The Funeral Dress (20 page)

“Remember, Leona, this is between you and me. Don’t want to be making the other Tennewa women jealous, or we might not ever meet production.” Mr. Clayton winked, revealing fine lines feathering from his eyes. “Can you keep a secret?”

“Yes, sir. I can keep a secret.”

E
MMALEE

O
LD
L
ICK

Emmalee woke to find Wilma and Easter standing in front of the refrigerator, cleaning out jars of food that were sure to spoil. They were talking real soft, but as soon as they spied Emmalee walking down the hall, they rushed to her side and guided her to the sofa. One examined her binding. The other kissed her forehead, checking for fever.

Wilma sat beside Emmalee and stroked her hair.

“Is this the dress you been working on, hon? The one for Leona?” Wilma asked and pointed to a piece of damask folded across the back of the metal folding chair.

“Yes’m,” Emmalee answered. She pulled her feet up on the sofa, and Wilma adjusted the yellow afghan around Emmalee’s legs.

Easter stood on the other side of the living room holding the front of the crimson dress in her hands. It looked
small against her wide hips and broad shoulders, and Emmalee worried about its fit. Leona was a more trim woman, she reassured herself. Besides, Mr. Fulton said he could make most anything work.

“I thought the color would look real pretty with Leona’s hair,” Emmalee said.

“It sure will. I never seen a piece of cloth quite like this. It’s beautiful. Where’d you get it? I know you didn’t find it here in Cullen.” Wilma motioned for Easter to bring the fabric pieces closer.

Emmalee confessed she had found the damask among Leona’s sewing. Most of it had already been cut for another purpose. “A woman wearing fancy clothes come by the other day looking for
slipcovers
. I ain’t sure what those are, but I got a strong feeling Leona’s dress was part of it. I know it was wrong taking some of it, but it was so pretty.” Emmalee explained the young woman in her high-heeled shoes had talked ugly about Leona. “She made me so mad, I guess I didn’t care about cutting up her material. You think she’ll come hunting for it?”

Easter and Wilma looked at each other and laughed. “I imagine so, but she’s sure going to have to dig deep to find it,” Easter said and laughed a little louder. The lump on her neck weighed heavy on her vocal cords and left her voice sounding raw and hoarse sometimes, particularly when she laughed real strong.

“I always envied Leona’s hair,” Wilma said as she pushed her own from her face. “It was such a pretty white, not like my mousy gray. It started turning that way when she was no more than forty. This crimson is absolutely perfect for her. It’s a deep red, not too flashy or bright. Perfect
for the occasion in my opinion. And it’ll look a whole lot better on her than on a sofa, that’s for sure.”

“On a sofa?” Emmalee asked.

“That’s what a slipcover is, hon, kind of like a dress for a sofa or chair. And nobody was better at making them than Leona.”

“Cora makes them too,” Easter said.

“You know, Emmalee, in all seriousness,” Wilma added, “you ought to get Cora to teach you how to make them sometime. You can make good money with a skill like that.”

Emmalee stared at the damask. “Well, I got to have the dress done by tomorrow. Visitation starts Sunday afternoon. I think Mr. Fulton really wanted to get things going today, but he didn’t think he’d get the bodies ready in time.”

“I bet the whole town turns out for Leona and Curtis. Last I talked to the preacher,” Easter said, “he was even considering holding the service at the school gymnasium. I told him Curtis wouldn’t like that. He was baptized at the church, and he’d want his funeral there too. I told him we’d need to make it work.” Easter paused and cleared her throat. “I got to be honest with you, hon, the preacher told me you were making the dress. I can’t lie to you. That’s why we come up here. Thought you might need some help with it, what with the baby in tow and all.”

Emmalee twisted her lips. “You didn’t trust me either?”

“That’s not what Easter meant, Emmalee.” Wilma patted Emmalee’s hand. “But I’m not going to lie to you either. The preacher was a little worried about the dress. You
know, what with Leona being older and it being a funeral service.”

“I bet he was.” Emmalee’s voice turned sharp and defensive. “What would a girl like me know about making anything
fine
?”

“He means well, hon,” Easter said. She sat on the sofa next to Emmalee. As Easter’s body sunk deep into the cushioned seat, Emmalee tipped toward her. “I don’t think it was ’cause you come from Red Chert. Look at me. I come from Cloverdale Loop. It ain’t no better.”

Emmalee liked Easter being next to her.

“I think the preacher was really shaken up by the Lanes dying the way they did,” Easter said. “I think if you get down to it, he feels responsible, seeing how they were coming to church supper. He’s convinced if Curtis hadn’t wore himself out chopping wood all day, wood for the church, he would have handled the road better. He only wants to do right by them. That’s all. He’s young, too, hon, not much older than you. He’s never been through anything like this, and he really looked to Curtis as a father. You understand?”

“I understand he come by the house. Tried to talk me out of making it.”

“I heard that, too,” Easter admitted.

“Nolan told him I had every right to make this dress.”

“And you do,” Wilma said. “As long as Mr. Fulton agrees.”

“But the preacher said something about the baby and sinning, and I don’t know what all.” Emmalee chewed on the tip of her nail.… “He got Nolan real worked up.”

Easter wrapped her arm around Emmalee. “When
you’re young, sometimes you see everything black and white, tough to find the gray in life. Preacher hadn’t found the gray yet. Give him time. He’ll see it ’fore long.” Emmalee dropped her head on Easter’s thick, soft shoulder.

Emmalee did understand how much it hurt when you felt responsible for someone’s passing. Nolan had reminded her too often that
mothering
was what wore out his Cynthia Faye. She grew frail, he said, from tending to Emmalee and had nothing left to fight the cancer.

“You know, I ain’t going to lie to you while we’re talking about this,” Wilma said. “Some of the older women in the church were putting pressure on the preacher. They don’t know you like we do. All they know is your daddy and that you got this baby on your own. Don’t pay them no mind though. I just don’t want you to be surprised if you hear talk.”

Emmalee nodded, the top of her head rubbing against Easter’s goiter. “Heard it all before.”

“I know,” Easter whispered. “I know it, too. And I know it hurts.”

Emmalee stretched her arm around Easter’s full tummy. Easter pulled her closer.

“I got the front and back of the dress cut and pinned late yesterday.” Emmalee spoke real soft. “I spent most of the evening working on the sleeves and collar. Took more time than I expected, but they’re pretty much done. Need to set them in place is all.”

“Need any help with that?” Wilma asked, stepping across the room to the sewing table. “Or placing the hem? What about a zipper?”

“Mr. Fulton said I don’t need to worry with a zipper or nothing like that. I ain’t ever worked one.”

Easter laughed again, and Emmalee grew tickled as her head bounced up and down against Easter’s stomach.

Wilma held one of the finished sleeves in her hand. “What’s this here, hon?” she asked and pointed to a narrow blue band sewn to the end of the cuff, every stitch small and perfect. A cream-colored lace was set underneath the blue, its scalloped edge peeking behind the band of color.

Emmalee eased off the sofa and moved next to Wilma. “That cotton there’s from one of Curtis’s work shirts. I thought the touch of blue would remind Miss Leona of the sky up here on Old Lick. And I thought she should have some of Curtis close to her.”

Wilma squinted and drew the collar closer. “I ain’t got my glasses. Tell me what’s this here?”

“Hang on there a minute,” Easter said. She straightened her arms and pushed the palms of her hands into the sofa cushion. She rocked back and forth and lifted herself onto her feet. “Let me see that, Wilma. What are you talking about?”

“Look a here, at this detail work the girl’s done?”

Easter pulled the damask from Wilma’s hands. “Oh my heavens, those are needles and thread woven like a vine. I’ve never seen anything so delicate, so beautiful. Where’d you learn to sew like this, hon? I sure didn’t teach you this in Home Economics.”

“That’s not so,” Emmalee giggled. “I did learn some of the basic stitching from you and a little bit my mama
showed me when I was real small. But mostly Leona. She was teaching me things here and there. Said I needed to know more than stitching collars together.”

Emmalee explained how Leona would lean over her shoulder and correct her hand as she learned a new stitch. They had sat side by side in the sewing room at Tennewa while the other women settled on the picnic tables outside. Emmalee remembered holding a wooden hoop in her left hand, a square of thick cotton cloth stretched taut between its frames. With the needle in her right, she’d prick the fabric and pull it up from behind.

“Run the thread over here and push the needle through,” Leona would say, “and then bring it back up one more time but without taking your hand to the back of the hoop. See here,” Leona had said as she guided Emmalee’s hand. “That’s a stem stitch. Seems real simple, don’t it. Go on and take this home with you and practice. Remember, every stitch needs to be of equal length and spaced even. You can use this stitch to outline. And it’s perfect for making the stems of flowers. That’s how it got its name.”

Emmalee smiled big as she thought of Leona sitting next to her in the sewing room. “But I ain’t done with the detail work. I got a few more things to add.”

Wilma studied the sleeve some more. “What’s this here underneath the blue?”

“Oh, I found that in the other bedroom there.” Emmalee pointed down the hall. No one knew of her coming to live with Leona and Curtis. It had been a secret, but she knew that was about to change. She had been afraid of Nolan finding out about her leaving. She still worried
when she thought of it, even with the Lanes lying stiff and cold over at Fulton’s.

“That’s a bit of lace from an old pillow sitting on the bed in there. Hope it was okay to take it apart.” Emmalee explained her work, moving her hands in the air as if she was sewing with a needle and thread. “I took it from the bottom and stitched the pillow back together, can’t really tell it’s missing.”

Wilma walked to the bedroom, and Easter followed right behind her. Standing in the open doorway, Wilma pulled on a tissue tucked underneath her sleeve and wiped a tear spilling from her eye. “This room. All of this was for you, Emmalee. For you and the baby?”

Emmalee nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Lord, Easter, do you see all this Leona has done?”

Easter sidled past Wilma and into the room. She stood in front of the crib as if she were admiring a sleeping baby. “Look at this crib all made up so pretty. And the curtains. And the rocking chair. Oh sweet Jesus. It’s all so beautiful. Leona waited a lifetime for this nursery.”

Wilma turned around and faced the framed photograph of Leona, Curtis, and Curtis, Jr., hanging on the other side of the hall.

“Oh, Easter, look at this.” Wilma reached for Emmalee’s hand. “Leona never did get over losing that boy. Don’t think I would have done much better if I’d lost one of mine.”

“How’d it happen?” Emmalee asked.

“Lord, I thought everybody in town knew about this,” Easter said. “But I guess you was only a little thing when
it happened.” With the tip of her finger, Easter reached out and touched the baby behind the glass. “Curtis, Jr.’s dying was awful. Just awful. Leona birthed him all by herself, right back there.” She nodded toward the bedroom at the end of the hall. “He was a tiny thing. Didn’t live long. Died in her arms.”

Easter sniffled, and Wilma handed her another clean tissue drawn from inside the sweater’s sleeve. “After years of trying, Dr. Greer told her she couldn’t have another. Leona only grew worse after that. Sadder. Meaner,” Wilma said, twisting the tissue between her fingers. “I remember the baby’s funeral like it was yesterday. Curtis carrying Leona in his arms. He was so brokenhearted, but I’m not sure Leona ever saw that. She was hurting too bad to see much of anything but her own pain.”

“We’d all been pretty close up to then,” Easter said, “but after Curtis, Jr., died like he did, everything changed.”

“Can you imagine, Emmalee, how heartbroken you’d be if that sweet baby of yours was taken from you like that? In an instant?” Wilma asked.

Emmalee remembered the look in Leona’s eyes when she held Kelly Faye in the hospital only hours after she was born. Leona had seemed drawn to the baby in a way Emmalee did not share or understand. She had felt jealous, guilty even, for not knowing how to imitate Leona’s expression. Now she stared at the baby in the picture, his face perfect, and thought of Kelly Faye’s.

Wilma took Emmalee’s hand in hers. “I do know if it hadn’t been for her factory job, Leona might never have gotten out of that bed. She came back to work three days after Curtis’s funeral.”

“Three days,” Emmalee said.

“Three days,” Wilma repeated. “Mr. Clayton told her to take as much time as she needed. But there she was, sewing collars. She did it, I guess, because it was what she needed to do. I think a lot of women judged her for that though.”

Easter nodded. “I’d be lying if I told you I didn’t think it was odd at the time. I ain’t got no kids of my own like Wilma, but after the accident Leona worked harder and longer than anybody else at Tennewa. When she wasn’t working at the factory, she kept herself locked up here in this trailer sewing night and day, making them slipcovers.”

She stepped to Leona’s sewing table, piled with fabric. “I heard she took in so much work she never had a day to rest, not even Sundays. Some around here thought that was a sin, too. Probably some would still hold that up against her. Why she did it? For what? I really don’t know. It was like she couldn’t stop herself, like a drunk with his liquor.”