The Funeral Dress (16 page)

“I guess so,” Leona answered. “You forget sometimes that somebody’s always worse off.”

Curtis nodded and guided the truck through a patch of thick mud. A bank of low cedars scratched the sides of the pickup as he maneuvered farther down the narrow drive. A dog ran toward them, barking and lunging at the truck’s rolling tires.

“Don’t hit him,” Leona said, pointing to the animal looking more like a skeleton wrapped in a loose hairy coat than a family pet.

“He’ll get out the way,” Curtis reassured her. “Poor thing, wonder when he was fed last. Sit tight while I take the box to the door.” Curtis dipped his hand into the box. “You got a bone in there by any chance, Ona?”

Leona tugged on Curtis’s sleeve. “You ain’t funny. Listen, you be careful around that mangy thing. Something that hungry might take a bite out of even your scrawny leg.” She rolled down her window and leaned forward, keeping a close watch on Curtis as he walked toward the house.

Curtis carried the box in one hand and with the other swatted at the dog trotting behind him, nipping at his every step. The dog circled Curtis as he knocked on the door and waited for an answer. Curtis looked back at Leona, who motioned for him to try again. With a tight fist, he knocked harder.

“Hello. Anyone home?” he called. “Curtis Lane here, from Cullen Church of Christ.” Curtis waited a minute and knocked again. “Got a Christmas box for you. If you want, I can leave it right here outside the door.”

Leona waved at Curtis and pointed at the dog.

“Sure hate for some animal to get into it is the only thing,” Curtis said, raising his voice. “Maybe I can put it here on top of this refrigerator.” He looked to Leona for further direction. She held up her hands, unsure of what to do next.

As he turned to walk away, the door opened, only a sliver at first, and then wide enough to reveal a young woman full with child. Her bare, skinny legs were visible beneath a thin cotton dress, and she yanked on a sweater too small for her swollen body. Her hair hung wild and loose from a bun pinned to the back of her head. Her eyes were deep-set and her cheeks, hollow. She looked more ghostlike than human, more child than adult, but Leona fixed her stare on the woman’s pregnant belly instead.

It had been nearly five years since Curtis, Jr., died in
Leona’s arms, and Curtis’s promises of another child had never come true. Every month she watched for her bleeding to stop, but every month, her bleeding came, regular and steady. She said nothing to Curtis of her hopes and disappointments, but she was growing afraid the Lord might never trust her with another baby. Dr. Greer told her it had nothing to do with trust. Her uterus was fierce or angry. She couldn’t remember exactly what he called it, but she knew what it meant.

Leona had grown so tired of the disappointment and wondered if that was why she found herself avoiding her husband’s arms these days. She spoke shortly too often and her temper flared whenever Curtis wanted to take her to bed and love her like he had when they were newlyweds. The only reason Leona went along with him most times was the lingering hope that another baby would take root inside her. All she knew was she’d never have a family of her own.

Curtis said something to the pregnant girl standing there in front of him, and she opened the door a little wider. He took the box from the top of the refrigerator and disappeared inside. He was only gone a moment, and then he stepped back to the porch. He tipped his hat, and the young woman scooted backward into the darkened house. The dog sat by the front door and watched Curtis as he walked to the truck.

Snow fell on his shoulders, and he held his hands open wide and smiled at Leona. A single tear ran down Leona’s cheek, but she wiped it dry before Curtis could see.

E
MMALEE

R
ED
C
HERT

The rain came shortly after Nolan left the house, striking hard against the metal roof. Comforting at first, the noise grew deafening as the storm strengthened and settled between the walls of the holler. What remained of the tar paper nailed to the house’s exterior offered little protection from the wet weather, and the plywood cladding turned a full shade darker as the heavy rains persisted.

Emmalee was tired and worn out, but the preacher’s visit had left her shaky and too anxious to sleep. Besides, she was eager to get back to Old Lick and start on Leona’s dress. She didn’t have much time if she was going to have it ready for Mr. Fulton by Sunday. She wanted it perfect.

Emmalee paced the length of her room, staring at what was once a pea-sized hole in her right boot that had spread wide across the toe. She figured she walked near a mile in these boots just this morning waiting for Nolan to
return with the pickup. She walked to the window, but there was no sign of him.

She peeked into the front room and called his name even though she knew he was not there. His cot was empty, and the fire in the stove had burned out during the night. The room smelled of ash and stale greens and onions. There was no coffee warming, and her father’s bottle was sitting empty on the table. There hadn’t been much in it last Emmalee saw it, but what was there was now gone. Emmalee lifted the blanket covering the front window and crept about the house as she had when she was a little girl, worried Nolan might be watching from nearby, hidden on the wooded slope.

He used to hide out there often, especially when Mrs. Cain came from the county welfare office to check on Emmalee’s condition. She would stand firm outside the door waiting for Nolan to answer. She threatened to wait all day if need be. “I see your truck, Nolan Bullard. You’d come out and show your face if you were a real man.” Emmalee sat crouched behind the door while Mrs. Cain hurled more threats and pounded on the door.

“Nolan Bullard, quit playing these games with me. I know you’re in there. Don’t make me go back to town and get the sheriff. I’ll do it. You know I will.”

Emmalee had grown scared then and opened the door. Mrs. Cain’s talk had thundered so big that Emmalee expected to find a giant standing in front of her, not a wrinkled woman who stood no bigger than a child and looked as though she might blow away in a strong gust of wind. She held a sack full of groceries in her hands and wore a sweet expression.

“Hello, Emmalee. How are you?” Mrs. Cain asked, her voice much softer. Emmalee was surprised this woman knew her name. “Your daddy here?” she asked and pushed her way into the house, her pretty pink dress swaying back and forth when she talked.

Emmalee looked toward the mountain.

“All right then.” Mrs. Cain set the groceries on the Formica-topped table along with a stack of coupons. “Your daddy can use these like money at the grocery store in town as long as he’s not spending them on cigarettes or beer. So there’s no reason not to have some decent food in this house.”

Mrs. Cain rapped the lid of a large jar filled with collards and chicken necks. “Is this all you got to eat, honey, this jar of greens? Lord, no telling how long that slop’s been sitting there.” Mrs. Cain muttered something to herself and tipped the grocery sack in front of Emmalee. “There’s a package of clean panties in the bottom of the bag. Matching undershirts, too. Those are just for you. Mrs. Tate, your teacher, said you might be needing them.” Mrs. Cain held Emmalee’s chin in her hand. “I’ll be back to check on you,” she had said with a sad face and walked out the door, tossing orders for Nolan in the air, her voice growing shrill and high-pitched. “You got to take care of this child, you hear me, Nolan Bullard? And for crying out loud, wash her clothes.”

Nolan had responded by throwing the coupons in the stove and taking his belt to Emmalee’s bottom. Emmalee could feel the sting of the leather all these years later as she pulled a couple of dry biscuits from a tin box and tied them in a yellow cloth. She groused around the
kitchen until she found a piece of cured ham Nolan must have missed. She untied the cloth’s knot and added the salty meat to her pack. Emmalee hadn’t eaten much since Leona died, and the baby drained her of what little she had. This morning she was feeling hungry and weak, leaving her hands shaking even when she slipped them inside her jeans pockets.

Emmalee buttoned her coat and went to fetch the baby, who was starting to fidget. She feared Kelly would want to suckle, and her breasts were more red and tender than before. Lately, she found herself growing angry every time the baby wanted to feed. She had hoped Doris Cain would come to the house all these years later and check on Kelly Faye, maybe bring some store-bought formula and a couple of bottles. Emmalee heard the county did that sort of thing. Perhaps she had come, and Nolan had sent her away, too, like he had Runt and Mettie. Emmalee swaddled the baby tight in the pink crocheted blanket and hurried out the front door with her food sack looped around her wrist.

The rain was falling lightly, and another thick, white mist had settled among the treetops. The last of the fall’s orange and red leaves, brilliant in their death, had dropped to the ground and were awaiting their slow, fertile burial. A lone rosette of shepherd’s purse poked its flowery head through the fall’s debris. Any other day, Emmalee would have stopped to admire its lobed leaves and delicate white blossoms, an unexpected spot of color during these colder months. But she walked on, cautious not to kick the leaves with the tips of her boots, something she had loved to do as a little girl. She did not want
Nolan spotting her tracks. If he came home sober, he would follow her path down the muddy drive and onto the road winding its way toward the foot of the holler. She shifted the baby to her other arm and walked on down Red Chert Road. A wood thrush grew persistent in his morning song, and Emmalee focused on his warbled notes and the full rests falling between them as she walked on toward her uncle’s house.

Runt and Mettie couldn’t have a baby of their own no matter how hard they went at it, and Emmalee figured maybe there was some truth to what Nolan said. Maybe they were fishing for hers. Nolan told her they’d steal Kelly Faye straight out if they could, but Emmalee never believed all of that. Runt had been good to her when she was little, although she never saw much of him anymore.

The house Runt built after marrying Mettie was three times the size of Nolan’s. It sat on a low rise about a hundred yards from the main road, and his land reached all the way to the top of Pine Mountain. There was no tar paper nailed to this house, and it was painted a clean white with a sturdy porch stretching across its front. A stone path was set in the ground all the way to the broad porch steps. A large twig wreath decorated with fake birds was fastened to the door. Emmalee stood and stared up at the house and the odd little birds nesting there. She hesitated and scooted backward, suddenly unsure of what she was doing at Runt’s. She thought about turning around, running back to her father’s or maybe all the way to Old Lick.

“Emmalee, hey girl,” Runt called from an open door.

Emmalee jumped hearing her name but relaxed when
she saw her uncle hurrying toward her, a wide grin on his face, his arms outstretched. Emmalee had not expected to find Runt home this time of day, but she imagined the rain had kept him off the mountain and away from the mill. She was relieved he was there and leaned into her uncle’s embrace. Runt wrapped his arms around her and the baby and held them close.

“Look at you, Emmalee, a mama. My. My. You’re looking more like Cynthia Faye every time I see you,” he said.

“I wish Mama was here,” Emmalee whispered back.

Mettie called to Runt from inside the house, wanting to know who had come to the door. Emmalee stood quiet and looked up at her uncle.

“Come on. Let’s get you and the baby out of this wet cold.” Runt kept his arm around his niece’s shoulder and led her inside. The house was tidy and clean and smelled like wild jasmine. Emmalee savored the sweet scent. She took another full breath and held it in her lungs. No jasmine had bloomed in this valley for months.

“Come on in. Sit down,” Runt said and pulled her deeper into the room. A blue sofa and two cushy-looking chairs covered in a bright floral fabric consumed most of the space. The furniture looked new, like it had come straight from the store, and Emmalee hesitated to sit for fear she might dirty one of Mettie’s cushions.

Nolan had never allowed her to visit her uncle’s house. He had warned her about coming with such venom in his eyes, Emmalee believed she was talking to a devilish haint, not her own father. Through the years, she had ignored much of what Nolan had told her about Runt and Mettie, but never this. She always feared what
he would do if he found her there. Even today, her hands trembled some.

“You look beat,” Runt said. “You okay?”

Emmalee bounced the baby in her arms. She tried to smile, although she wasn’t sure if Runt had noticed the effort. Mettie walked into the living room and gasped. She cupped both hands over her mouth, and her eyes grew wide. “Emmalee,” she said, drawn out and kind.

“Go on, sit,” Runt repeated. Mettie kept her hands to her mouth. She stared at Kelly Faye, and a small smile pushed its way free. With her hand, Emmalee brushed the seat of her pants and sat on the sofa as her uncle had instructed. She looked at Mettie, hoping she had done right.

“Mettie, hon, why don’t you get Emmalee some juice?” Runt said.

Mettie nodded. She stood a moment longer before turning for the kitchen. Emmalee and Runt didn’t speak while Mettie opened and shut cabinets and clanked glasses together in the next room. She returned a moment later with a fresh glass of apple juice and set it on the table at the end of the sofa. Emmalee adjusted the baby on her lap and held the juice to her lips. It was cool and sweet on her throat. She gulped it down. It left her stomach feeling full and a little sick, but she wanted more. Mettie offered to fetch her another glass while keeping her stare fixed on the baby in Emmalee’s arms.

“Why you here, Em?” Runt asked. “I know this ain’t a social call. You need something? Something for the baby? Are you two all right?”