When they arrived inside of the funeral home, Mark was relieved to find that the Kings, dressed in all of their Sunday finest, had saved seats for he and Shylah. "T., Mrs. King, Mr. King," Mark cordially addressed his neighbors with a nod and a smile.
"Mark," Darius quickly and politely returned. "Glad ya'all made it. I guess Shylah is why you're late."
"You know your daughter, Sir. She thinks she has to look better'n everybody else and takes her sweet time with it, but you gotta admit, she sure is a ray of sunshine. It's not like she needs all of that mess, though, beautiful as she is."
Shylah lovingly nudged Mark as she heard these words. She almost felt insulted by the first words Mark uttered, but the way that he finished his remarks filled Shylah with absolute joy and some embarrassment. "Morning, Mama, Daddy, Bro."
"Mornin', Sis," T.L. smilingly responded.
"You ready for all this," Mark asked his friend, saddened by the thought of the occasion.
"Much as I can be, Man. I don't really wanna say goodbye to Tim, but we gotta do what we gotta do. No choice."
"Yep. Sad but true, my friend. I guess we'd better shut up. It looks like the minister is gettin' ready to begin," Mark added, lowering his head for a moment of silent reflection and prayer.
The minister was a rather tall and rather stocky man with salt and pepper feathered hair. Though he was dressed in what everyone knew must be his best suit, he had all of the appearance of a regular country preacher. There was nothing about the man that seemed at all out of place for the moment. "Good morning, everyone," the man addressed, signaling for the music to come to a halt. "We are here to honor a man beloved by all, a great man, Tim Bedoe. I knew Tim since he was a little boy. His dad and I were good friends for many years, and I considered Tim my friend as well. I look around me and see that Tim had many friends, friends of all ages, colors, and of both the sexes. He was a man truly loved and cherished. I hope that we call will always keep Tim in our hearts the way that he did so many of us. He was a great example of Christian love and charity. I see his lovely wife, Mary Jane sittin' right there in the front, accompanied by her young'ns, particularly, little Henry there. Henry was named after his daddy, Timothy Henry Bedoe, who was named after his daddy, my friend, Henry Bedoe, 'Big Hank.'"
"Did you know Tim's middle name was Hank," Mark inquisitively remarked to his friend.
"No. I had no idea. I heard people call him Hanky Panky but thought it had to do with somethin' he said."
"Excuse me, Gentlemen," the minister loudly evoked, looking directly at Mark and T.L. "Am I interrupting you?"
"Sorry, Reverend," Mark sheepishly replied, followed by the exact same words from his friend.
"Now, to continue. I would like to offer up a prayer on behalf of Tim, and soon after, we will hear from Tim's boss and friend, Mark Crady." This announcement by the minister shocked Mark, as he had no idea of it until that point. No one had told him of it. "Dear Lord, we commend the soul of Timothy Bedoe to You. Tim was a good man, and I know that you have taken him into your Almighty Bosom. Tim will forever hold a place among your angels, a place that he rightfully deserves, as he filled this world with so much love, always remembering the commandment to love his neighbor. Tim was a man that everyone could count on, someone anybody could call friend. He was friend to many, husband to his wife, Mary, and father to his many wonderful children. We ask that You please take care of our Tim the way that he took care of all of us. We ask that You let him know how loved he will always be and how fondly we will all remember him. Please, Lord, be ever mindful of the sacrifices and good deeds of the man and give him the rest that he has earned. Please bring comfort to his wife and to their little ones. In Jesus' name, Amen."
A resounding "Amen" filled the entirety of the building, as if it were a great chorus of the concordance of Heavenly angels.
Mark made his way up to the podium, nervous as could be, unsure of what he might say, as he had not prepared himself for this task. "Well, everybody, I'm Mark Crady. I was Tim's boss for a while at the steel plant, but more than that, I was his friend. I'm not a man of a lot of words, so please bear with me. Tim Bedoe was a great guy. I knew him for probably almost my whole life. He'd come to most of my football games when I was in high school, came to my high school graduation, to my high school and college graduation parties, and even to some of my family functions. Tim was like an uncle to me. He was a dependable man, a kind man, a giving man. He never had any unkind words, unless he was jokin' around, but everybody knew when he was jokin'. I remember how he'd always try to get everybody at work to read their Bible. We'd see him in the break room or on the floor, and he'd always ask us, 'You read your Bible today?' Like the good reverend said, you could count on Tim for anything, and he really was what you could call a Christian. If anybody's ever earned that name, it was Tim Bedoe. You couldn't ask for a better friend or a better example. Tim would give the shirt off his back to anybody in need, and that is no exaggeration. There was nobody he wouldn't help, nobody he'd ever turn down for a favor. Tim had no enemies, just friends, lots of 'em! I wish there was more I could say and more I could do. I feel really bad, though. I hate to have to say it, but I know most of you know it. Tim died at the plant because of faulty equipment. The most that I can do to make up for the accident is to help Mary Jane and her kids in any and every way they need. It won't bring Tim back. It won't make up for anything, but it's all there is. I know Tim would do the same for anybody else if he was here sayin' these things for another man. That was the kind of guy he was. Tim," Mark added, staring up at the ceiling as if to look through it and into the inner reaches of Heaven, "Buddy, I'll do whatever it takes. You rest now. You earned it. I just hope you save me a place when the day comes."
As Mark walked away, Mary Jane, as well as several of her children and dozens of the women in the audience wept, sobbed really, so hard that their eyes let loose floods that covered the whole of their clothing. Mark sat back down between Shylah and her brother, solemn and worried that his words may have meant little and that he may not be able to do all that he should to make up for the accident at the plant.
When the services were over, and people began to usher outside to await the loading of the casket into the hearse, Mark was nudged from behind by the minister, catching him so off guard that he spun, almost seeming to dance as he turned. "Mark?"
"Yes, Sir, Reverend."
"Call me Pastor Dan. You probably don't remember, but you used to come to my church when you was a boy. Do you remember?"
"Vaguely, Sir. I couldn't have been very old when I stopped goin'."
"I remember you. I remember you well. You and your family attended regularly for a long time, and then, all of a sudden, you started goin' to that other church. I just didn't know if you remembered me too good." The minister extended his tremendous, meaty, somewhat sweaty hand. Mark happily accepted the offer, but he could feel the wetness between himself and the minister, making him quite uneasy and eager to be released so that he could wipe it all away.
"I do kinda remember, Sir," Mark assured the man. "I'm sorry I was talkin' while you gave Tim's eulogy. No offense meant, Sir. I was only remarking to my friend that I didn't know Tim's middle name was Hank. That was all. I didn't mean to interrupt you, Sir, and I didn't think anbody'd really hear me."
Mark could scarcely hear the reply of Pastor Dan, locking eyes with Delbert Johnson as he passed behind the minister, giving Mark an evil and possibly calculating smile. Turning back, Mark caught himself back in conversation with the "man of God" as he noticed Shylah standing next to Mark.
"And I take it that this here is your lady friend. How are you today, Ma'am?"
"Shylah, Reverend, and I am doin' pretty good. How about yourself?"
"Why, I am always a happy man as long as I have the good Lord beside me! I hope that you do not take this the wrong way or take me for a bitter or hateful man, but I hope that the two of you know how wrong this is." Pastor Dan's face had begun to take on a puz
zled and concerned look that caused both Mark's and Shylah's brows to raise.
"Wrong, Reverend," Shylah asserted questioningly.
"You can call me Pastor Dan, Ma'am, and what I mean is that the mixing of the races. Miscegenation is a sin. Now, I love you people. Some of the greatest folk I've known have been of your race, Ma'am. Why, I have a couple of families over which I watch, parishioners in my church, that are like you. What I mean to say, however, is that the mixing of the races in love and procreation is not what God has intended for His children."
"Not what He intended, huh," Shylah asked, furrowing her mouth, ready to step away in confused anger. "Tell me, Reverend, how exactly that is."
"It is not fair to the children of such intermarriage, Ma'am. The children come into this world as half-breeds and have no real place among either people. It is surely unfair to them. Black and white folk have no reason not to mix in other ways, but when it comes to such things as marriage and having children, they should know that there is a line that should not be crossed there. I apologize if I offend." The minister nodded his head toward Shylah as if to offer double apology.
"Well, Pastor Dan," interrupted Mark, "you know my family claims to have some Indian blood in it. Do you think I can't fit into white society? Can you honestly look at me and tell that there was ever mixing in my family? I do not agree with you in any way, Sir. And as far as Shylah and I go, we love each other, and there is no one on this Earth that will tell us that we can't or that we shouldn't. Unless God tells us Himself that what we are doing is wrong, nothing will stop us from loving one another, and even then, I know that I could not stop, Sir, and I will not stop. If loving this woman sends me to Hell, Sir, I will go willingly." With that, Mark guided Shylah carefully away, Pastor Dan standing in awe at what he had been told.
"Don't listen to him, Honey," Shylah encouraged, "and I love what you said. You," and with a kiss on Mark's cheek, she continued, "are the sweetest man I know and the only man I ever want. You are too good to be true, Baby!"
"Thanks, Babe. I couldn't stand there and listen to that stupid trash another second. If I didn't speak up, I couldn't live with myself. That man has no place bein' a preacher! It's that kinda stuff that makes me glad I don't go to his church anymore!"
"Well, let's go find my family. I don't know if I should tell 'em what we just heard or not, but let's find 'em."
The services at the cemetery seemed to go fairly fast, though Mark and Shylah could not wait to get away. They did not look forward to relieving Patty of her duties and having to watch over Thomas again, but it seemed a far sight better than enduring any more words from Pastor Dan or having to be around Delbert Ray Johnson.
Mark and Shylah happily stripped themselves of their dressy clothes as soon as they got into the bedroom; however, upon seeing each other in all their naked glory, the two could not hold back and violently and mutually threw themselves at one another, tumbling to the bed in heated exchange. Before they knew it, it was well into the afternoon, and Patty had not been relieved of her duties. In fact, she was unaware that Mark and Shylah were home. Mark sincerely apologized to the woman and offered her another two hundred dollars for her troubles, which she happily accepted.
Mark noticed that his father was moaning in what seemed to be tremendous pain as Patty began to walk out of the room. "Is he alright? He doesn't sound too good."
"Oh. He was in a lot of pain earlier, but I gave him some more morphine, and he went right to sleep. He's been asleep for hours. He ate a little bit and talked to me for a few minutes, but mostly, he's just slept is all. Bye, Mark."
"Bye, Patty. Thank you again."
"No problem. If you ever need me again, let me know. And between you and me, I don't know about your dad. I think he's in a lot more pain than he lets on. Just sayin'. I'm not a doctor, but I do have some training, and I have seen enough of these cases to know. I would expect things to start takin' a turn for the worse very soon, sad as it is. I think he's in pretty bad shape, and you might wanna see if the doctor can do anything more for him." With that, Patty stepped out before Mark could reply.
Mark, to a point, could not wait for it all to be over, for his father to finally go. He hated that he felt this way and felt so awful about thinking it that it made him feel as if he must be the worst son in the world. Thomas' short spell of kindness could not erase many years of hatred, bigotry, and pain inflicted on so many. On one hand, Mark did want his father to last as long as possible, but these other thoughts kept creeping in, unwelcomed, but constantly there, not to mention that Mark knew that his father was suffering far worse than anyone should ever have to and that death would be a sweet relief for the old man.
In a fit of disgust with himself, Mark picked up the baby monitor and headed back to his bedroom, certain that Shylah must still be lying there, naked, waiting for him. When Mark got into the room and slipped back into bed beside his girlfriend, he saw, to his satisfaction, that Shylah remained unclothed, but much to his dissatisfaction, she was fast asleep. Not wanting to disturb her, Mark allowed her to sleep and tried to do the same for himself.
Once again, Mark awoke to the screams of his father, blaring over the baby monitor not far from his head. Mark rushed out of bed, threw his clothes back on, and scurried off to his father's room to find him awake and in great agony. Mark did everything that he could to dull his father's pain and bring him comfort, giving him more morphine, rubbing his head, offering him water and food, speaking every soothing word that his mind could fathom. Nothing seemed to work. Mark, feeling that he was experiencing as much agony as his father by having to watch the ordeal, called the doctor, quite panicky. The doctor assured him that nothing could be done and to simply keep a close eye on the old man, but this did not ease Mark's troubled mind. He wondered if he were being the good son, if he were doing right by Thomas, if anything would bring peace to either of them.
Several hours of intense screaming went by before the victory of sleep finally found its way back to Thomas' body. More than ever before, Mark wished for the release of his father from his Earthly toils, though it still filled him with anguish and disgust to think of such a thing. He knew that Thomas had already suffered far too much and that it was also causing undue suffering for all of those around him. Death would bring solace. Death would mean eternal rest for which Mark had so often longed for his father to have.
Mark fell to his knees soon after Thomas waned away to slumber, praying that God would take Thomas home once and for all and allow him the end to his pain and the reunification with his one true love, Mark's mother. At least, Mark hoped, his mother was Thomas' one true love. Mark prayed endlessly until he was startled out of his supplication by Shylah, standing in the doorway, asking what had taken him so long.
When Mark relayed to Shylah the reason for his prayers, Shylah said that she understood and that she, sadly, had to agree that it would be for the best, especially for Thomas. This saddened Mark even more to hear this, and even though he knew that Shylah meant nothing bad with her words, it seemed almost too much for him to take at the moment, that moment of reckless and hopeless abandon.
Mark and Shylah quietly stepped away from the room, escorting each other by the arm toward the kitchen. They had had very little to eat that day and were both starving. Shylah willingly and happily fixed an enormous dinner for her and her nearly betrothed, consisting of breaded chicken, mashed potatoes, macaroni and cheese, and boiled carrots.
"Wow, Babe, this is a lot," Mark exclaimed when he saw how much was being prepared, awed that Shylah would go to such lengths.
"Hey. We gotta eat, and you can't stand between a pregnant woman and what she's craving. I want it all!"
"I guess you do. I won't complain. It all sounds so good. You want coffee or anything, Baby," Mark asked as he pulled a filter from the cabinet overhead.
"What I really want is a beer," Shylah bellowed.
"Well, sorry. If it makes you feel better, I could drink a beer in front of you an
d let you watch," Mark joked.
"Yeah. Ok. That's what I want. I'll settle for coffee, Smartass!"
"Better to be a smartass than a dumbass, wouldn't you say, Baby? If you want, I'll be a dumbass. I could act like ol' dumb Delbert Dipshit Johnson. Heeyuck. Heeyuck. Hey, purdy lady. I'm Delbert Dipshit. I got me some beers. Heeyuck. I got me a pickup truck. Heeyuck. Why, I could take you out for a fancy dinner of catfish. Heeyuck. I could take you out to the finest of restaurants. Heeyuck. You ever heard of Long John's? Heeyuck. You like my teeth? Heeyuck. I got three of 'em! They's all got gold in 'em. Heeyuck. Well, it ain't really gold, just gold-colored. Heeyuck." Mark got within a few inches of Shylah's face while performing this act, much to the woman's annoyance.
"Hey! Don't make fun of Long John's or pickup trucks! I love both of 'em!"
"I'm not, Baby. I'm makin' fun of that dipshit. I got a truck, duh, and I love some Long John's! Who doesn't like Long John's? I'm just sayin' that he's about as smart and about as cool as shit in an outhouse on a July day. That's all. There's nothin' wrong with bein' poor or likin' those things, but when you act like a drunk, stupid asshole..." Mark saw the look in Shylah's eyes and knew that it would be best for him to quit before things got worse.
"And just what would you know, Mark Crady, about bein' poor or about outhouses or any of that?! You grew up rich, and I doubt your family's had an outhouse since way before you were born, maybe since before your dad was even born! You don't know anything about that stuff!" Shylah furiously flipped the chicken in the skillet, a part of her wanting to smack Mark with the spatula.
"Ok, so maybe I don't know about bein' poor or anything, but I've used some outhouses. There's some places where those are still around. I may have money, but if you haven't noticed, I drive a pickup truck. I live in the country. I listen to country music. I love beer, catfish, fried chicken, and a million other things that make me just as much country and all as you or your brother or anybody else. I am not pokin' fun at a damn thing except Delbert Dipshit Johnson!"
Under the Cypress Moon Page 28