The Quaker Café (10 page)

             
A drum roll began in the background, softly at first, but gaining momentum. ”We are CONFIDENT that while your father is absent from the body, HE…IS…PRESENT… WITH…THE…LORD. Amen.”

          
Pop, pop, blam blam blam.

        “Amen” was raised in unison from the black congregation.

        “Let the people say, AMEN,” Reverend Broadnax repeated.

         “AMEN.” 

         Liz joined in with a few respectful “Amens” from the white gallery.

          “Let the church praise the Lord and echo to the ceiling our belief that Corbett Kendall now sits with the Lord
. Are you CONFIDENT, Brethren? Say AMEN.”
Blam

         “Amen” poured out from the black side of the aisle and with less enthusiasm from the white parishioners, who obviously weren’t quite so confident
. Liz noticed Reverend Morgan mouthing the words, but without much fervor. Miss Mary Law didn’t look confident one bit.

      
   The Reverend Broadnax and the drummer were now involved in a duet they practiced Sunday after Sunday. The drummer knew when to come in, and the Reverend knew when to let him.

“It has not always been a good time
for us here in Cedar Branch.” The Reverend lowered his voice to a softer pitch. “We have suffered some bad days here in our little  town.”

Scattered “yeses” arose.

“There were days when a man was judged by the color of his skin, instead of the content of his character.”

As a tense hush blanketed both sides of the aisle, Liz could sense a new level of discomfort.

“We all remember days of struggle, days of hardship—days when we failed. Yes, we FAILED. We have failed to demonstrate the compassion and love due our brothers and sisters of both races.”

No one said a word. Even the music had stopped.

      
“But brothers and sisters, I stand here today to tell you the Judge was a fair man. He recognized injustice. He stood up to criticism. He stood up to controversy. And he stood before God and man to do what was right.”

Now the drummer was
back in the game:
pop, pop.

In the front row Liz could see Miss LuAnne and Miss Ellie dabbing their eyes with handkerchiefs. Maggie sat in front of Liz with her shoulders squared and her emotions intact.

        “And I have more good news, Maggie. Your father
, the Judge, did not walk up the golden steps to meet his Savior with any regrets. He was not bent over with his face to the ground. He stood straight and tall. Your father knew when he met his maker that he had served his Lord, his God with all his heart, with all his mind, and all his soul.” 

         
Blam blam blam.

The percussion instruments were again a part of the game plan as the Reverend launched into a series of “Hallelujahs” and “
Amens.” 

“Cedar Branch is
a better place, and we as individuals are better people because of Judge Corbett Marshall Kendall.”

     “Hallelujah” echoed through the black side of the church.

     “Yes, Praise Jesus, he is with his Maker.” 

      The drummer was now alternating the cymbals by lightly feathering them with wire brushes until the minister reached a crescendo.

       “Let not your heart be troubled Maggie
.” 

       
Blam.

        “Let not your heart be troubled, friends.”

        
Blam.

        
“Let not your heart be troubled, citizens of Cedar Branch. Let not your heart be troubled, North Carolina.”

        
The keyboard joined in with the cymbals and shouts of “No, No.”

          Liz noted that Reverend
Morgan did look somewhat troubled, however, and Miss Mary Law was most definitely troubled.  

       “
For I go and prepare a place for you in my Father’s mansion, and I will come again and receive you to Myself, that where I am, there you may be also
.”

       “Hallelujah” poured out from the black congregation.

       After a loud chorus of “Amen,” he stopped abruptly.

       
Knowing that he had both the capability and reputation for preaching for an hour non-stop, Liz was surprised. The saxophone player rose and three members of the choir stepped to the front of the church and joined the keyboard in a chorus of the gospel song “On My Way to Heaven.”

         Some of the foot-tapping and hand-clapping appeared to be coming from the white side of the aisle
. Liz was very sure that no one in the Methodist Church had ever tapped a foot inside the sanctuary up until that day. At the end of the song there was generous applause from one half of the church and polite applause from the other; Liz felt that the wheels of community had been greased a bit. It was a beginning.

       When the song reached its finale, Reverend
Morgan rose and almost tripped in an effort to regain control of the podium. Reverend Broadnax acquiesced and respectfully withdrew to his seat.

         Without another word Reverend
Morgan seemed intent on reminding everyone that this was his church: “First Corinthians, 15:51,” he thundered out as loudly as his voice allowed. “
Behold, I tell you a mystery; We shall not all sleep, but we shall all be changed.” 

        
And that, Liz thought, might have been the most profound statement of the service.     

        Reverend
Morgan then nodded firmly to the funeral home director who approached the front of the church to begin the task of removing the casket. A member of the Jerusalem Baptist Choir rose and in quiet velvet voice began a slow
a cappella
rendition of “I’ll Fly Away.”

         At first it was very soft as the casket was rolled down the aisle
. Maggie stood and turned to wait for the usher, then leaned across the pew and gave Liz a hug.   “Thank you,” she whispered in her ear.

         She gave a similar hug to Billie; Liz’s eyes began to water
. Maggie and the first rows were escorted out, and more of the choir joined in the chorus as the tempo picked up.

           
Once outside, Billie and Liz put their arms around each other’s waists. Through the speakers they could hear that the keyboard, drums, and saxophone were all now involved in a zippy rendition of the song. People stood in silence to hear the final three verses as the casket was loaded onto the wagon.

          “Boy,” Billie leaned into Liz
. “I want that choir at my funeral.”

           Still a bit choked up, Liz couldn’t speak
. The church emptied and the entourage followed the horse drawn carriage back up the street to the family cemetery behind Cottonwoods.

           At the cemetery Reverend
Morgan provided a few brief words as Maggie placed the first of several single confederate roses on the top of the casket. Liz was close enough to hear her whisper, “Good-bye, Daddy. I hope I got it right.” 

          Then she turned and walked back to Cottonwoods with the legal power and political junkies following her. The mantle had been passed.

Chapter Nine

When Liz walked into the Red Cross building the next morning
her secretary, Debbie Bradshaw, was busy with her brightly painted fingernails dancing around the keyboard.

“New dress?” Liz asked
as she sat down beside Debbie to review the weekly schedule.

             
“Yeah, my ex’s new wife gave it to me.” Debbie gave her a big toothy grin. “Like it?” With a thumb on each shoulder of the dress, she showed it off and fluttered her fingers.

“Very nice,” Liz knew before she asked the next question that the answer would be good
. “You mean to tell me you get clothes from your ex-husband’s new wife?”

             
“Sure, we’re good friends. I gave her my husband as a hand-me-down and she hands-me-down her clothes.” Then without missing a beat she added, “I got the best end of the deal.”

This woman made Liz laugh at the beginning of every day
. Tall, with long shapely legs that got a second look in most restaurants, Debbie was upbeat despite the on-going soap opera in her life. She was at her desk at eight on the dot every morning, took each of her breaks to the minute in order to get her cigarette fix, and walked out the door at exactly five to begin her afternoon routine with her two teenage children.

             
“So tell all,” Debbie ordered. “I’m dying to hear the details about the funeral.”

             
“There’s not so much to tell,” Liz said.

             
“Are you kidding?  It’s the headlines. Lookie here.”  She whipped out the
Raleigh News and Observer
, or “The Disturber,”
as she chose to call it, with the picture of Maggie on the front page as the casket was carried down the front steps. “I looked for you. Figured you were there in the background someplace, but didn’t see your picture.”

             
“I wasn’t the main attraction by a long shot,” Liz said.

             
“Lots of bigwigs, I bet, from all over the state?”

             
“Lots of them,” Liz said.

             
The phone rang and Debbie picked it up in a smooth transition. “Red Cross Donor Recruitment Office, Debbie speaking. Oh,
Hiiii
there Mr. Baughman,” her voice squealed as if she had been waiting breathlessly for his call. “Ms. Hoole will be
soooo
pleased to hear that. I’ll get her that message right away. September second would be great. And I look forward to seeing you there, also. Thank you so much.” 

             
“Ted Baughman.” She gave Liz a thumb up as she put down the receiver. “Confirmed the September drive at Dexter’s Small Engine Company. They’ve got four hundred employees—lots of blood.”

             
“Great,” Liz said and marked it in her day planner.

             
Liz often commented to Chase that the best part of her job as Director of Donor Recruitment was her secretary. Debbie wore clothes that were too tight and too short, and exposed an excess of cleavage. She also upped donation statistics more than ten percent at every drive she worked. Red neck to the core and proud of it, Debbie could figure out anything from cost reports to computer repairs while filing her nails at the same time. Had her high school guidance counselor done a better job she would have gotten Debbie into college, but instead she simply asked her what she liked to do.

“Fix hair,” Debbie said and ended up with a one chair beauty salon in her
basement. After a nasty divorce that left her with two kids and no benefits, she decided to refresh her typing skills. Computers had just entered the work place and businesses were scrambling to find employees who could adapt to the new technology. Debbie found it as natural as eating grits and cheese. She tutored Liz. In turn Liz worked with Chase and Maggie on the inevitable transformation into the computer age. Debbie was a diamond in the rough. Her only flaws were her indiscriminate taste in men and a weakness for two-bit bars.

“I’ve got a new boyfriend,” Debbie said as they began to review the work ahead
. Boyfriend reports were part of her ongoing repertoire. “You’re gonna like this one.”

             
Having seen too many of Debbie’s boyfriends come and go, Liz was skeptical. “What’s to like?”

             
“For starters,” Debbie almost blushed as she shot Liz a coy glance that promised a revelation into his personal assets, “he’s got all his own teeth.”

             
Liz laughed out loud. “Already an improvement!  You’re definitely aiming higher.”

             
“Second, he’s not married.” She went into her first tier of requirements that Liz knew by heart.

             
“Most important, he’s got a job—a real one. One that pays money and has benefits.”

             
“This one is definitely a keeper.” Liz felt Debbie deserved so much better than she’d had, but she had learned long ago not to give boyfriend advice. “He’s a lucky guy.”             

             
“So back to the funeral,” Debbie said. Although Liz thought that topic was closed. “Is it true?”

             
“What?”

             
“That Maggie had the body at the house all night before the funeral?”

             
“She did.”

             
“Oooooow,” Debbie scrunched up her nose. “That gives me the willies. You know that for sure?”

             
“I do, I was there,” Liz said.