The Battered Body (18 page)

“Damn.” Scott shut the card and blinked several times. “Now
I’m
going to cry.”

The supper club members were waiting for James when he, along with Milla, Willow, and Jackson, entered the church chapel that evening. James and his companions were still reeling from the shouts of reporters and the blinding flashbulbs that had assaulted them in the parking lot.

Inside the warm sanctuary, the pews were stuffed. The townsfolk seemed to have congregated in the front while members of the media kept a respectful distance in the back of the chapel. A horde of strangers, who James feared were there in hopes of gaining a few minutes of fame by casting poignantly sorrowful glances at the television cameras, filed into the center rows.

Paulette’s children and sister Wheezie were in the first row. The pew behind them had been reserved for the supper club members and Willow. James was pleasantly surprised to observe Dr. Ruth and all three of her sons seated in respectful silence toward the middle of the crowd. He issued them a subtle wave and smiled at Dolly, who was likely to have a sore neck come Christmas Day from twisting this way and that in order to observe the demeanor of every person in the sanctuary.

“This is quite a showing,” Milla murmured to James as Reverend Emerson walked to the pulpit in order to greet the congregation and then ask them to rise and join with him in the singing of “Abide With Me.”

As James had spent the Sundays of his childhood at the very same church, he knew the hymn well enough to sing along while casting covert glances at the profiles of those lined up in front of him. Chase, who chose not to sing, was staring into the distance with a blank expression, while Chloe was concentrating on the words in her hymnal and appeared pale and overwhelmed. Wheezie was bobbing her head in time to the music, and James wondered if she weren’t more than a little unbalanced or even afflicted by dementia. Her childish innocence seemed less like a quirky personality and more like the sign of a mental illness, but since he knew nothing about the latter, he hesitated to form judgment over Milla’s sweet older sister.

Peering down his own row, James couldn’t help but notice the new spark of vitality in Willow’s eyes. Her face was shining with all the optimistic hopefulness of youth. She wore an attractive black dress with a cobalt blue scarf that brought color to her pale eyes. Her blonde hair shone with good health and was fastened into a chic knot at the base of her neck. Pink pearl earrings glowed softly against her cheeks, which were flushed by the cold air and by the proximity of Francis Fitzgerald (who was singing in a slightly sharp baritone two pews behind her).

At the conclusion of the hymn, Reverend Emerson led them in prayer and then invited Milla forward for the scripture reading. Her voice was clear throughout the entire recitation of Ecclesiastes 3, but when she reached verse twelve she paused. Wiping her eyes and nose with a tissue, she spoke with a tremor while reading, “That everyone may eat and drink, and find satisfaction in all his toil—this is the gift of God.”

Gillian, whose hair had taken on a shade akin to paprika since their dinner at Mamma Mia’s, sniffed loudly and then covered her entire face with a filmy handkerchief.

“Everything all right?” he whispered.

“Do you think Paulette was satisfied in
her
work, like that verse says? Do you think she realized what gifts
she
was given?” Gillian whimpered tearfully while Lucy patted her on the arm.

Milla finished her reading and then waited as Reverend Emerson offered Paulette’s family members the opportunity to speak words of remembrance. Since Milla was already standing close to the pulpit’s microphone, she introduced herself as “the middle sister” and then proceeded to tell an amusing childhood anecdote.

“As a young girl, Patty spent more time down the street than at our house. Our neighbor, Mrs. D., as we called her, loved to cook with Patty. Most girls my age were happy to set up lemonade stands or sell Girl Scout cookies for their first ventures into the business world, but not Patty. She wanted out of Natchez and while we were all spending our dimes at the movies or buying sodas and banana splits at the drug store, Patty was selling fancy cupcakes and tea cakes to all the neighborhood ladies.” Milla was lost in her memories, her gaze reaching over the heads of the congregation as she spoke of her sister with pride and a trace of awe. “She did exactly what she said she was going to do. Was in Paris by her eighteenth birthday. Some folks said she made a useful connection with one of the riverboat cooks, but however she got there, she never looked back. Even Mrs. D. never heard from her again, and that woman taught her everything she knew about baking. I do wonder what became of that sweet woman …”

Someone coughed discreetly in one of the pews in front, and Milla snapped out of her reverie and concluded her monologue by assuring those gathered there that Paulette had died doing the thing she was most passionate about. Then, her speech interrupted by a catch in her voice, she thanked everyone for coming and returned to her seat.

Chase was the next person to take the microphone. He too extolled his mother’s entrepreneurial success, but he made no references to her
tendresse
as a mother. In fact, his eulogy lacked any indication of intimacy. His voice was flat and expressionless, and his speech reminded James of a professor giving a lackluster lecture on twenty-first-century economics.

“Sounds like he’s givin’ a fiscal report to a board of directors,” Bennett whispered through a yawn.

“I think it shows poor taste to talk about how much money his mother’s last book made at a memorial service,” Lindy stated in disgust. “For crying out loud! Didn’t she bake him special cookies for his birthday or build magical gingerbread castles at Christmas? He must have
one
childhood memory when she did something special for him!”

Apparently not, for Chase sat down while the congregation exchanged befuddled glances. Chloe refused to speak, which she made clear by shaking her head and crossing her arms like a willful child, but when the minister focused his querying gaze on Wheezie, she hobbled up the carpeted steps to the pulpit unaided.

“From the moment she entered this world, Patty was a bossy one,” Wheezie said and pointed her finger at the bouquet of flowers that had been positioned where the coffin would have normally been situated. “That girl thought she was smarter than our whole town put together. Even Mama and Daddy were dumb hillbillies in her mind. Every day, she told me and Milla how she prayed to be told she was adopted. She hated us all and that ain’t no lie.”

Chase began to rise to his feet, but Chloe restrained him with both arms as the church audience sat up en masse with sudden interest. The members of the media who had been fortunate enough to find seating before the service began became instantly alert, mini recorders and small pads of paper held at the ready.

“And though she hated her family, the folks Patty hated even more were the mulattos. I know that’s not what you’re supposed to call them now, but that’s what we called them then, and there were plenty of mulattos in Natchez. I loved one of them. A man named Alberto Marcos. I would have married him and been happy for the rest of my days, but Patty ruined it. She made Al out to Mama and Daddy like he was the worst kind of scoundrel, but the only
truly
wicked person I ever knew was my own sister.”

Several members of the congregation gasped.

“I know it ain’t right to speak ill of the dead, but I’ve been holdin’ this in for too many years, and I want to tell you all that I ended up happy anyhow. Patty went to Paris as some man’s floozy, and then she came back and got famous right quick. Reckon she became a richer man’s kept woman.”

The reporters were scribbling furiously. James noticed Murphy and Lottie sitting side by side, listening with expressions bordering on rapture. James could practically sense Murphy spinning titles and headlines in her mind as Wheezie ruthlessly continued.

“I thought I could marry Al after we buried Mama and Daddy, but his heart turned hard toward our family and he married somebody else. He’s a widower now and I’m still sweet on him, even after all these years. I came to this town to offer Patty a chance to make things right, to tell Al she was wrong to judge him and lie about him, but she laughed in my face at the notion. I hope the good Lord forgives her, or I reckon she’s bakin’ cakes of hot coals for the devil right about now. ’Preciate y’all comin’ out. Thank you.”

Wheezie returned to her seat, her head held high and a grim smile on her face. James closed his gaping mouth and turned to Milla, who was staring at her older sister with horrified astonishment. Jackson covered his fiancée’s hand with his own and stared fixedly at the tops of his shoes.

Reverend Emerson was at a loss. James was certain that the minister had never presided over a eulogy speech such as Wheezie’s. His eyes raked the pew of family members with a searching look until his wife, who was seated near the organist, poked the woman in the side and the first few strains of “Amazing Grace” burst into the still air. The hymn was played in double-time, followed by a rather mechanical recitation of the Lord’s Prayer and a hasty benediction. Before James knew it, he found himself in the fellowship hall passing out slices of eggnog cake.

“Do you need help?” Lucy asked in a soft, concerned voice as she appeared at his side.

James nodded gratefully. “I don’t know what to say to people after a service like that.”

“I’ll chase away anyone from the media, if you’d like.” Lucy fixed a hostile glare in Murphy’s direction.

“That would be a relief, thank you. And I wanted to tell you that I appreciate your coming today. If I didn’t have the four of you behind me in moments like these …”

Lucy brushed his cheek with her fingers. The moment was fleeting, but filled with tenderness. “I’ll always care about you, James. No matter what else happens in our lives, you can depend on my friendship. That’s a promise.”

James placed a piece of cake in her hands. “And you can depend on mine too.”

Tears pooled in Lucy’s blue eyes, but she blinked them away and concentrated on spearing a triangle of cake onto her fork. Slipping the morsel between her lips, she inadvertently groaned, “
This
is so good!”

Echoes of similar declarations emitted from mouths across the hall. As coffee cups were refilled and people accepted seconds on cake, Milla unveiled Jackson’s painting of Paulette’s hands to
oohhs
and
ahhhs
from the crowd.

James edged others aside in order to view the work of art. Once again, he was amazed by his father’s ability to capture an individual’s complete persona by fashioning a pair of hands through deft brushstrokes and a unique blend of hues. Paulette’s were strong, determined, and graceful as they gripped the handles of a wooden rolling pin. The left-hand side of the canvas portrayed several petits fours decorated with prim and perfectly formed icing rosebuds, showcasing Paulette’s love of precision. Edging off the right side was a bowl of raw eggs with a collection of fractured shells that had been scattered into the deepest corner of the canvas where Jackson’s signature normally appeared. The jagged points and splintered bits of shell reminded the viewer of the Diva’s sharp tongue and harsh words.

And yet, Jackson had also illustrated a fragility in Paulette’s wrists—the blue and green veins traveling beneath the thin skin were a reminder of the woman’s mortality. He had not spared the viewer her wrinkled knuckles or the ugly mole on the back of her palm, but the dough was clearly subservient to Paulette’s will. Yet, the overall feeling James experienced while staring at the picture was that even though Paulette Martine was a woman of determination, her strength and intensity had rendered her unavoidably bitter and lonely.

“How does your daddy do it?” Lindy whispered to James. “It’s so
her
. A more fitting memorial than any words.”

“He truly has a
gift
,” Gillian agreed. “It’s like he paints
souls
through a pair of hands. And the energy that
radiates
from every work is different, as unique as the subjects themselves.
Spectacular!
No wonder Lindy’s mother can’t keep them in stock in her gallery.”

Scott and Francis plucked James on the sleeve and told them they were leaving in order to prepare for their midnight stakeout. After giving Milla sympathetic hugs, the pair headed for the door. However, Francis stopped short when he crossed Willow’s path and the two of them exchanged shy smiles and hushed conversation as if they were the only people in the room. On the other hand, James was sorry to watch Lottie wag an accusatory finger at Scott while adopting a very harpylike snarl. Murphy stood alongside
her protégée, glancing at her with maternal pride, and James instantly pushed through the throng in order to show solidarity to his employee, but by the time he got there the Fitzgerald twins had gone.

“You’re turning that girl into a shrew,” James growled at Murphy as Lottie threaded her way back to the buffet table. “Don’t you have a book to promote? Some slander to spread? An ambulance to chase?”

Putting on a wounded expression, Murphy gesticulated around the church. “This is
my
community too, and I’m here to report on its news. Besides, I saw Paulette on TV and I wasn’t going to miss a chance to sample one of her cakes. I guess baking unbelievable desserts runs in the family.” She accepted a wedge from Lottie. “This is my third sample, mind you. And speaking of promotion, you’ll be happy to hear that I’ll be in New York for the release of
The Body in the Bakery
. From there I’m going on a twelve-city tour, so you won’t have to watch me
chase ambulances
for months.”