The Quaker Café (8 page)

             
Liz stood mortified.

“I will say,” Chase said through tears, “it was a bit extreme, but I do think you’ve probably cured Dad of walking in unannounced.”

              “Chase, listen. Stop it and listen!”

             
He wasn’t listening. “I’m sure it took his mind off the Judge, too,” he said.

             
“Chase,” Liz took a more controlled tone. “You have got to promise me you won’t ever tell anyone about this. No one!  Hear?  Not your sister, not a soul at the pharmacy. No one!  Understand?”

             
He wasn’t quite ready to let up. “Whatever possessed you?” he blurted out.

             
“We were alone. The kids were gone. I thought it would help us break the tension so I could sleep.”

             
“It did. It most certainly did.” Chase pulled Liz down on the sofa next to him and started to play with the top of the towel. Then with eyes that sparkled brighter than she had seen in months he rolled over on top of her. “I do love you, you know, very, very much.”

“Chase, listen to me now. You must promise me or I won’t ever leave the house again
. Promise me you will never tell anyone else about this. Promise me!”

             
“I promise,” he said softly.

It wasn’t exactly the evening she had planned, but it was the one time in her life that Liz scored more points than Chapel Hill
. The Tar Heels lost by seven.

The following evening the crowd was much smaller as Liz weaved her way across the den. Billie refilled glasses from a bottle of Chardonnay in one hand and Pinot Noir in the other, and made small talk about the election with two of the county commissioners. A silk cerise ribbon which matched Billie’s slacks was pinned to her tea rose blouse and hung loosely in four strands down the left side of her bodice. Nestled into a pillow on the sofa, Webster would come alert momentarily for anyone who stopped to scratch his head. He wore a cerise collar with several sparkling glass jewels embedded.

Liz greeted several of the guests; a more reserved group, no cooler of beer on the outdoor patio
. Leland Slade, one of the Quaker elders, nodded at her wordlessly as he turned to leave. A giant of a man with a bushfire beard that concealed the bottom of his face, he saw little use for idle chatter. Liz was never sure how to approach him.

Kate Pearson, recently retired
, also a Quaker, came up and slipped her hand into Liz’s. “I know you and Maggie are good friends. If there’s anything I can do…” she left the words suspended in air.

“Thank you,” Liz said
. “I think things are under control for right now, but I’ll let you know.”

“I’ve heard what she’s requested for the service,” Kate continued
. “There are some in town who are critical, but you know I’ve been through that. Different ideas are not always appreciated. I hope she knows many support what she’s doing.”

“Thank you,” Liz said, “I’ll tell her.”

Kate’s offer was genuine. Twenty years earlier when her daughter had married a young black man, her own Quaker meeting had failed to reach a consensus to approve the marriage. Ralph Edgewater felt that it was an unwise decision; he refused
to step aside,
making it impossible to grant approval. He was set in his ways and could not be moved. The wedding was held in the Philadelphia Meeting instead of Cedar Branch.

Liz knew Kate was deeply hurt by the lack of support, even if it did rest on the shoulders of
one individual. That has been one of the challenges of being a Quaker: consensus has to be found. One person has the ability to block a decision from moving forward.

A big pot of coffee and tray of cookies sat on the counter. Liz sidled up to Billie
. “Where’s Maggie?” she asked.

“She’s upstairs with the casket,” Billie said.

“Alone?”

“There are a few others up there with her; ladies from the church
. Helen is one. Your mother-in-law and father-in-law went up a bit ago. I think they’re still there. Want a glass of wine?”

“I’ll take it,” Liz said, needing something to fortify herself before an encounter with Grandpa
Hoole, given the previous evening’s surprise.

Liz took a swallow and then put the glass back in front of Billie, who obliged her with a refill
. As she put the glass to her lips Billie nodded to the stairs as Euphrasia and Nathan cautiously descended. Liz considered chucking the wine in the sink and ducking out-of-sight, but they had already seen her.

  They both looked weary, their skin taut, their eyes dark with circles
. Grandma Hoole wore a loose-fitting gray dress. Grandpa wore a traditional collarless white shirt and black trousers with suspenders. Liz had seen him only once in a suit, at her wedding in St. Paul. She had wondered why he’d made that one exception. Like most Quakers, he never wore a tie; and although he still had one of the wide brim hats, he wore it only in cold weather to protect his bald head. Liz hadn’t seen Grandma in her bonnet in years.

Wearing hats was becoming a thing
of the past, except for Leland, who stuck to the old ways. He could always be seen working on his farm, in town, or around his house, wearing either his wide brim black or brown hat. The custom dated back to the beginnings of Quakerism when George Fox refused to take off his hat to anyone. Fox insisted that to be required to remove one’s hat in respect to another implied that the two men were not on equal footing. Since all men were equal in the sight of God, they were likewise equal in the sight of other men. He was thrown in jail on numerous occasions for what the English saw as a failure to respect the many tiers of social stratification within that society.

Liz embraced Grandma
. They were about the same height, although Grandma had shrunk a bit in recent years. She kept her hair pulled back in a severe bun. Liz always felt that if she could convince Grandma to loosen her hair, maybe even go to a hair dresser, a different style would soften the features in her angular face; but Liz didn’t have the nerve to make such a suggestion. Grandma never wore make-up or jewelry and discouraged vanity in any fashion.

Chase’s sister, Sophie, looked like her mother, and was a beautiful woman in her simplicity and style
. She started to wear a small bit of make-up when she followed Chase to UNC. After she married Jack Reardon, a dentist, and moved to Charleston, she paid more attention to style with her hair and clothes, but always in modest good taste.

“Where’s Chase?” Grandma asked.

“At home with the boys. He came last night.” Liz said.

“You call him to come pick you up
. You don’t want to be driving after drinking.”

Liz looked as obedient as you could: “Yes, Grandma.” 

“I’m glad he’s staying with the boys, though. They shouldn’t be left with babysitters too often.”

“They’re not, Grandma,” Liz kept her voice steady.

“Nathan?” Grandma turned, expecting he might add something.

             
   Grandpa Hoole murmured. He took out a handkerchief and wiped his nose. He had not yet made eye-contact with Liz.

“Can I get you a cup of coffee or a cookie?” Liz asked.

“No, thank you, dear,” Grandma said. “You go on up and sit with Maggie. She needs her friends around her tonight. We’ll see you at meeting for worship before the funeral tomorrow.”

Liz walked with them to the driveway, opened the car door, kissed them both on the cheek, and went back into the house
. Billie met her with her glass of Chardonnay.

“Thanks,” Liz said
. “Remind me not to drink and drive.”

“Helen is still upstairs
. Probably should take the whole bottle if you’re going up.”

“I’m not enthusiastic,
” Liz said.

“Better you than me
. You’re a political rival. She won’t want to say anything you can use against her in a campaign. That could help.”  

Liz climbed the back stairs and heard the low mumbling of several voices
. Through the dining area she saw the casket on the opposite side of the living room under the portrait of Maggie’s mother. A yellow cascade of roses, orchids, snapdragons and lilies placed at the head filled the room with the perfumes of spring flowers. A spray of confederate roses interspersed with cotton bolls rested on top of the lower half of the casket.

Liz stopped at the partition between the dining room and living room
. Maggie sat in a winged Queen Anne chair half facing her father’s body. Helen and two other women had their backs towards Liz.

“Maggie, dear,” Helen was talking
. “Your father would not want to be remembered in this way.”

“In
what way, exactly?” Maggie asked. Liz knew by the tone in her voice that Maggie had already grown weary of Helen.

“Well, he would not want his death to be the cause of a split within the church
. Surely you can see that.”

“W
ho’s planning to split, Helen? You?”

The other women shifted uncomfortably in their chairs
. This was never a good way to approach Maggie. Unlike her father, who would spend days, even years cajoling and negotiating a mutual agreement, Maggie had neither the patience nor the inclination to play games.

“Maggie, we have a small congregation,” Helen said
. “You know that. There are only thirty or forty regular members. If anyone should leave,” she hesitated, “well, a loss of five or more would make a big difference.” Helen paused a moment and looked at Maggie. Maggie was not receptive.

Helen continued
. “I hear talk. Quite a number of people are upset that this situation has been thrust upon the church with no warning. This is so unlike your father.”

“No warning, Helen?
You know my father spent many years in an effort to improve race relations in this community. He was an invited guest at Jerusalem Baptist and other black churches in the county numerous times. Not once did our church reciprocate with an invitation.”

“He
never made a formal request.” Helen fiddled with her pearl necklace.

“Oh, Helen!  He suggested several times that he thought Martin Luther King, Jr.’s birthday would be an ideal time to invite a member from the black community to preach
. It never happened.”

“For good reason,” Helen’s lips pursed in disgust
. “I never approved of that holiday anyway. That man encouraged civil disobedience.”

“Helen,” Maggie’s voice rose
. “The entire American Revolution was based on civil disobedience.”

“I
don’t want to argue with you.” Helen softened her voice in contrast to Maggie’s, which had the desired effect. Helen appeared in control; Maggie appeared to be losing hers. “I think you’re turning this funeral into a political statement of sorts, perhaps to help Liz out in the election. This is your agenda, Maggie, not your father’s.”

Maggie took a deep breath in an obvious effort to calm herself
. “My father’s agenda included better education and improved economic opportunities. He worked vigorously with men like Nathan Hoole,” she nodded at the stairway in reference to Grandpa’s recent departure, “to get subsidized housing, mental health services, improved roads, water lines and industry into our county. He did all of that not just for the benefit of a few people in the community, but for everyone. That was my father’s agenda and I stand by it.”

“That’s all well and good, Maggie, but your father understood politics and he knew that without the right timing you could lose everything overnight
. To be honest, I don’t think you’ve got your father’s knack for timing.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Maggie conceded
. “I guess we’ll see.”

Everyone knew they had reached an impasse
. Helen’s face softened with sympathetic insincerity and she reached out and patted Maggie’s hand. “I understand why your family feels it owes so much to the black community. On the other hand, those of us in the community who don’t have the same guilt struggle to just keep things on an even keel. Be careful, my dear. Don’t start something that you can’t control.”

   Maggie stood and stretched her frame to its full 5’10”
. Her long dark hair, which was normally pulled back and twisted upward, had come loose throughout the day. Now fugitive strands framed her face and accentuated the streak of gray. “Perhaps it’s time you left,” Maggie said in a more controlled voice.

The two other women scurried to get their handbags and immediately headed past Liz for the stairs, not stopping to acknowledge her presence
. Helen deliberately took more time. She reached for her bag, stood up and pulled back her shoulders to gain some height. The lines on her face complemented her steely voice. “You’re making a mistake, Maggie Kendall, a very big mistake.” 

“I’ll pray on it.”
Maggie said. “Perhaps you should do the same.”