The Funeral Dress (33 page)

Mr. Fulton talked on. “Preacher said that Mrs. Lane looked real pretty in her red dress, and he wanted you to know that. He said he had no idea you were such a talented seamstress. He’s even bringing a Polaroid camera so he can take a few snapshots of the bodies in the church to send back to Tempa.”

Emmalee stared ahead, her gaze locked on nothing specific.

The bell rang again at the back door. Emmalee shook and clutched the baby. “No,” she said, her eyes wide. “They said after the funeral.”

“Calm down,” Mr. Fulton said. “It’s probably Nolan.” He pulled the blanket back from Kelly Faye’s head and admired his grandchild. “You know, you got every right to tell your daddy about what’s going on here. He deserves to know. After all, he’s Kelly’s granddaddy too. Of course, out of respect for Leona and Curtis, it might be best to wait and tell him after the burial.”

Emmalee said nothing, Leona’s casket behind her.

Mr. Fulton went to open the kitchen door. “Come on in here, sir,” he said to Nolan.

Emmalee walked into the kitchen to find her father shaking Mr. Fulton’s hand. Instead of reeking of corn liquor and snuff, Nolan smelled good, like pine and fresh cedar. He had washed his face and put on a clean shirt. Emmalee had forgotten he was a very handsome man. She was surprised.

“Morning, Mr. Fulton,” Nolan said, not taking his eyes off his daughter. “You look real pretty, girl, like your mama.”

Nolan tipped his hat. Emmalee adjusted her wool skirt and fiddled with her sweater’s top button. She was undecided how much to tell her father.

Mrs. Fulton shoved the door open, slamming it against the wall. She stared at Nolan and then at Emmalee. Her jaw twitched and tightened, and she picked a piece of lint from the sleeve of her navy-blue dress.

“I guess I’ll start gathering the flowers,” she said, her
voice colored sharp. She spun around on her high heels and left the room.

“Poor Hester didn’t get much sleep,” Mr. Fulton said, “but it sure couldn’t be a prettier day. Cool and clear. Perfect for a funeral. Good thing too. Curtis told me once to make sure he was buried on a sunny day. Said if there was rain or snow on the ground, I was to keep his body in the fridge till the weather turned. This day, Curtis Lane, is for you.” He pointed out the kitchen window. “Of course, I’m not real surprised the Lord cleared the skies for Curtis.”

“Yes, sir,” Nolan said.

“Okay, you ready to give me a hand here?” Mr. Fulton slapped Nolan across the shoulder.

“Yes, sir.”

Emmalee jostled the baby in her arms as the men set about their work.

Mrs. Fulton came back in. “It’s about time.”

Curtis’s casket rested on top of the rolling cart draped with a red velvet skirt for the visitation. Mrs. Fulton nudged her way between the two men and yanked the cloth free. She moved to Leona’s casket and did the same.

The men wheeled the long shiny box from the living room. Nolan was extra careful not to scrape a wall or bump into a piece of Mrs. Fulton’s antique furniture. Mr. Fulton helped as best he could, guiding the front of the casket along, pressing his weight against it as it moved across the carpet. “There you go. There you go,” he encouraged as they pushed the casket into the kitchen and past the table and chairs. Emmalee could tell Nolan had done this many times before.

The concrete stoop sloped toward the drive. Nolan hurriedly positioned himself in front of the casket, then kept slow and steady as he guided Curtis’s casket onto the asphalt drive.

Mrs. Fulton scurried about carrying flowers from the living room to the drive. She piled as many arrangements as she could around and on top of the casket locked in place in the back of the first hearse. The scent was so sweet. Emmalee had never smelled so many flowers at one time, not even in the spring when the fields outside the holler were blooming full with wild honeysuckle and jasmine.

Nolan opened the door to the second hearse, the one Mr. Fulton had him bring over from the funeral home in Pikeville. This hearse was new, and the chrome trim shone bright in the morning sunlight. The wagon stood a full foot taller, and the rolling cart carrying Leona’s casket could not be adjusted any higher. Nolan shifted the weight of Leona’s casket onto his right shoulder. He bent his knees low and drew in a deep breath. He straightened his legs slowly, exhaling as he placed the corner of the casket onto the wagon’s floor. He crawled underneath it and did the same on the other side, taking another deep breath as he sucked in the strength needed for the task. He pushed the box forward. It slid off the cart and into the back of the hearse.

Mr. Fulton patted Nolan on the back. “Well, done, sir. We’ll get the rest of the flowers loaded up, and then we’ll all head over to the church. You and Emmalee take Miss Leona. We’ll drive Curtis.”

E
MMALEE

C
ULLEN
C
HURCH OF
C
HRIST

Emmalee scooted into the front seat of the hearse, holding the baby on her lap. Nolan pulled his shoulders back and gripped the wheel. “Here we go,” he said and turned right onto the street. He glanced in the mirror every few yards. “I can’t get too far ahead of Mrs. Fulton or she’ll go to flashing those headlights,” Nolan said.

“Not too surprised by that.” Emmalee could see Mrs. Fulton liked to keep everything to her way of thinking and doing.

“You look real nice, Emmalee,” Nolan said without looking at her.

“Ain’t once ever heard you say that.”

Nolan’s compliment sounded strange to Emmalee, but with Runt and Mettie scheming against her, she liked hearing it. Her father’s kindness offered some unexpected
comfort. And with Leona nearby, even sealed up tight in the back of the hearse, a calm washed over Emmalee.

“Never seen you looking so cleaned up neither,” Emmalee said.

“Never had a reason,” he said. Nolan stroked his clean-shaven chin.

Emmalee picked at the skin around her fingernail. She felt the tears coming again. She pinched her nose and stared straight ahead.

“You hear me? How’s the baby?”

“Good. Getting fat.”

“They grow like weeds once they get going,” Nolan said. “You look like you’re doing good. Sure got some pretty clothes.”

“They ain’t mine. Rachel’s. Mrs. Fulton’s pissed at me for wearing them.”

Nolan laughed and kissed Kelly’s head. Emmalee cracked the window. A burst of fresh air poured across her face. Nolan glanced in the rearview mirror.

“There ain’t too many days that bitch ain’t pissed at something. Like now. Shit, old woman, I ain’t going but five miles an hour. Quit flashing your damn lights.”

As they drove closer to the church, Emmalee picked harder at her finger till the cuticle bled. She held her thumb to her mouth and tasted blood.

“What’s wrong with you? They not feed you at Fulton’s?”

Emmalee dropped her hand. But she still picked at her finger where Nolan couldn’t see.

“Nolan,” she said. “I didn’t tell you about Billy before ’cause I didn’t want to ruin things between you and Mr.
Fulton. I figured you’d go off and do something—kind of like you did.”

Nolan eased his foot off the accelerator. “Billy going to do right by you?”

“I don’t think his mama would let him do
right
by me, even if he wanted to.” Emmalee pushed her index finger against her thumb. “Truth is, he don’t want a baby.”

Nolan glanced again in his mirrors. “Mr. Fulton going to do right by you?”

“You mean take me in, take care of me and Kelly?”

“Hell yeah, that’s what I mean.”

“Hey, you know how Mr. Fulton feels about cussing around the dead.” Emmalee pointed to the back.

Nolan kept his eyes on the road. “With you chewing on your finger I know you ain’t telling me something. Now spit it out.”

Emmalee hesitated, but for once, she believed her father was the only one left who could help her. She felt Leona behind her, but Leona was cold as stone and not going to be much help to her now.

“Runt and Mettie say they’re taking Kelly Faye.” Emmalee’s words strung together so tight she barely stopped to catch her breath. “They brought Mrs. Cain to the Fultons’ this morning. They’re thieves, like you said, Nolan. Thieves.” Emmalee commenced to rocking Kelly Faye. “Runt’s planning on taking her. Right after the funeral. He called the sheriff.”

Nolan’s anger swept through the air like an electrical current sparking and burning her skin. “That baby is yours.” He pounded his fist on the steering wheel. “What the hell is Doris Cain doing in our family business? She’s
been butting in where she don’t belong for too long. I swear that woman thinks she’s God Almighty. Shit.”

Nolan’s talk grew more fierce, and for the first time, Emmalee found her father’s anger reassuring. The hearse rolled on past the post office, and a couple of men standing out front stopped and saluted.

“You ain’t giving that baby to Runt and Mettie. How many times I have to tell you that. Like your damn head’s made of concrete or rock or something.”

“I’m scared it ain’t all that simple anymore.”

Nolan steered too fast into the church parking lot. The tires screeched as they made the turn. People gathered around the front of the sanctuary looked toward the road. Emmalee could see in the side mirror Mrs. Fulton flashing the wagon’s headlights off and on. Off and on. Off and on. They strobed faster and faster. Nolan shot down to the end of the drive. Emmalee clutched Kelly Faye to her so she wouldn’t bounce out of her arms.

“Shit,” Nolan said, steering the hearse to the church door and throwing it into park. “Hell, Emmalee, I dropped you right there at the Fultons’ door thinking you’d be able to make this right. Now I got to deal with Runt and that damn Doris Cain. Shit, girl.” Kelly Faye’s cries had grown shrill and Nolan held his hands to his ears. “Can’t you shut that thing up for a damn minute and let me think?”

Emmalee shoved the door open. “That thing’s name is Kelly Faye, you old sonofabitch.” She rushed up the brick stairs past a small gathering of men and women singing softly in front of the church. She slowed down as she stepped inside and scanned the room for Runt and Mettie and Mrs. Cain. When she didn’t see them, she hurried
deeper inside as one hymn rolled into another, the final note of the first blurring into the next. She hoped Nolan didn’t follow her.

Some women were already seated. Some whispered in their friends’ ears. Others held a handkerchief to their noses. Others smiled as if to offer some unspoken comfort to those around them. The men shook hands with other men and led their wives to an empty pew. Emmalee bent her shoulders forward and lowered her head, trying to melt away among the gathering crowd.

The walls were a creamy white, and the windows were clear, not all different colors like they were at the Baptist and Methodist churches in Cullen. Emmalee darted like a field mouse trying to find cover. She longed to be back in Red Chert, hugged tight there at the mountain’s base. At least there she understood the landscape.

Emmalee dropped her head against the baby’s soft crown and tried to hide behind the pink crocheted blanket while everyone settled in their seats and waited for the preacher to begin. She pretended to pray and wiggled her toe against the hole in her right boot. Cora and Mrs. Whitlow sat three rows from the front among the other collar makers collected there. Mrs. Whitlow’s hair looked even taller today, and a shiny gold pin shaped like a butterfly was clipped near the top. It looked to Emmalee as though it might flutter away from its well-teased perch. Cora waved. Her eyes were red and wet, but Emmalee pretended she did not notice and scooted farther down the hard wooden pew.

Most of the lapel makers sat on the other side of the church, also near the front. Pattern makers, machinists,
even the boys working on the loading dock found a place in the Cullen Church of Christ. And every woman and man from Tennewa held a finished collar in her or his hand. Emmalee wept at the sight of it all.

Wilma and Easter left their seats and took a spot on either side of Emmalee. Easter took Kelly Faye and held the baby on her lap. She whispered in Emmalee’s ear. “I sit with those women every day. Much rather be back here with you two.” Emmalee relaxed a bit with Wilma and Easter there. She even rested her head on Easter’s shoulder.

Mr. Clayton and his wife sat on the pew two rows in front of her, next to Dr. Greer and his wife. Mrs. Greer looked to be holding a basket filled with fresh baked muffins, and Emmalee’s mouth watered imagining a taste of the sugary treats. A few moments later, Mrs. Cain and her husband walked down the center aisle and took their place behind the collar makers, and Emmalee’s stomach grew ill. She wrapped both her hands around Easter’s thick forearm and snuggled closer to her body.

“You’ll be okay, hon,” Easter told her and patted her hand.

Sissie and her mama stepped into the church late and filled the space next to Wilma. Emmalee was glad to see them. Sissie reached across Wilma and handed Emmalee a red carnation. “Been thinking of you,” she said and faced the preacher, who had taken his place at the front of the church.

Emmalee did not see Runt and Mettie. Still she hunkered against Easter.

The preacher opened his Bible, and the room fell
quiet. A few women could be heard stifling their tears. Even Mr. Clayton coughed and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. His wife, who held her purse clutched tight in her lap, cut a stare toward her husband. He placed his arm around her shoulder, but she turned her back to him.

“We are gathered here to celebrate the lives of Leona and Curtis Lane, beloved members of the Cullen Church of Christ,” Brother Herd said. He looked more like a grown man today in his dark suit and dark tie. “It wasn’t but a few days ago Curtis and Leona were headed here for Wednesday-night supper. Curtis had already chopped a pile of wood for us earlier in the morning. Leona had made another one of her famous hash brown casseroles to feed our bodies.” He closed his eyes and lifted his face upward a bit. “I can still smell that casserole. Can’t you?”