“Then I will go first and if there is someone inside, you can identify them at gunpoint for me if they are friend or foe. Agreed?” he bargained, drawing his sidearm. At her nod, he lumbered across the busy street while she waited anxiously. Time seemed to drag on forever until she saw his dark head appear out the front door. He attempted to cross the street, however, Ava met him halfway, anxious to get inside and see what had happened.
Once inside, she looked around. She saw nothing amiss except a few drawers open in the kitchen cupboard at the back of the house. As she slid open the drawer fully, she rolled her eyes. The silver was gone. It had been Peter’s mother’s set that she received at her wedding years ago. They had never used it and, frankly, Ava had never polished it. It had been wrapped in velvet and stored away long ago.
His family had been well to do financially long ago, so it wasn’t a surprise that someone had stolen something. It was more of a shock that it hadn’t happened before now. She had kept a revolver in her bedroom for years, afraid that someone would do something rash as times had grown tough. Thankfully, she had never had to use it. She was simply relieved that she hadn’t been home at the time.
“Is anything missing?”
“Silver cutlery set. I will file a report with Sherriff Melton.”
“If the pilferer waited until you left the house, there is a good chance they either got what they wanted or more is missing. Keep looking and I will inspect the door for damage.”
“Thank you,” she said simply and headed up the stairs alone. Once in her room, she knelt next to the bed on the rag rug. She slid the envelope from under her bed and saw the dollar bills were still present. The thief must have been in a hurry because her small wooden box still sat upon her dresser, undisturbed. There wasn’t much inside but a pair of her mother’s earbobs and a cameo. Standing, she straightened her clothing and headed back down the stairs. There was nothing of value in the other room worth searching. The door was ajar and the lone bed sat in the corner.
Slowly coming down the stairs, she realized that if she had been gone longer, the thief might have taken more. Or worse yet, if she had returned unexpectedly, they might have been here waiting. That was an uncomfortable thought that shook her. She clutched the carved banister and sat down on the stairs, stunned.
“Are you all right?” Jeremiah asked her, immediately leaving the door where he had been checking the lock. Kneeling down, he winced and took her hand. “Ava, are you all right? Is something else missing?”
“My sense of security,” she said with a forlorn smile. “Only my peace of mind and security. Everything else is in its place. Thank you for asking, Jeremiah.” She didn’t even mind the fact that he was holding her hand in his at this point. She patted his hand with hers. “That’s very kind of you.”
“The lock is not damaged. The thief must have jimmied the handle. Your safety will not be in question. As your partner or maybe a husband someday…” he began and Ava cut him off immediately.
“I think we need to discuss our arrangements, Jeremiah. Let me make you something to eat and we shall talk.” Ava watched for his reaction, expecting him to get angry or mad at her declaration. However, he did neither. Instead, he seemed to be waiting and it struck her as odd. “Are you not surprised?”
“Frankly, no. Should I be?”
Shaking her head, she pulled off her bonnet and walked past him to the back of the house where the kitchen sat. She heard his heavy footsteps behind her as he followed her down the hallway. Pulling out a seat, she indicated that they should sit down.
“I will make us some tea.”
“Do you have any coffee?” he interjected.
“Yes, of course,” she stammered, surprised at this interruption. “I assumed you had not eaten as of yet and didn’t think to ask. Are you hungry? Would you like something to eat while we talk?”
“Yes, please. That would be so kind of you.”
Ava took several eggs from the bowl on the table and lit the stove. Putting a kettle on the cold burner, she realized it would take a long time to boil. Looking sheepish, she glanced over her shoulder at where he sat watching her. “It might be a bit. I don’t cook very often and it’s got to heat up.”
“Ava, if it took an hour, I’d be fine waiting. I’m quite tired of hardtack and haven’t had real food in two days. Eggs sound delicious right about now and I’m guessing you like them, too.” Smiling, he indicated the large bowl of eggs that sat on the table in front of him.
“Actually, I take those eggs as payment sometimes,” she admitted. “Not everyone here has it as well as I do right now. I take what I can get. Whether its eggs, dollars or…” and she suddenly stopped with a grin. “Or a sow. Now that was something! I’d never taken a pig before and ended up having the family come back to get it with the agreement that when it was butchered I would get some of the meat.”
“You don’t insist on payment at your business?”
“It’s a funeral home. How can you refuse to bury a loved one or a soldier when they cannot afford the extravagance?”
“Then you don’t have a fancy funeral,” he shrugged. “Maybe that’s cold thinking, but I know that many men were left in a field or buried in an unmarked grave during the war.”
“I can’t do it,” she said softly, looking away. “I have no one left here and I may need help someday. I can’t refuse simply because I would hope that someone would have done…” she stopped, swallowing hard, and gathered herself, refusing to break down or cry at the raw words that were coming.
“I would hope that someone, some charitable soul, would take the time to bury my own soldier during the war in exchange for something that was needed. I need food or goods, so I bargain or trade. If someone can pay, I certainly don’t refuse the money.”
“A true southern lady,” he replied admiringly. “Resourceful, charitable and strong.”
“Only because I have had to be,” she retorted trying to keep the bitterness out of her voice.
“And I am here because I have to be,” he acknowledged slowly. “You said you wanted to discuss our arrangements?”
“Yes,” she admitted. “I know that several women have requested help from outside of town. They are being housed at the ranch or hotel until settled. I have only recently accepted the fact that my husband will not be returning. I was quite candid in my letter to you. I am looking for companionship and help with my business…”
“But you are not looking for a husband,” he finished.
“Maybe someday. Right now, I have found myself…” Ava stopped speaking and stared at her hands clenched in her lap. “I have found myself realizing that my work is taking a toll on me that I cannot handle. Dealing with death, the sadness it brings, I am tired and overwhelmed by the duty. Performing an embalming just devastates me mentally. I find myself having a nervous breakdown and thank the Lord that few can afford the extravagance.”
“Which is why you said you needed someone with a strong constitution and able bodied to help you,” he surmised.
“Yes, precisely. I cannot lift a… body, on my own. Most people will not touch a corpse. My husband’s family business is as the town undertaker. I have to prepare them, wash them and dress them properly for the funeral. This involves moving the body or more grotesque duties that I shan’t discuss at the table,” she said firmly.
“I guess it’s a good thing that you got my letter then.”
“Why is that?”
“I was in the infantry, but as a field surgeon. Bodies won’t bother me a bit. It’s when they are alive, screaming for mercy and cursing you from one end to the other, begging for you to end them rather than cut off their arm to save their life, that eats away at your soul.”
“My Lord,” she whispered, horrified at the vivid picture he was painting. Ava reached out sympathetically to pat his hand, realizing that her life was nothing compared to what he had dealt with. “How did you get through it intact?”
“Intact? No. I limp,” he
scoffed, disgusted at his own weakness. “I have a blasted limp. I have nightmares, and I am looking for work but cannot bring myself to operate on a person anymore for fear that they will yell out in pain. How terrible it is to have a trade that you cannot use? Let me tell you, it makes you feel worthless and people judge you as such. So here I am. A homeless Johnny Reb that cannot bear the thought of performing surgery on a live person ever again.”
“Well, welcome again to Maypearl, Jeremiah Ellington. Here you shall have work, a roof over your head and a warm meal.”
“And you will have your undertaker if you will teach me what I need to know.”
“Agreed.”
“On one condition.”
“Yes?”
“Ava, I came looking for a fresh start to my life. I want to put the past behind me and start anew. You are quite lovelier than I ever imagined and to be honest, I want a wife someday. I will be your undertaker as long as you do not marry anyone else. If you are going to marry, it will be me. I want a chance. I am not above making a demand for something I want. If we are going to be candid with each other, I responded to the ad that was placed and assume other capable men will have done so as well. I find you extremely attractive. Actually, I was quite relieved when I got off the train and saw your lovely face. I would happily perform the work, knowing that someday you might be my wife. I’ve seen too much death and while its forward – I am grasping at a chance for normality with both hands.”
Staring at his blue eyes and handsome profile, she heard the kettle start to boil behind her. Her expression must have reflected her inner turmoil because he suddenly became flustered, running a hand through his hair and looking away.
“Look. I know that I am not your missing husband, nor am I what you expected. I may not be what you hoped for but I am a hard worker and a good man. My limp won’t stop me from work…”
“Yes,” she interrupted. “Jeremiah, if I choose to marry again, then yes, I will allow you to court me. Do you want cream in your coffee? I do not have any honey or sugar,” she stated quickly, changing the subject. She stared at his proud visage and looked away. He was struggling with some inner demon and it was obvious that he expected rejection from her. He must have been turned away at some point due to a flaw that he perceived he had.
“I think, perhaps, we shall work well together. It will give us time to get to know one another. Don’t you agree? I prefer my coffee quite weak with lots of milk. I am betting you like yours a bit stronger than that.” Ava scraped back her chair to give him some space. She grasped the whistling kettle off the stove and allowed the coffee to steep. Cracking several eggs in a bowl, she whisked them and poured them into a skillet.
“I’m not much of a cook but you won’t get sick,” she said absently to the silence behind her. She quietly sliced an apple into quarters and put it all on a plate. Pouring the coffee, she grabbed the small jar of cream on the counter that had been delivered before sunrise. She diluted her coffee to a pale beige color and moved to the other cup.
“Black,” he said quietly, breaking the silence. Tipping the jar of cream away from the cup quickly, she smiled absently.
“Then black coffee it is!” Grabbing the cup, she walked over and set it on the table. Returning to the stove, she grabbed the plate and a small fork that was left behind, placing it in front of him. “Eat while it is hot.”
“Are you not going to eat something?”
“Would that make you feel more at home? More comfortable?”
At the slight nod of his head, she returned back to the stove to cook more eggs. She heard the fork scraping on the plate and sounds of him eating. Glancing over, she saw that he was unceremoniously shoveling the food as fast as possible in his mouth. He must be starving, she thought sadly, no one should suffer or have their pride taken from them. She quickly cracked a few more eggs in the skillet without a second thought.
“Jeremiah, I think I made too many eggs. Do you think you can eat some of this for me?” she asked aloud. “I thought I was hungry but this is too much for me.” Without waiting for his response, she simply walked over and dumped the majority of the scrambled eggs onto his plate that was nearly empty. Ava saw him tense and a flush crept up his face.
“I am so relieved you didn’t wait for me. It would have been cold and I would have felt bad then. Please eat up,” she said politely, giving him an excuse for the lack of manners. Before the war, a man would not dare touch his food until prayer had been said and the lady of the house was seated. Now, it seemed that he was afraid the food would be taken or disappear. She wondered if he starved during the war or had to fight for his meals.
She sat down and ate in silence while he finished the small mountain of food on his plate. The thought of eating that many eggs turned her stomach, but the relief on his expression was worth it. She wondered what else he had to live without and felt more satisfied that she had answered his letter. It was hard to imagine how desperate you had to be in order to apply for a job in an unknown location. You never knew what you would get, but the need for shelter and food was still there.
Ava had so many questions bursting inside of her that she could not bring herself to voice aloud any of them for fear of insulting him. She wanted to ask when the last time he had a bath was because, in the enclosed space, the smell was quite stifling. That small knapsack he brought must have been everything he owned and she was certain there was no room in there for clothing. She refreshed his coffee and took his plate to clean it.
“When you are ready, I will show you the office across the street.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Ava,” she corrected absently, putting her hands back in the water as she finished washing the plates. “If we are going to work together, we should use our given names.”
“Yes, ma’am! Ava,” he said with a gentle smile.
This caused her to chuckle as she saw his expression. He looked downright content and not so much like a caged animal. He needed food, shelter and to feel safe. A friend or companion, someone to confide in or reach out to.
The same things she needed.
Ava slipped her bonnet on her head as she prepared to step out of the house. It wasn’t a far distance. However, she would take no chance in her nose freckling any more than it had. Growing up, she had rubbed lemon juice repeatedly on her nose in an attempt to fade the freckles. That is how she knew how expensive lemons were! That habit had gone by the wayside during the war quickly. Once Confederate dollars weren’t accepted, she was nearly flat broke. Ava had sold a few items for key things, just before she accepted bartering in exchange for funeral services.
Jeremiah looked mildly uncomfortable as if he felt out of place. He picked up his knapsack and his hat. He stood there waiting for her to tuck her hair under her bonnet. She could only imagine what he was thinking. A new, strange town full of people he didn’t know, dependent on a woman. It probably went against everything he had ever known.
With a wide smile, she opened the front door and pulled it closed behind them. She locked the door again carefully and shook the lock to test it. Just when she thought there were no more surprises coming her way, she turned and saw Jeremiah standing there with his arm extended towards her. If she closed her eyes, she could almost picture him escorting her on a walk through a park or onto a dance floor. It had been a long time since a gentleman had extended his arm out towards her. The simple propriety touched her deeply.
“Why thank you, sir” she said, delighted. She laid her hand delicately on his strong forearm. He tipped his hat, causing her to laugh aloud. It felt so strange to be so proper but it was enchanting that he was treating her so respectfully. They crossed the street slowly. The cause was twofold: she enjoyed the feeling of being treated like a lady and to accommodate his limp.
“I usually keep the funeral home closed up because of the equipment inside. Some of it can be very expensive and hard to replace,” she said absently, unlocking the doors. “People in town have become
accustomed to knocking on the house door in order to alert me that someone is being delivered.”
The sunlight streamed through the windows, laying sharp outlines of light on the carpet from panes of glass. The funeral home was decorated with rich, dark colors. Several small settees were covered with velvet that had been tucked and tufted as was the fashion before the war. A large bible stood on a wooden stand in the corner of the room and on the far side was a large console table that held a vase. At the very far side of the building was a set of doors. Ava opened one of the doors and ushered Jeremiah inside. This was the mortuary. The front part of the funeral parlor wasn’t the part Ava despised, it was the preparation of the corpse.
The mortuary was as close to clinical as could be in the west. The wooden floorboards were easily washed. A large water pump was in the room simply for convenience if there was an issue and the floor needed to be cleaned quickly. A variety of chemicals and jars stood on shelves that were almost out of reach for Ava but obviously would be no problem for Jeremiah’s tall frame. Saws, instruments, hoses and various other gear hung on pegs on the wall. The smaller tools were spread on a table in the corner with spools of thread. She watched Jeremiah’s face for any reaction at all as he looked over everything.
“You have more things than I ever did,” he said simply, staring angrily at the large saw on the wall. Ava could only imagine how bad it must have been in the field for him. He picked up a black jar off the table and pulled the lid off. “Rouge?”
“Yes, I can’t let them lie there colorless. Peter always…”
“Peter. Was that your husband’s name?” he interrupted. “I’m sorry, please go on.”
“He always said that families preferred that they look like they are sleeping. So, I try to make them look as peaceful as possible. I powder their faces and put rouge on them so there is a natural flush.”
“That was a good idea he had,” Jeremiah remarked quietly, putting the jar back. “What is back there?”
“That is your room. Part of a perk in helping me out with the less than appealing duties the life of an undertaker has. Instead of shoveling… horse ‘matter’,” she said wrinkling her nose indelicately. “You’ll be working on other things that can be almost as foul. You’ll have privacy and peace here instead of sharing a bunk.”
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