Mercy Me (19 page)

Dr. Elsie twisted around in her chair and bore down on Lucy. “Did you explain the way of salvation to her?”

“I'm not sure. I probably didn't say everything I should have said. I told her Jesus loves her and would forgive her if she asked him to.”

“Did you tell her Jesus died for her sins?”

I squirmed in my seat. Dr. Elsie was even making me uncomfortable.

“Yes, I told her that more than once.”

“But you don't know if she asked the Lord to forgive her?”

“Oh yes. She asked the Lord to forgive her. She asked him out loud, and I heard it. . . . Now that I think about it, she didn't seem so worried after that, and when we talked, it was about the things Jesus did and said.”

Dr. Elsie's face softened and she smiled. “Lucy, you drew in the net.”

20

Lucy and I thought Maria might last another day, but in the wee hours, at 2:20 in the morning, we could see she wasn't breathing. We both tried to find a pulse, but there wasn't one. The set of her face told me she was dead.

“She's gone,” I whispered.

Lucy was trembling.

I pulled the sheet up over Maria, but I didn't cover her face. Somehow I couldn't bring myself to do that. I don't know why.

“She's gone,” I repeated. “I'll call Dr. Elsie.”

Our conversation was brief. She said she'd come right over.

When I came back in the room, Lucy was pale and so nervous her whole body was shaking.

“Have you never seen anyone die?”

She shook her head.

I thought then of the way Bud died—not peaceful at all. “Well, let's just sit down here and wait for the doctor,” I said.

We were quiet for a long time, hearing only the crickets chirping outside. Finally Lucy asked me if we shouldn't call the preacher.

“No,” I said, “not at this hour of the morning. There's nothing he can do.”

When I heard Dr. Elsie ease up in the driveway, I went to meet her at the door. We greeted each other, but Dr. Elsie was all business; that's the way she is about anything medical. Lucy stood up when she came in the room, but Dr. Elsie went straight to Maria, set down her bag, and began the examination. In just a few minutes, she asked, “What time did she expire?” When I told her, she said, “Esmeralda, I'll see that you get copies of the death certificate by ten o'clock.”

Her work done, she turned and looked at Lucy. She probably noticed how nervous the poor girl was, so she sat down and patted the chair next to her. Lucy took a seat. “You two have certainly taken good care of Maria. As soon as you can, you must try to get some rest. It'll be hectic the next couple of days. . . . I've been meaning to say, Lucy, that you can't keep on being the only Spanish-speaking person in Live Oaks. You'll need help in that department. What are we going to do about that?”

“Well, Preacher Bob asked if I had a Spanish dictionary he could use. When there's time, I could teach him and Betty to speak the language. Some of my students can help too.”

“Lucy, those children can learn English easier than grown-ups can learn a foreign language. Let's also see what we can do about teaching the children English.”

The conversation had calmed Lucy, so Dr. Elsie got up to leave. I went to the door with her, thanked her for coming, and returned to the task at hand.

I asked Lucy if she felt like helping me. She said she did. I could've spared her the unpleasantness, but the sooner a Christian learns about death, the better. It's the devil's masterpiece, death is, and until you have hands-on experience with his handiwork, you don't know what an enemy he is. He is not satisfied that he and Adam brought death into the world. He does his best to drag out the suffering, make death as gruesome and painful as he can.

I pulled the sheet off Maria, balled it up, and tossed it on the floor.

By four o'clock, Lucy and I had finished the work of cleaning up the body and the bed, and I called the undertaker, Boyd Jones. Jones Funeral Home is the only one in town, and when Bud died, they charged me a fortune. I was not going to let that happen again.

Jones came within half an hour. After he rolled Maria out of the house, I told Lucy to go take a hot shower and lie down until breakfast was ready.

For the first time in days, I was hungry.

I got the coffee going, put on the pot for grits and a pan for bacon, set the table, and poured orange juice. By then I could hear Lucy's shower going.

As the bacon was sizzling and the grits were bubbling, I enjoyed the peace and quiet I knew wouldn't last long—as soon as the word spread, a lot of people would be coming and going in the house.

I put the bacon to crisp on paper towels, then stuck some bread in the toaster and scrambled the eggs.

When everything was ready, I fixed our plates and called Lucy. She didn't answer, so I went to the bedroom to see if she was coming. She was out like a light. I smiled and closed the door.
Poor baby. She's plum worn out.

I ate my breakfast and then went out on the porch to watch the sunrise. The faint rose color was barely inching its way above the town dump. I was feeling good about the way the Lord had worked everything out—the red tape and all. And to think, now the Osbornes had not one but three children.

With daylight coming on, I went back in the house and called Pastor Osborne. He wanted to know when Maria died, all the like of that, and he asked me what he could do to help. There were a few things. I asked him to send someone to tell Elijah that Maria had died.

“Okay,” he said. “And I'll ask Betty to pass the word to the W.W.s. Esmeralda, I'll need Lucy here when I talk to the children. Do you think that can be arranged?”

“Oh, sure. She's sleeping right now, but when she wakes up, I'll tell her.”

“Good. Now when can I get with you to talk about the service?”

“Pastor, you can just take care of that. Whatever the Lord gives you to say. . . . But there's one thing you can
do for me. Write up a little something for the
Journal
's obituary column.”

He said he would.

When we hung up, I knew it wouldn't be long before the house was swarming with people. I had promised Beatrice I would call her when Maria died, so I dialed her number.

She didn't ask a lot of questions, but I went through the details anyway. She wanted to know when the service would be and if she should send flowers. Of course, I didn't know about the service, and I told her she could do what she wanted about sending flowers. As for myself, I like flowers at a funeral. I'm never stingy when it comes to sending flowers.

Beatrice was quiet for a minute, and I was about to hang up when she said, “Esmeralda, guess who's here?”

I heaved a big sigh so she would hear it. “Not Percy Poteat, I hope.”

“Yes, it's Percy. He came on his bike.”

“Well, I hope he's on his way to some other place by now.”

“No, he's still here. He's staying with Sadie and Jim because he said he wants to be near me. He comes down here for breakfast and supper. For lunch I leave sandwiches in the fridge.”

“Beatrice, don't have nothing to do with that man. He is just looking for somebody to take advantage of.”

“Esmeralda, he looks awful.”

“You don't have to tell me. I saw him. He came here to my house a week ago.”

“He said you were rude to him.”

“Beatrice, rude is too good for Percy Poteat!”

“But, Esmeralda, can't you see he needs help?”

“Beatrice, this is not the time nor the place for me to be discussing that good-for-nothing, low-down, no 'count, rotten, trashy, common creep. This is a house of mourning.”

“I'm sorry, Esmeralda. It's just that I want to help him if I can. . . . You don't like him, do you?”

I heaved another sigh. “All right, Beatrice. I'll tell you what I'll do. You hold off on saying or doing anything that will involve you with that creep, and after things settle down here, I'll hop a bus and come up there.”

“Would you?” she said.

“I said I would, didn't I? In the meantime, try to get rid of him.”

I don't think I have ever been so mad at anybody in my life as I was with Percy Poteat. I was sure the first thing he'd do would be to turn her against Carl and cut off the competition.

Still stewing about him, I got busy straightening up the house. It wouldn't do for a bunch of women to come in here and see it looking like a disaster area. I got out the vacuum and was about to plug it in when the Apostolic van pulled up in the driveway. There must've been twenty young people piled out and come in the door, ready to go to work.

The vacuum woke up Lucy. I hated that it did, but if the pastor was going to break the news to the children, she would have to be there.

“Lucy,” I said as she emerged from the bedroom, rubbing her eyes, “I'm putting your breakfast in the microwave. After you eat, you go on to Osbornes' and help the pastor break the news to the children. Then you can get home and to bed. You look pooped.”

Lucy nodded sleepily and sat down at the table for breakfast. I heated up her plate and then pitched in to help with the cleaning.

By the time the W.W.s arrived with more casseroles, the house was looking pretty decent. We hadn't done anything in Maria's room, so I turned Thelma loose in there. She got on the phone right away and called the people to come get the hospital bed and the other sickroom equipment we had rented. I unloaded the washer and was about to take the sheets outside to hang on the line when Clara said she'd do it for me. And Mabel Elmwood had sent her maid along with the W.W.s, so they put her to cleaning out the refrigerator.

With so many hands to take care of things, there was nothing left for me to do except answer questions and tell them where things were, so I decided to take a quick bath and change my clothes.

I was pulling up my panty hose when a girl knocked on the door and said somebody wanted to see me.

The funeral director, Boyd Jones, looking like warmedover death himself, had come with a white spray for the front door—artificial flowers that could've stood a washing. He wanted a dress for Maria. I gave him the pink gown, which somebody had washed and ironed. In his hushed funeral voice, he sounded like a recorded message offering sympathy. Then he asked when I would
come down and pick out the casket. I told him I did not rightly know, since I was very busy.

That didn't set well. “As you know, we have those accident victims from the train wreck, so if you don't mind—”

“Mr. Jones, if you don't have time to funeralize my friend, let it be known here and now that there's other funeral parlors in this county we can hire.”

“Oh, I'll be glad to funeralize this lady. Come anytime you want and pick out the casket. We have quite a selection.”

I thought he was done then, but he didn't leave; he stood there with his hand on the doorknob. As if it were an afterthought, he said, “I understand this lady has no family. As much as I would like to handle charity cases, I can't. The funeral business is my only means of income, and we do well if we have one funeral a month in Live Oaks. I have to ask you, who's going to pay this bill?”

His greedy little eyes looked over his glasses, waiting expectantly. I was in no mood to be nice. “Aren't you jumping the gun, Mr. Jones?”

“Oh, forgive me. You're upset and I understand.” He was fishing in his breast pocket for a paper. “If you'll just sign this paper for me, I'll be on my way.”

“Mr. Jones, I am not signing no paper! When we come to pick out a casket, I will come in your office and go over the charges. If what you charge is in my price range, you'll get the business. If not, we'll pay you for what services you have rendered, but we'll make other arrangements.”

I all but pushed him out the door and closed it behind him. When he was about halfway to his car, he turned around, came back to the door, and knocked.

“Yes?”

“Miss Esmeralda, there will be a viewing tomorrow night.”

“No, there won't be. Didn't I tell you that we'll come to your office, and after that we'll decide about the arrangements? Besides, this will be a closed-casket funeral. There will be no gawking at this poor corpse, with people lying about how good she looks.”

Of course, after he left, I realized I had made all these decisions on my own. The more I thought about it, the more I knew it would be a good idea to ask the W.W.s to go with me when I went to the funeral home. I told Clara how that man had scalped me when Bud died, and she had a story or two to add to the case.

So she passed the word to all the ladies in the house and called up those who weren't there. She told me that every single one of the W.W.s would go—that they would be ready whenever I was.

Horace Thigpen parked the cruiser on the street and was coming up the driveway when Elmer's truck turned in. Together the two of them lifted out the tiller and took it to the shed in back. Elmer, seeing the house full of people, left without coming inside, but Horace came in the back door.