundred ­people, all ages and colors. Some wore traditional funeral black, others wore a spectacle of bright colors. All the women and some of the men wore hats. All the men wore suits.

  As Cab and Hadley approached, the buzz of quiet voices quickened then died as the mourners turned as one to watch them walk the last half block to the church.

  Then a man stepped out of the crowd, and Cab recognized the tall, gangly form of Beau Crispin. An old man now, with thick white hair, wearing a dark suit and looking about as uncomfortable in it as Cab felt in his.

  He walked slowly toward them, but then Beau had never seemed to hurry in the whole time Cab had known him.

  Hadley stopped, and they waited for Beau to reach them.

  It seemed an eon until Beau stuck out his hand. “Knew you’d want to be here. Everybody’s real thankful you saw fit to come.”

  Cab didn’t even try to explain why he’d almost missed the funeral. He was still having a hard time understanding why Bailey had kept the news from him. Which was a bit of a lie; he knew exactly why she hadn’t told him.

  The three of them turned toward the church. “Thought maybe you’d bring that pretty lady you’re goin’ to marry,” Beau said.

  Cab jerked his head toward the older man. “Bailey?”

  “There more than one?” Beau smiled.

  Hadley guffawed.

  “No, of course not. It’s just—­I didn’t realize anyone knew that I was getting married.”

  “Aw, Ned kept tabs on you,” Beau said. “Real proud of you and all those fine buildings you’ve designed.”

  “Sure did,” Hadley said. “Showed that picture of your girl from the newspaper around so much, nearly wore it plumb away.”

  “The newspaper?”

  Hadley and Beau shook their heads at each other.

  “Society page,” Beau said.

  Cab put one foot in front of the other though all he wanted was to run. Start over. Turn the clock back, make better choices, spend more time with Ned. And then he forgot about everything as the crowd surrounded him, shaking his hand, shaking their heads, murmuring condolences, treating him like one of their own .

  “I TOLD YOU,” Sarah Davis said, squeezing to the front of the crowd and pulling Penny and Bethanne with her. “I’m thinking that suit had to put him back a few hundred.”

  “Hush,” Bethanne said in her ear. “How can you think about money at a time like this?”

  “Easy. Ned Reynolds is dead, and I got about twenty kids who aren’t . . . yet.”

  “What happened to ‘I don’t need no handouts.’ ”

  “This wouldn’t be a handout. More like a legacy from Ned Reynolds.”

  Penny snorted. “Well, at least wait until after the obsequies.”

  “Why Lord, ain’t you fancy with your obsequies,” Sarah said, lapsing into an over-­the-­top Southern accent that she used on various occasions and for various reasons. At the moment, she was just trying to make herself feel better. She wasn’t kidding about the children’s not being dead yet. Half of them went to bed hungry, at least a few were beaten before they went to bed hungry. And most were so tired after coming home after school and doing chores, they fell asleep over their homework if they even got around to opening a book; all were quickly falling far behind in school, with no hope of catching up.

  And it was only September. But it had been happening every year since Sarah could remember. If it hadn’t been for Ervina, she would have grown up just like them. But her great-­grandmother, for all her crazy ways, knew the value of a solid education and made sure Sarah didn’t shirk her schoolwork.

  It had paid off, with a grant from Columbia. Bake sales and car washes and the generosity of her poor friends and neighbors had done the rest. Now it was payback time. She was glad to do it, but not in the way they needed. She knew she could make a difference, but she also knew her limits. She was better doing research, being an activist, than she was reciting times tables and trying to get little cutout ­people and paper trees into a shoebox.

  But she was here. The community center’s last “director” had flown the coop, taking whatever he could carry with him. The kids had run wild all spring and part of summer.

  And Sarah had driven unsuspecting into town for a visit. The mayor pounced; there was no one else. It wasn’t something she wanted to do. Sarah didn’t say that. She said yes.

  Conversation stopped again, and they all looked toward the street, where a white hearse was rounding the corner. The men took off their hats. Families drew closer.

  “Where is Ervina?” Bethanne whispered. “Is she coming?”

  Sarah rolled her eyes. “She’ll be here. And, I’m sure, in full regalia.”

  The hearse stopped in front of the church. The door to the church opened, and the preacher, dressed in a black robe, stepped out to welcome the body of Ned Reynolds. Next to him, an old woman swathed in the colors of the rainbow nodded slowly as if hearing the tune of a silent dirge.

  From inside the church, the organ began to play . . . at the same tempo as Ervina’s nodding head.

  The three women exchanged looks.

  “You have to admit. She’s got some kind of sense,” Penny said.

  “I try not to,” Sara said, and watched as Hadley and Beau stepped away from Cabot Reynolds and joined four younger men, who took the casket as it slid out of the back of the hearse. The crowd parted as they carried it up the steps of the church.

  “I think somebody better goose ‘The Third,’ ” Sarah said.

  “Why is he just standing there?” Penny asked.

  “Probably blinded by Ervina’s Sunday go-­t
o-­meetin’ clothes.”

  “There. Silas is taking care of him.”

  A small black man with grizzled gray hair had appeared by the nephew. “Come along now, young Cabot. We goin’ inside now.” He took Cabot Reynolds’s arm and led him unresisting into the church.

  The preacher walked behind them. Ervina started to moan.

  Chapter 4

  CAB NEARLY JUMPED OUT OF his skin when he stepped into the church, and someone behind him moaned. Maybe that old woman standing on the steps like she was sent from some higher being.

  Before he had taken two more steps, more moaning joined hers, and by the time he was half way down the aisle, there was a full-­blown moaning entering the church.

  And then he heard it, slowly morphing out of the hum of voices, a melodic line, growing and wrapping around itself until Cab swore words were being formed. And Cab knew the ser­vice had started.

  Someone guided him into the front pew. He sat down, looked at the casket, white and shiny. Surrounded by every kind of flower he could imagine. He recognized Bailey’s contribution. White, tasteful, but tall and big enough to try to cast a pall over the riot of color that surrounded it. There were store-­bought bouquets, florist arrangements, and handpicked meadow flowers already beginning to wilt. The image burned itself on Cab’s mind. Each of those flowers seemed to stand out and demand to be acknowledged. They had been given by Ned’s friends and neighbors, ­people who loved him.

  The preacher climbed to the pulpit, and Cab slipped on his sunglasses just as someone yelled “Praise the Lord.”

  Cab hardly knew what happened during the next hour, except that there was dramatic preaching, and amening and singing and swaying, and a gospel choir with organ and tambourines that almost made him forget he was at a funeral.

  Then the pallbearers stood and went to stand by the casket. Cab wondered if they expected him to walk behind them since he was the only family member present. Everyone around him stood as the casket was lifted and carried down the aisle. The pastor stopped at the front pew, gestured for Cab to accompany the casket, and he did. He caught sight of Beau Crispin, wiping his eyes with a big white handkerchief, and Cab felt a tear slide down his own cheek.

  A little old lady dressed in black sat primly next to Beau. Beau’s sister Millie. And next to her a larger woman with crazy white curls framing her face. Beyond them there was a sea of faces. Some swaying and humming, some standing stoically watching. A few reached out to touch the casket in a final good-­bye. Silas sat across the aisle a few rows back. His head was thrown back, and he was rocking forward and back. His tears flowed freely. And he wasn’t alone.

  But it wasn’t over, as Cab soon learned. They merely walked around to the side of the church to the cemetery. There was a struggle to get the coffin on the mechanism that would lower it into the grave. There was more preaching and “amening” and swaying.

  Someone began to clap. It jolted Cab down to his raw feelings. But it was a slower, rhythmic clap, not applause, soon joined by other hands, and the singing started again, this time an old spiritual that he remembered some of the women who ran the store next to the carousel would sing.

  Hadley, Silas, and Beau came to stand with Cab as ­people filed by and offered their condolences. “So sorry for your loss.” “A fine man.” “The Lord gonna be happy to have him in heaven.” “Amen. He’ll make the angels laugh.” “He’ll be sorely missed.” “He’s already shining down on us, I can feel it in my bones.” “He always had a kind word and a smile.” “Amen.” “You come on back to the inn. Penny and Bethanne are holding a little reception.” “Silas be barbecuing on the beach.” “Don’t you run off, young Cabot. Everybody’s wants to say hello.”

  “Mr. Reynolds. Forgive me, this isn’t the time, but I wanted to introduce myself before you leave. Jonathon Devry. I was your uncle’s attorney, and I have a copy of the will if you have time to meet with me before you leave.”

  “He ain’t leaving so fast.”

  Cab looked sharply behind him; no one was there. Only that old woman who had stood at the church moaning. But she was walking away, head down, supported by a petite young woman with short hair and a black pantsuit.

  “Don’t mind Ervina,” the lawyer said. “She’s always making pronouncements of one kind or another. She’s sort of a local figure.”

  Ervina. Cabot remembered her, or not her, but hearing about her. Ervina had the sight, could heal what ailed you, could put the hex on you if you crossed her. But she looked like a harmless old woman to Cab. Barely strong enough to hold up the wealth of colorful fabric that nearly buried her in its folds.

  He told Devry that he would be leaving that night or early the next morning, he was in the middle of a project. The lawyer understood and offered to take him over to his office. It wouldn’t take but a minute. His office was right around the corner, and Cabot would be able to make the send-­off before ­people left.

  Cab wouldn’t mind missing the send-­off. He felt exhausted and out of place. And yet, he wasn’t really in any hurry to face Bailey.

  It only took a minute. Cab was the sole beneficiary of his uncle’s estate, which consisted of a small, tin-­roofed cottage, a carousel located at the center of Stargazey Point, a few thousand dollars of savings, and all his other worldly possessions.

  Cab thanked the lawyer. Took his copy of the will and the keys to the house and carousel and walked out into the sunshine. He stopped on the street to take off his jacket. He’d put it back on before he got to the Inn. But instead of turning toward the hotel, he crossed the street and walked down a narrow street to where Ned had lived and Cab had spent his summers.

  The place was a wreck. It had always been small, a cross between a bungalow and a shack, typical of this end of town. The tin roof looked rusty and probably leaked. The porch sagged. And it was sorely in need of a good whitewashing.

  Cab hesitated as he ran the keys through his fingers. Did he really want to go inside and see what state the house was in? He’d sell it, but it was probably unusable except as a tear-­down for some greedy developer.

  Of course, those greedy developers had been partially responsible for Cab’s burgeoning career. He turned to look down the street. The neighborhood was quiet; probably everybody was at the Inn, feting his uncle while he stood here alone.

  And he was being rude not to join them. He turned his back on the house and headed toward Main Street, but he knew without a doubt that he’d just left a piece of himself still standing there on the sidewalk. And he knew just as well, he wouldn’t be leaving town tonight. Possibly not even tomorrow.

  The reception was a civilized affair, especially after the energetic funeral. There were a lot of ­people missing, and they probably wouldn’t come. If Cab had learned anything about loyalty in his summers here, he knew they’d be down on the beach, firing up a bonfire. Bringing out booze and food with equal abandon, planning to celebrate into the night, giving Ned a good send-­off, making sure he went and didn’t hover around, no longer of this world but not yet welcomed into the next.

  Cab wondered if he would be welcome at that celebration.

  There were a few local officials waiting in the Inn’s parlor to say hello, along with other ­people he didn’t recognize but who remembered him as a boy. Ervina wasn’t there, but the young woman who had been with her was. She was introduced as Sarah Davis, Ervina’s great-­granddaughter and a Columbia University professor on sabbatical to study the Gullah community.

  “Can’t get her to give up her Yankee ways and move back here where she’d be real appreciated,” said the mayor.

  Sarah smiled slightly, wryly, Cab thought, before the mayor excused himself to talk to someone else.

  Sarah looked at him appraisingly. “He only wants me around to run the community center and keep Ervina from putting the hoodoo on him for talking Silas into selling his barbecue place.” She narrowed her ey
es at him. “If I believed in hoodoo, I’d have encouraged her to go ahead. Anybody with half a brain would have known Silas’s granddaughter could get a scholarship just about anywhere without him losing his property.” She gave him an even harder look. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

  Cab hesitated. Was this little sprite of a Columbia professor baiting him? Now that he’d learned she lived in Manhattan, he began to understand the air of sophistication that stuck out among the rest of the inhabitants even though he sensed she downplayed it quite a bit.

  “Cat got yo’ tongue?” she asked in a broad, Southern accent, almost as if she had read his mind and was laughing at him.

  When she flashed him a wide grin, he knew she was laughing. And if she was Ervina’s great-­granddaughter, she might just have read his mind.

  “So why didn’t you bring your fi-­an-­cey.” She drew out the word, and it pissed him off. Where did she get off making judgments about Bailey or him, and it was clear she was making a judgment.

  “She had other commitments.”

  “Uh-­huh.” Sarah stretched her hand out and studied her nails, which Cab could see were cut short and broken, as if she’d been doing manual labor. Her meaning was clear. And she was pretty much right. Still, Cab didn’t need a stranger pointing it out to him.

  “So how long you staying, Mr. Reynolds?”

  “A day or two. And call me Cab; I’m sure you’ve called me just about everything else in the book.”

  Her polite smile turned into a full-­wattage grin, and Cab found himself smiling back.

  “Touché . . . Cab,” she said, dropping the drawl and speaking like a no-­nonsense New Yorker. “We’ll have to chat more before you go.”

  Cab watched her walk away, wondering what on earth they could possibly have to chat about.

  Just about everyone was gone by six, and Bethanne began cleaning up.

  The caterer put a plate of food on the table. “You have to be starving,” she told Cab. “You didn’t have a thing since you’ve been here. They’ll feed you plenty down on the beach later, but we don’t want you passing out from hunger before then.”