My Children Are More Precious Than Gold (15 page)

Bess knew how to make lye soap. She
had taken her turn learning how when she helped Nannie. All the
ashes from the fireplace and the cookstove were dumped in the ash
hopper until it was full. Nannie poured pails of water on the ashes
and let that drain through. The liquid was lye. The lye was poured
in the kettle and brought to a boil then the washed and dried
intestines from a hog Pap butchered for meat was added to the
kettle and cooked. The solution was tested for doneness by sticking
a goose quill into the solution. When it quit eating the feathers
off a goose quill then it was ready. The soft soap was cooled and
stored in barrels to use.

Coming from outside, Nannie and Bess
blinked to adjust their eyes to the dimness inside the cabin.
Addie, Otillie's sister, nodded at them from across the room where
she was stirring a large pan on the cookstove.

“
Mornen, Addie. Mattie.”
Nannie greeted, removing her bonnet. She combed her fingers through
the short strands of sweaty hair pasted to her forehead and ran
them back to the top of her head. “Sad mornen ain't it, ladies?
Where's Tillie?”

“
In the bedroom yonder
with Doak.” Mattie Litwiller, seated at the table with her hands
around a cup of coffee, nodded her head toward the bedroom door
without looking up from her cup. “We haven't been able to get her
out of there so we can work on him. I think she's been waiten fer
ya all so maybe ya can talk her into comen out so we can get
started. With as hot as it is, we need to get Doak
done.”

“
Addie, fix a bite of
breakfast fer Tillie. Mattie, come with me. We'll get her to come
out of there. Bess, put that stew on the work counter yonder and
set a place for Tillie at the table then hep Addie with whatever
she needs done.” Nannie, taking charge, talked while she headed for
the bedroom door.

Bess wrinkled up her nose as she
neared the fermenting smell of the two gray crocks with blue number
six on the side of them. From around the cracked plates covering
the top of the crocks, she could see dull green pickles soaking
under frothy, white mold that floated on top of the salt brine in
one crock and shredded cabbage darkening into kraut in the other.
Bess eyed the apples stuck among the kraut and wished she could eat
one, but she knew from the light green look of the cabbage the
kraut apples weren’t ready to eat either. She sat the pot of stew
down beside the crocks and back away.

Sitting on the bed beside the lifeless
body of her husband, Otillie, smaller and frailer looking than
usual, held his limp hand. Her head was bowed, and in the dim
light, it was hard for Nannie to tell if she was praying or
dozing.

“
Tillie,” Nannie said
softly so as not to startle her, reaching out a hand to pat the
older woman's shoulder.

Otillie sluggishly raised her head at
the sound of her friend's voice. “Nannie, I'm so glad yer here.”
She let go of her husband's hand and grabbed Nannie's. “Doak’s
gone, Nannie. He’s gone.”

“
I know Tillie, and I’m
powerful sorry, but we have to get Doak ready fer the funeral now.
Why don't ya let Mattie take ya out to the kitchen while Mattie and
me do that. Addie's fixen a bite of breakfast fer ya, and my Bess
is heppen her. Ya go along and sit with the women for a while why
don’t ya.”

Otillie rose slowly, patted Doak's
bald head, then let Mattie guide her to the door. She stopped, and
turned to look back as if she was about to change her
mind.

“
Come on, Tillie,” urged
Mattie, tugging on the older woman's arm.

“
Go with Mattie,” Nannie
insisted gently.

When Mattie returned she brought a
wash pan full of water and a stack of wash cloths and towels.
Together the women set about taking the nightshirt off the body,
washing and redressing Doak with his Sunday best that Otillie had
laid on the foot of the bed.

“
This red and white plaid
shirt is one Tillie gave Doak fer Christmas a while back. I
remember how he liked to wear it to church. He'd be pleased to be
laid out in it,” Mattie said as she pushed the last button through
the buttonhole.

The women struggled to roll Doak from
side to side to slip his one pair of new jeans over his hips, then
Mattie held the waistband together while Nannie buttoned it. They
had just finished the dressing task when Mattie and Addie's
husbands carried the newly made, pine scented coffin into the
bedroom. They set it down by the bed, removed the lid and stood it
against the wall. The women helped the men lift Doak from the bed
and gently place him in the coffin. Nannie laid the lid back on,
then picked up one end to help Mattie and the two men carry the
coffin through the kitchen into the pallor. Four chairs had been
lined along one end of the room for it to rest on.

As the others departed, Nannie
followed them to the pallor door. “Bess, dump that wash pan we left
in the bedroom and fill it with cold water. Bring the rest of that
stack of wash rags along with the pan to me.” Nannie lifted the
coffin lid off and placed it behind the row of chairs. Then she
opened the room's two windows to let in fresh air. The pallor was
only used once in a while on special occasions, and the last one
had likely been a ways back according to how stale the air in the
room seemed.

Tillie came in with her eyes glued to
the coffin, and slowly crossed the room toward it. She stood
looking down intently at her husband as if to make sure he was
never going to move again, then she reached into the coffin to pat
his folded hands. The flap on his shirt pocket was curled up so
Tillie reached over and smoothed it out, then slowly brought her
hands down to her sides and walked over to sit in the chair that
had been placed near the coffin for her to use.

By early afternoon a steady flow of
relatives and neighbors began to arrive. They handed over a variety
of food to Addie, who placed each vessel on the work counter until
she ran out of room then she began to fill the table. Subdued
chatter remained constant in the kitchen, but a respectful hush
fell over the mourners as they came through the pallor door. They
nodded somberly at Nannie, stopped to give their sympathy to the
widow and then turned to bow their head at the coffin for a moment
before turning to leave.

Late that evening after people stopped
coming, Addie persuaded Otillie to lay down, leaving Nannie to
continue her all night vigil alone with her old friend Doak. As
hard as she fought sleep, Nannie sometimes nodded off. Her head
would jerk, waking her up. In the middle of the night, Bess slipped
into a chair next to her dozing mother, and accidentally bumped her
arm. Nannie jumped.

“
Mercy sakes, Bess, what
are ya doen up?”

“
I couldn't sleep, Mama.
It's jest too hot,” fibbed Bess, gazing at the floor to avoid
looking at the coffin in front of her even though she knew Nannie
had placed the lid on it after the last of the visitors
left.

“
Reckon it's time I wet
the wash rags on Doak's face again,” Nannie surmised wearily,
rubbing the back of her stiff neck. “I reckon it's been a while
since I last did it. I must of dozed off, and I don't know fer sure
how long. She looked out the window when she set the coffin lid on
the floor. Half of the orange, full moon showed as it inched up
over the ridge, sending a beam of light through the window strong
enough to light up the pallor. The moon filled out, growing larger
but paler as it rose higher in the sky behind the dark timber
making it seem as though the ridge was crowding in on the
hollow.

Nannie removed the dried wash cloth
from Doak's face, sank it in the wash pan full of tepid water,
wrung it out, then spread it back. Sitting back down, she stated
flatly, “Mornen ain't gonen to come any too soon, Bess. That Doak
picked a poor time to die in this here heat.”

“
I know, Mama. I'll stay
here with ya ifen that's okay?”

“
Yer a good girl, Bess. Ya
may have to wake me up once in a while. I can't seem to keep my
eyes open.” The weary sound of her voice matched her sagging body
as she leaned back against her chair.

Bess watched her mother nod off. How
could she relax enough to sleep with Doak’s coffin so near? There
was no way Bess would be able to fall asleep. She glanced briefly
at the coffin once in a while. An uneasy feeling serged through her
about the way it looked in the dark surrounded by moon beams that
bathed the coffin’s backside with an eerie glow. The lit candle on
the shelf by the window flickered in the gentle breeze, causing
fingers of light to caress back and forth over the coffin and wall.
Watching the dancing light along with the glow of the full moon and
thinking about Doak lying dead in that coffin so close that she
could touch it if she wanted to was enough to keep Bess
awake.

The next morning, people began to
arrive for the funeral, and soon the pallor was full, wall to wall
with humans in no time. Nannie had insisted Elmer nail the lid on
the coffin early that morning. Almost everyone had already paid
their respects yesterday, and as soon as Preacher Irby finished
speaking, the mourners could move outside into the fresh
air.

In the meantime, the men shifted from
one foot to the other, impatient in the heat. The ladies stood with
a handkerchief to their faces, in one hand, as if they were ready
to wipe away tears, and in the other hand, they waved a paper fan
attached to a flat stick handle in front of their faces to keep
away the sweat and to swat at the flies. Flying in through the open
window, the blow flies gathered on the coffin and lit on anyone who
stood still for a moment.

Finally Preacher Irby
said, “Amen.”. He gave the pallbearers a nod. They gathered around
the coffin, lifted it from the chairs, then slowly carried it
through the cabin and out into the sweltering summer sunlight.
Squinting at first to see where they were going, the group filed
out of the cabin and waited for the coffin to be placed onto the
wagon. Elmer Litwiller climbed up to the seat and clicked softly to
the team of horses. As the wagon began to move slowly down the
road, people followed close behind, singing
In The Garden
until they reached the
fence of the family cemetery. There were only a few other stones
inside the fence, Doak’s parents and three small stones for the
babies that didn’t live long.

Continually wiping sweat from his
brow, Preacher Irby kept his final prayer short. When the coffin
was lowered into the ground, Bess hung back by the cemetery gate.
She watched the others file by the open grave. Each person dropped
a wild flower or a handful of loose dirt onto Doak's coffin as they
bowed their heads and said a quick goodbye.

Bess studied the tiger lily she held
in her hand that she picked beside the cabin. She should get in
line and toss the lily in the grave, but instead she decided to
give that flower a quick toss over the fence into the high grass
and weeds. She had already said plenty of good byes to Doak while
she sat with Mama through the long, lonely night. She didn't want
to look in that open grave right now, and she didn’t want to
imagine the way Doak looked, laid out in that coffin. Besides with
so many people milling around, the others wouldn’t notice she
hadn't been in line. Right now she was too tired to care about what
everyone else thought was right. She just wanted to go home as soon
as lunch was over.

Chapter 13

A Fishy Story

Dillard had meant to just sit down for
a moment in the shade of the mulberry tree and rest. When he leaned
back and got comfortable, Dillard dozed off. His head jerked when
he nodded, and that woke him up. He rubbed his eyes then stifled a
yawn, sheepishly looking around the house yard to see if anyone had
been watching him. No one was in the yard, but across the wattle
fence, he spotted his older brothers, Lue and Don, with their hands
in their overall pockets, sauntering down the lane toward the
pasture. Quickly, Dillard jumped up. A broken strap on his faded
blue overalls waved out behind him as he hurried to catch up to his
brothers.

“
Wait up! Where ya goen?”
He yelled.

“
Jest goen fishen,”
answered Lue.

“
Can I go,
too?”

“
Nope,” Don shook his
head. “We're goen a fur piece up stream on Little River to fish. Ya
couldn't keep up.”

“
I could too,” declared
Dillard.

“
We'll take ya next time
we fish closer to home," Lue offered to appease the little
boy.

“
'All right.” Reluctantly,
Dillard gave up, because he knew he wasn't going to change their
minds, but he took a long hard look at his brothers while they
walked away.

“
Where they headed?” Bess
inquired from behind Dillard and grinned when he jumped.

“
Stop sneaken up on me!”
He growled. “I don't know exactly where em two are headed. They say
they're goen fishen, but does anything about that story look out of
the way to ya?”

“
Nope.” Bess took a second
look at the backs of her brothers as they disappeared from view
over the hill. “They're always goen fishen. So what?”

“
If they's goen fishen,
where's their fishen poles?”

“
Say, that's right. They
ain't got poles with em.”