The Funeral Dress (24 page)

No matter what people believed, she was more than Nolan Bullard’s girl now. She was tied to the Fultons by something much stronger than death. They were bound by blood.

It had been only a little more than a year ago when Billy had first stopped Emmalee on her way to the factory. He worked for his daddy in the summertime and was returning from a run to the back side of Pine Mountain. A man had fallen from a ladder while replacing rotten shingles on the roof of his barn. He fell onto a pile of rock and split his head near in two. Never regained consciousness.

Billy had taken the hearse to wash it down and fill the tank with gas in case they got another call. His father insisted the wagon always be spotless, inside and out, and ready with a full tank. Billy had passed Emmalee about two blocks from the PURE station and pulled up to the curb.

“Need a ride?” he asked.

“Nope,” Emmalee said, not even bothering to slow her step.

“You sure? It’s mighty hot out there,” Billy said as he wiped his brow with an exaggerated motion. “People have been known to die from heatstroke just walking about like you are now.”

“I told you a long time ago, Billy Fulton, you can’t spook me with that kind of talk.”

“Oh yeah. I forgot I like that about you,” he said and laughed.

Emmalee walked on down the sidewalk. Billy guided the hearse beside her, keeping it even with her pace. “Come on, let me be a gentleman and give you a ride.”

Emmalee stopped and Billy braked sharp. The morning was burning hot, and she pulled on her blouse sticking to her chest. “Fine,” she said and stepped into the front of the hearse. “It ain’t but four more blocks.” She tugged on her ponytail and straightened her skirt.

Billy took a long look at Emmalee. “You know my prom date backed out at the last minute when she heard I might be picking her up in this. Said it was too creepy going out with me even if I was the best-looking boy in school.” Billy flashed an exaggerated smile.

“Best-looking boy, huh? She said that?”

“Okay, maybe I added that part.”

“Maybe you did,” Emmalee laughed, already feeling more at ease sitting next to Billy. “Why you being so nice to me today?”

“When have I not been nice to you?” he asked.

Emmalee crossed her legs and wiped the small beads
of sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand. She glanced at her feet, a full shade darker than her legs and tinged a pale red from walking through the chert covering the paths around her house. She tucked her feet under the front seat as best she could.

“This is fine. Right here,” Emmalee said as Billy steered the hearse down Second Street.

“But this is a full block from the factory. You promised to ride with me four blocks, not three.”

“Stop the car, Billy,” she said, her tone growing insistent.

“All right. All right.” Billy pulled the hearse to the side of the road. Emmalee reached for the door handle, and Billy reached for her hand. “Thank you for letting me give the prettiest girl in town a ride.”

The next time Billy offered Emmalee a ride, the leaves on the oaks and maples had begun falling and were blowing about the street like confetti. Billy had parked the hearse near Tennewa and was sitting on its hood, waiting for the factory’s afternoon bell to ring.

“Hey there, I’ve been waiting for you,” he called out to Emmalee and waved.

Emmalee stopped and looked around. She tried to slip away among the more than two hundred women walking from the factory, but Billy hustled toward her. “This ain’t a good place, Billy. You need to go on.”

“I’m not going without you. I’ve been sitting out here for the past hour just waiting for that bell to ring.”

“Why you doing that?”

“Come on, let me drive you home,” he said and reached for Emmalee’s hand.

Emmalee jerked her hand away. “If your mama hears about you giving me a ride”—Emmalee looked around—“I can’t be the one costing Nolan his job.”

Billy nodded. “But the thing is, I like watching you walk to work, especially when you’re wearing those clunky old work boots.”

Emmalee blushed. “You been watching me?”

Billy grinned. “Hell, yeah. But to be honest with you, I like it even better when you’re riding with me, and I can look at you right next to me.”

Emmalee grinned, too, but was quick to shake the smile from her face. “Go on, Billy. Get out of here.”

“Don’t want to. Not without you.”

“Damn it, Billy Fulton. Go on ’fore these women start talking.”

“Fine,” he said. “But there’s an alley right over there behind the hospital.” Billy pointed across the street. “Nobody’ll think a thing about my being there, and nobody’ll see you get in the car.”

“What you got in mind?” Emmalee asked.

“I was thinking we could ride over to Pikeville. Get a burger and some fries. You know the French fries are better in Pikeville.”

“No, they ain’t.”

“They sure are,” Billy said. “Besides, I got to deliver this casket to the funeral home over there. McGregor’s buys them from Daddy when they’re running short. They had a three-car pileup out on the highway. Killed four.”

“That’s awful.”

“Yep, it is. But it’s business.”

Emmalee hesitated.

“Come on,” Billy said as he turned to cross the street. “I’ll even buy you a milkshake.”

In the weeks to come, Billy drove Emmalee to Pikeville, Jasper, Whitwell, and anywhere else she wanted to go. He drove her to parts of Sequatchie County she had heard of but never seen. He bought her hamburgers and milkshakes and anything else she wanted when she was hungry, and even when she wasn’t. He kissed her on the lips and told her he loved her, even if she was the kind of girl his mother would not approve of him seeing. He hadn’t meant any harm by that, he promised. And Emmalee had told him she understood, even if she did turn away and wipe a tear from her eye. But she knew to duck her head low in the seat whenever another car passed them by.

Now Billy was gone, and Nolan sat next to her in the pickup.

Her father wore a smirk on his face, and Emmalee figured he was already counting the money he planned on collecting from Mr. Fulton. Nolan pushed the gas pedal and released it and pushed it hard again. Emmalee wondered if he was nervous, excited, or if he had the shakes. Whatever it was left his foot unsteady, and Emmalee grew sick as they lurched toward town.

Nolan pulled the truck alongside the curb, scraping the tires against the concrete edge. There was no wreath of fresh flowers hanging on the funeral home door yet, and Emmalee understood Mrs. Fulton was not ready for any company, particularly Nolan Bullard.

But Nolan ignored the bare door and jumped out of the truck. He rushed up the front walk, not waiting
for Emmalee to fall in step behind him. He knocked on the door, and Emmalee joined him there on the porch with the red dress hanging over her arm. Nolan knocked again, but he did not wait for an answer. He opened the door and walked into the wide hallway leading to the living room where the Fultons watched the television most every night unless bodies were placed there for viewing, a detail about their life Billy had shared with Emmalee.

“Nolan Bullard, what are you doing in my house?” Mrs. Fulton asked as she stomped down the hall toward them with a towel wrapped around her head. She was wearing a yellow terry bathrobe and matching terry cloth slippers.

“It’s the funeral home, ain’t it?”

“Did you see a wreath on that door?” she asked with a sharp tone.

Nolan stared at Mrs. Fulton. “No, ma’am.”

“No, you did not. Let me be very clear about this, Nolan Bullard. When there’s a wreath on that door, you are welcome to come in this house. It’s a public space. But when there’s no wreath on that door, then this is my home. And you better wait for me or Mr. Fulton to open the door. You hear me?” But Mrs. Fulton did not wait for Nolan to answer. “What do you need?” she asked, her anger seeping between every word. She turned to Emmalee. “I see you got the dress made. Let’s take a look at it.”

Emmalee handed her the dress.

“Red,” Mrs. Fulton said, her eyes narrowed. “Well, at least it’s a deep shade of red. Where’d you get the fabric?” She held the dress closer and squinted a little tighter.
“This looks expensive, and I know you can’t afford nothing like this.”

“I found it up at Leona’s.”

Mrs. Fulton cast her attention on the detailed work along the sleeve’s edge. “What’s this here?” she asked, pointing to the blue fabric and delicate trim.

Emmalee cleared her throat. “The blue come from one of Curtis’s shirts. And the lace is from a pillow I found up at the trailer.”

Mrs. Fulton nodded, obviously impressed with Emmalee’s sentimental touches.

“I did this, too,” Emmalee said and pulled a shiny piece of jewelry from her coat pocket.

“What’s this?”

“A bracelet. I used a piece of ribbon and strung together these little spoons Miss Leona had all boxed up and hanging on the wall. Didn’t take me long, but I thought it turned out kind of nice.”

Mrs. Fulton took the bracelet in her hand and dangled it in front of her. The spoons made a soft clanging noise, and Emmalee wondered if Leona could hear it from where she was. “A spoon bracelet. Hmm. Well, all in all, you did a good job.”

Emmalee inched backward toward the door. She wanted to leave. She wanted Mrs. Fulton to think good of her, and she knew if Nolan opened his mouth, then all of that would change.

“Lord, where’s the baby?” Mrs. Fulton asked, her voice tinged with a note of panic. “You haven’t left her out in the truck, have you? You shouldn’t be leaving a child by
herself.” Holding in place the towel wadded on top of her head, Mrs. Fulton craned her neck toward the living room window.

“No ma’am,” Nolan interrupted. “Emmalee done had her baby stole from her. That’s why we come here.”

Emmalee stared at the ground, knowing there was no way to hush her father now. She thought about running out the door. She even took another step toward it. But Mrs. Fulton slid in front of her. “Emmalee, what is your father talking about?”

Emmalee stood quiet, her eyes turned away.

“Emmalee, look at me,” Mrs. Fulton demanded.

Nolan grabbed hold of Emmalee’s coat and pulled her deeper into the hall. “Emmalee done gave the baby to Runt and Mettie while she went to the mountain to make that dress. Now they ain’t giving her back. Said Emmalee’s not fit to be her mama.”

Mrs. Fulton again adjusted the towel on her head. “Well, it is hard work caring for a baby,” she said in a softer, almost reassuring tone. “Maybe this is a good thing, for Emmalee and the baby.”

“But I’m her mama,” Emmalee said in a real soft voice.

“That’s what I told Runt,” Nolan said. “It’s Emmalee’s baby, not his. But he won’t give her back.”

Mrs. Fulton rubbed her forehead as if she had a headache. “I’m sorry about that, but what are you wanting me to do about it, Nolan? This sounds like a family matter for the Bullards to work out.”

“You’re right about that.” Nolan shifted a plug of chew from one jaw to the other. “It is family business and that’s
why I figured you’d want to have some say in this, seeing how Kelly Faye is your blood too.”

Emmalee shut her eyes. It was quiet for a moment, but then Mrs. Fulton took in a real deep breath. She held it in her lungs as if she might keep it there till she exploded in one thunderous clap. The front door opened and Emmalee looked up.

“Get the hell out of here, Nolan Bullard.”

Nolan stood firm. “Can’t do that. You’re Billy Fulton’s mama? Right?” Nolan did not wait for an answer. “Well, that baby of Emmalee’s is your blood.”

“My Billy is not the father of Emmalee’s baby.” Mrs. Fulton was shouting now. Her voice was shrill and sharp and bounced against the walls.

“He sure is,” Nolan said, wearing a smirk on his face. “Your boy’s the baby’s daddy. Emmalee done told me so.”

A loud hush suddenly fell among them. The only sound in the room was that of the grandfather clock keeping time, one second spilling into the next. Emmalee focused on the clock’s steady ticking. Mrs. Fulton tried to say something but the words came out of her mouth garbled and nonsensical. She coughed and stammered, and Emmalee’s heart beat faster. Emmalee braced herself for the storm brewing deep inside Mrs. Fulton.

“Is this true, Emmalee?” Mrs. Fulton’s voice still sounded shrill.

Emmalee nodded.

“I don’t believe you,” Mrs. Fulton said. “I don’t believe a word of this.”

“Believe it or not, it’s so,” Nolan said.

“You, Nolan Bullard, are a drunk and a liar. You always have been. And you are either drunk or lying now. Or both.” Mrs. Fulton pulled the door open wider. “I think it’s best that the two of you get out of here. I mean it. Get out before I get Mr. Fulton and tell him all these foolish lies you’re spewing around here. He’ll fire you straight out, Nolan Bullard.” The yellow towel fell from her head.

Emmalee snuck toward the door. She felt bad for Mrs. Fulton, who was trying to finger her wet, stringy hair from her face.

“Get back here, Emmalee,” Nolan hollered, spit spraying from his mouth as his tone grew harsh. Even Mrs. Fulton staggered backward toward the hall stairs. “Like it or not, that baby is your blood.” Nolan slammed the door shut. “Your boy done knocked up my girl, and you ain’t washing your hands of it that easy.” Nolan yanked Emmalee back to his side. His grip was strong, and Emmalee groaned as he squeezed tighter. “This here is the mother of your grandchild, Mrs. Fulton. You and your husband and that boy of yours need to do what’s right by her and her baby girl.”

“Nolan, let go of her.” Mrs. Fulton was yelling now, too. “Get out of here. I mean it. I’ve always known you were nothing but trash. Go on. Both of you, get out of my house.”

Nolan did not budge. “You ain’t going to do right by your own grandchild?” he asked, his voice turned calm and low. “Fine. Then take this one. I ain’t messing with her no more. And I ain’t raising another one on my own.” Nolan shoved Emmalee toward Mrs. Fulton.
Emmalee stumbled and pitched forward, but Mrs. Fulton caught her in her arms. Nolan stormed out the door, not bothering to look back.

Emmalee ran after her father. She yelled for him and waved her arms in the air. But the pickup sped down the street, turned left, and disappeared behind a row of low brick buildings. The truck’s engine sputtered and echoed in the early-morning calm.