The Funeral Dress (25 page)

“Don’t leave me, Nolan!” Emmalee cried and stared down the empty street. “Please, come back,” she said. “Please.”

E
MMALEE

F
ULTON
-P
ITTMAN
F
UNERAL
H
OME

“Get in here, Emmalee,” Mrs. Fulton called from the edge of the porch. Her voice rang out as she motioned for Emmalee to hurry along. “Come on,” she said, her bathrobe swinging open and exposing her bare leg.

Emmalee stood limp on the sidewalk.

Mrs. Fulton glanced both left and right, checking to see who might be passing by or staring from a nearby window. “We don’t need you out here cussing and carrying on and screaming for Nolan Bullard,” she said, her tone stern.

But next door a pretty young woman with a full face and a chubby toddler perched on her hip had already taken notice. She leaned over her porch railing as she studied Emmalee standing on the dewy grass. “You got a visitation today, Mrs. Fulton?” she asked with a broad smile, revealing dimpled cheeks. She shifted her child to her other
hip. “I’ve been at my mama’s down in Mobile most of the week. Got home late last night. Robert doesn’t get home till later today. You know I don’t like being here alone with the baby when he’s on the road. Just a scaredy-cat, I guess.”

“Glad you’re home, Ruthie.” Mrs. Fulton hurriedly tried to cover her wet hair with the towel hanging across her shoulder.

“So you got a visitation today?” The young mother repeated her question.

“We’re hoping to be ready by early evening. No later than tomorrow afternoon,” Mrs. Fulton said, not daring to take her eyes off Emmalee. “We’ll hang the wreath when we’re ready.”

“Who you got this time?”

“Leona and Curtis Lane.”

“Oh my, did they die?”

“I’m afraid so,” Mrs. Fulton said.

“The both of them?”

“Yes, Ruthie, they did. The both of them. Thought most everybody in town had heard that by now.” Mrs. Fulton glared at Emmalee while keeping her voice light and friendly. “Guess you being with your mama you didn’t get the word. Tragic car accident Wednesday night on the way to church supper. Listen, hon, I really got to run. Haven’t even dressed yet, and my hair’s dripping wet.” Mrs. Fulton hurried down the porch steps and linked her arm around Emmalee’s, dragging her back to the house.

“Who you got with you there?” Ruthie hollered.

“Delivery girl dropping something off for the visitation. Come by later if you want. Bring the baby too. We’d love to see her.”

Mrs. Fulton tossed a wave over her shoulder and pulled Emmalee into the house. “We do not carry on like that,” she said and locked the front door. She drew the drapes across the living room windows and pointed to a chair covered in a lush blue velvet. “Sit right there, and do not move one inch. You hear me?”

Emmalee sank into the chair and hugged her breasts. They were not as heavy as they once were, but her left side burned and the pain was sharp. She rocked back and forth, longing to be in Leona’s trailer in the care of the older seamstresses, not trapped in a velvet chair inside the Fultons’ living room.

Mrs. Fulton’s footsteps fell heavy on the polished wood floor. Another door opened and slammed shut. Emmalee overheard Mrs. Fulton talking to her husband although she could not decipher the specifics of their conversation. The pain in her chest mounted as Mrs. Fulton’s voice grew clear inside the living room.

“She is nothing but trash, Basil. I do not believe for one minute her child is any relation to us, and I most definitely will not claim it as my grandchild. You better get out there and make this whole thing disappear. You hear me, Basil?”

Mr. Fulton said something, but his voice was soft and mumbled.

“Our son is not going be the father to that Bullard baby. He’s starting college. He’s got his whole life ahead of him. He will not be tied to that trash and her no-good father!”

Emmalee thought about running back to the holler. She wasn’t strapped to this chair. She had delivered the dress,
and Nolan had spoken the truth about her baby girl. There was nothing more to do. Emmalee moaned as the pain stretched across her back. It was fierce and steady. There had been so many times when she had wanted Nolan to walk out of her life, but this was not one of them.

The door at the end of the hall slammed again, and Emmalee jerked straight up. Mr. Fulton appeared in the living room first, his wife close behind. He dried his hands on a faded blue cloth and tossed it across his shoulder. Mrs. Fulton stood with her arms folded in front of her. Her eyes were both wet and angry, and she tapped her right index finger against her left arm with a fierce beat. Her nails were painted a bright shiny red, an odd detail, Emmalee thought, for someone who handled the dead.

Mr. Fulton pulled a chair opposite Emmalee. His face was always kind, but today his expression had turned serious. Emmalee hunched forward.

“I’m going to come right to the point here,” Mr. Fulton said and raised his right palm in the air, indicating his wife was not to interrupt. “I understand your daddy thinks our Billy is the father of your baby girl. I’ve known Nolan for a long time. He may not be perfect, far from it, but I’ve never known that man to lie, at least not to me.”

Mrs. Fulton grunted and rolled her eyes.

“Hester.” Mr. Fulton looked at his wife, and she stepped toward the front window. She pulled the drapes apart and peeked outside. “I don’t know you as well as I do your daddy, so I need you to look me in the eyes and speak the truth, Emmalee. Is our son, Billy, the father of your baby?”

Emmalee placed her right arm across her chest as if she were reciting a pledge. She leaned further into the pain now consuming her whole body.

“I need you to look at me,” Mr. Fulton repeated.

Emmalee raised her head. “Yes, sir,” she said. “Yes, he is.”

Mrs. Fulton stomped her foot and cried out loud. “It’s your fault. You seduced him. He’s a good boy. He’s nothing like you. He’s a good boy.”

“Hester, that’s enough,” Mr. Fulton snapped.

“Billy’s better than that, Basil. You know it as well as I do. You know she lured him into this. You’re just too nice to say what you really think.”

“I said that’s enough, Hester.” Mr. Fulton’s bony jaw twitched as he spoke. He rubbed his hand across his short-cropped hair and looked at Emmalee, the smile gone from his face. “Where’s the baby now?” he asked. “And don’t tell me you left her with Nolan. Please don’t tell me that.”

“No, sir. She’s with Runt and Mettie.” Emmalee leaned to the side. She wanted to curl her body into a tight ball but knew better than to put her feet on Mrs. Fulton’s chair.

“You okay?” Mr. Fulton asked.

“Yes, sir. Just need my baby.”

“Are you sure you’re okay? Hester, check and see if she’s got a fever. She doesn’t look well to me. Her eyes are glassy and her lids are droopy.”

Mrs. Fulton stood by the curtained window.

“Ain’t nursed right in days is all,” Emmalee said.

Mr. Fulton put the palm of his hand against Emmalee’s forehead. “She’s hot, Hester. Burning up. Go get
dressed and pull the car around. We need to get her over to Dr. Greer.”

“She’ll be fine,” Mrs. Fulton said, not bothering to look at Emmalee.

“Hester, what has gotten into you? We are taking this girl to the doctor. And we’re doing it now.”

“We can’t go off and leave, Basil.” Mrs. Fulton let the curtain drop and turned to Mr. Fulton with an icy gaze. “We got the visitation to tend to. Most of Cullen’s going to be here in a matter of hours.”

“We tend to the living first,” Mr. Fulton said in a firm voice and a little louder than before. “Now get dressed and pull the car around front. Go on. Do as I say.”

It wasn’t the first time Emmalee had heard Mr. Fulton raise his voice. He spoke firm with Nolan whenever he cussed too much or smelled of liquor, but she was surprised anyone was brave enough to speak to Mrs. Fulton that way. Mrs. Fulton stomped out of the living room, leaving words like
trash
and
whore
bubbling in the air.

Mr. Fulton faced Emmalee. “Mrs. Fulton said something to me about Runt and Mettie wanting to take care of the baby. Is that so?”

Emmalee nodded.

“What do you think about that?”

“They’ve staked a claim to her.”

“It could be a lot easier on you,” Mr. Fulton said. “And they are your family.”

Emmalee picked at a loose thread on her flannel shirt. She looked up at Mr. Fulton. “She’s my girl.”

Mr. Fulton tossed the blue hand towel over his shoulder. “Let’s get you checked out first. We’ll talk more later.”

Emmalee hugged her chest a little harder. “You done with Leona?”

“Yes, except for dressing her. Mrs. Fulton showed me the dress you made. It’s lovely. Truly is.”

Emmalee nodded. “Can I see her?”

“Now?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Can’t it wait till later? She’s not going anywhere.”

“No, sir.” Emmalee’s voice grew shaky.

“I don’t really understand your needing to do this right now,” Mr. Fulton said, helping Emmalee up from the chair.

“I don’t expect you to understand anything about me, Mr. Fulton. What I want or what I don’t want. What I need or what I don’t need.”

“All right. I hear you,” he said and led her down the hall to the closed door. Their gait was slow, each one leaning against the other. “Remember, Mrs. Lane is there on the right, same place as last time. Not quite done with Curtis, so I’d appreciate it if you’d keep your conversation to her.”

“Yes, sir.”

“When you’re done, turn off the light and shut the door. We’ll be waiting for you out front.” Mr. Fulton rubbed his hand across the top of his head. Emmalee recognized this gesture now as something Mr. Fulton did when he wasn’t quite sure what to say next. And he lingered in the hall for a moment longer, looking as if he was hunting something he needed to find.

“Emmalee,” he finally said, “you have to understand this news has come as a huge shock to Hester. I can’t say
the thought of you and Billy hadn’t crossed my mind. I had a feeling a while back he was real sweet on you.” Mr. Fulton forced a smile as he opened the door into the embalming room. “But I want you to know my wife’s not normally this hateful. And I also know Billy’s not perfect, even if his mama thinks he is.”

“Billy treated me good. Just so you know.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Mr. Fulton said and placed his hand on Emmalee’s shoulder. “We’re going to need to talk to him later. Hear what he has to say. But we’ll work things out.”

“Yes, sir.” Emmalee smiled back.

“Oh, and Emmalee, the dress, it really is perfect.” Mr. Fulton pointed to the crimson dress hanging on a hook attached to the far wall. “You know I’ve buried men with their carbide lights, young women in their wedding gowns. Even buried a little boy no more than a year ago with a pocket full of change to take to Jesus for the Sunday offering plate. But I thought the way you sewed those little details into Mrs. Lane’s dress was very, very special.”

Emmalee smiled bigger. “Thank you.”

Mr. Fulton nodded and disappeared down the hall.

The smell of formaldehyde lingered heavy in the room. Emmalee held her hand to her nose as she had the last time, still not comfortable with the strange-smelling odor. Leona’s body was covered with a crisp white sheet. Her head was in plain view. She looked as though she was sleeping on the stainless table, the sheet folded neat around her shoulders.

The cuts and bruises on her face were gone, hidden behind layers of wax and beige-colored makeup. Her
cheeks were highlighted with a soft splash of pink; her lips, painted with a slightly deeper shade. Curls lay soft against her head, crowning her forehead with bits of silver gray. She looked happy, and even if she could have, Emmalee knew better than to try to wake her and pull her back into this world.

“You really do look beautiful, Miss Leona. Nobody’d ever know you flew off a mountain,” Emmalee said, stepping next to the body. “Mr. Fulton did real good work. And I hope you really like your dress. I made it all by myself.” Emmalee pointed to the piece of crimson hanging on the wall. “Everybody in town wants to come and see you and Mr. Curtis. I guess some only want to see how you two turned out after taking a spill like that. But I know Wilma and Easter are coming ’cause they already miss you real bad. Two of them can’t stop crying over you.”

Emmalee brushed Leona’s short bangs to the left. Leona was always pushing her bangs to the side. “Mrs. Fulton’s done found out Billy is the baby’s daddy. Guess it was bound to come out sooner or later. I’m sure Mr. Fulton wants me to think of handing Kelly over to Runt and Mettie. You know it’s not about not wanting her.” Emmalee placed her hand on top of Leona’s. “It’s hard to know what you do want when you got nothing to give.”

Emmalee clasped her hands around Leona’s as if she were praying right along with her. “Up in your trailer, I seen what a good mama you would have been. I seen it all around in everything you done for me and Kelly Faye. The crib. The rocking chair. It was all so pretty.” Leona’s hand felt cold, and Emmalee tried to rub it warm. “But I
bet you’re real happy to be up in heaven with your baby boy, you and Mr. Curtis both.”

Emmalee looked over at the other table and shook off a gruesome image crowding her other thoughts. “But I got to be honest with you, Miss Leona. I wish you hadn’t gone and left me like you did. I’m tired of being the one left behind.”

Emmalee leaned over Leona’s body and kissed her forehead. “Don’t worry about Mr. Curtis. Mr. Fulton ain’t done with him yet.”

Emmalee stepped out of the room. She turned off the light and closed the door behind her.

L
EONA

O
LD
L
ICK

1973

Leona stood in front of the kitchen sink, peeling carrots for supper. She had browned the chuck roast in the iron skillet when she got home from the factory and left it simmering on top of the stove, covered with a piece of tinfoil. She added some sliced onions to the pan and baby potatoes. She would start a cake soon. She had made the chocolate frosting before leaving for work early that morning. Chocolate frosting was Curtis’s favorite.