WILD OATS (9 page)

"It's not useless, it's beautiful. You don't seem to understand, Mr. Puser, that mourning should be a time of beauty. The days when funerals meant somber black crepe and fear are over. We understand, now, that stepping into God's hands should be a peaceful and serene passing."

Haywood leaned casually against the wall and gave Mrs. Sparrow a long-suffering look. "I read
Modern Mortician Magazine,
too, Mellie," he said quietly. "And I ain't talking about philosophical differences. I'm talking about the practical. Now look at this thing." He gestured toward the shiny new casket.

Amelia stepped closer and ran her hand gently along the fine lines of the gleaming dark green painted metal. Already she was imagining how she would speak to Maimie about mint green silk for her funeral drape. It would be both aesthetically perfect and incredibly fashionable. "It's lovely," she told him honestly.

"Sure enough," Haywood agreed. "The casket is a fine quality. Groillers make some of the best, and the lines and color are pleasing to the eye."

Amelia's eyes widened, not only for his lack of argument, but for his unexpected appreciation.

"But what about this?" he asked her. With distinct distaste, Haywood thumped the glass oval in the casket lid.

Was it possible he didn't know what it was? With a look of exasperation, Amelia spoke to him as if he were a child.

“Mr. Puser, by having this glass, the family can actually
see
their loved one."

Haywood tolerated her condescension. Folding his arms stubbornly, he asked, "So if they want to
see,
why don't they just have an open casket at the service?"

"Well, of course they will," Amelia answered. "But this will give them another moment as the body is lowered into the ground." With a quiet but oft-used sigh she added, "I buried my husband, you know. Another moment can be a great deal."

There was a flicker of some emotion in Puser's eyes that Amelia didn't recognize. Before she could examine it, it was gone.

"It does mean a great deal," Haywood agreed softly. "But not enough."

"What do you mean?"

"You can't seal glass, Mellie," he said. "No matter how hard you try, air will get in. And with air you get decay and you get seepage. That means danger and disease." He shook his head with certainty. "Is one last look at a body whose soul is already gone worth maybe putting cholera or typhoid in some farmer's well water?"

"Well, of course not, but—"

"There is beauty in the sleep of death, Mellie. But it is the living we must plan for. All of this." He gestured to the trappings around him in black crepe and mourning purple. "All of this is for the living. To ease the hearts of those who go on. But we must plan for their physical health as well."

"Well, of course, but—"

"As a trained embalmer," Haywood continued, ignoring her interruption, “I possess knowledge of the process of disease and the nature of contagion that most of the public will never need to understand. As the keeper of those secrets, I have an obligation to use what I know to the benefit of my community."

Haywood shook his head disapprovingly at the see-through casket cover. "This is a danger to my health, your health, and the health of every man, woman, and child in Dead Dog. I don't think pandering to an old woman's vanity is worth that."

Amelia opened her mouth to protest, but couldn't think of a word to speak in defense. A flash of remembrance niggled at her brain. Big Jim had been like this, just as obstinate, just as unmovable, but only when he was certain that he was right. The memory didn't sit well with the image of her dead husband that she usually recalled. The truth was so unsettling that she was distracted from defending her argument.

"Of course, you are right," she told Haywood with a strange, eerie distance in her voice. "Send it back to Groillers on the next train."

She turned and walked away, leaving Haywood to stare after her in disbelief. He'd never imagined that mule-headed Mellie could be so downright reasonable.

Cora awakened shivering. The morning sunlight shone down on her face, but the wind from the open window was cold. She was surprised to find herself sitting on the floor next to the window, wadded up like a used handkerchief. As memory returned she scooted anxiously to her knees, only to wince from her own stiff, unwilling muscles. Ignoring the pain, she looked eagerly outside the window.

Jedwin Sparrow was long gone, but the evidence of his visit was not. The worn broken fence that surrounded her sad little cottage now stood proud and strong. Gleaming in the morning sun, not with new whitewash, but with real, store-bought paint.

It was wonderful. But how could he have managed it? "He must have worked all night long," she whispered to herself.

In her mind she again saw his strong young back leaning into the task. His bright smile and those errant wisps of blond hair wanned her heart more in memory than they had at the time.

She closed her eyes, the better to visualize his face. A whiff of sweet evergreen caught the attention of her nostrils. Puzzled, she opened her eyes.

A bright green juniper branch had been tucked into the corner of the window shutter.

"Jedwin," she sighed with surprise. Had he climbed back up the side of the house, once more risking his life, or at least a good leg, to leave her a memento?

Cora gently pried the juniper from its firm housing between the louvers. The bright green branch was fragrant and accented by a scattering of tiny blue berries. Near the base, tied on securely with a length of blue carpenter's chalk string, was a piece of paper.

Cora unfolded it, already sure what it was going to be. In the broad sprawling hand she'd come to recognize, was Jedwin-s latest ode.

For sure it ain't diamonds,

Nor neither 'tis pearls.

Can a sturdy new fence

Please this swain's girl?

Chapter Seven

Maimie Briggs no longer attended Sunday church services. Feeling that, because of her advanced age, she should be excused from any obligation to visit the church, Sunday afternoons she expected the church to visit her.

After their customary hasty Sunday luncheon, Jedwin drove his mother to the Briggs home. It was the only residence on Luther Street, the wide thoroughfare that bisected Main. The Briggs mansion sat at the end of the road, surrounded by rather futile attempts at English gardening. Luther Street was the only boulevard in town that boasted a street sign. For years it had been called simply the house street, until Miss Maimie had renamed it for her son as a surprise for his eighteenth birthday, nearly twenty years before.

"Do I look all right?" Amelia asked her son as they turned the corner at Main and Luther and the house came into sight. "Do you think this dress is too bright?"

"The dress is perfect," Jedwin assured his mother without bothering to give her more than a cursory glance. He held back a yawn; he hadn't quite recovered from his all-night work marathon two days ago.

His mother had come charging up to his room to find out why he was still in bed in the middle of the morning. Although she expressed concern about his health, Jedwin could tell that she was insincere. He knew Haywood had seen him come in near daybreak, and Jedwin suspected that he'd passed on that information.

Rising out of bed reluctantly, Jedwin spent most of the day at his mother's beck and call. She'd quizzed him vaguely about secret evening appointments, but Jedwin pretended not to understand. If she wanted to ask him straight-out where he'd been, he decided, he'd tell her it was none of her business. His mother, apparently, didn't wish to risk such an answer, so she never asked the question.

But even with his mother's continued attention, Jedwin allowed himself flights of fancy. He composed more verses in his head. He thought of gifts that Cora might like: candy, a bolt of silk, or perhaps new tires for her bicycle. And he dreamed about when he would see her. The next time they spoke he would be bright and amusing and witty. She would nearly swoon with laughter from his clever conversation . . . Then the moment would change and he would look deep into her eyes and she would throw herself in his arms. She would beg him to hold her, to kiss her, to ...

Jedwin sighed with pleasure.

"Now stop that, James Edwin." His mother's waspish tone pulled him back to reality. "I don't want to hear any groans from you about this visit. I have almost won Miss Maimie over, and I won't allow your selfish bad manners to put us in a bad light."

Jedwin didn't attempt to defend himself. Although he hadn't groaned in agony at the prospect of spending another Sunday afternoon at Miss Maimie's, he certainly could have.

"I shall be on my best behavior, Mama," he promised. "If someone finally breaks down and strangles Miss Maimie, I can assure you that it will not be me."

"Everyone
loves
Miss Maimie!" his mother insisted.

Jedwin looked at her doubtfully, but responded with a pleasant, "Oh, of course, Mama."

The end of the drive was already crowded with vehicles of every description, from Titus Penny's blue and white striped surrey to Reverend Bruder's jump-seat buggy. Jedwin pulled up underneath a cotton wood tree a good distance from the house.

"Perhaps we should have parked on Main Street," Amelia suggested dryly, as she eyed the two hundred yards between herself and the house.

"When it is time to leave," Jedwin explained. "I want to be the first one down the road."

Setting the brake and securing the lines to it, Jedwin jumped down from the shiny black cabriolet and then turned to offer his mother a hand.

"Now if Maimie asks you about the business," Amelia coached him, "simply tell her that you are slowly retaking the reins and that your stomach has ceased to trouble you."

"Both those things are bald-faced lies, Mama."

"You are taking control again, James Edwin," she answered. "I'm sure that's what you want. And you haven't had a bout of nausea in weeks."

The handsomely dressed couple made their way to the Briggs mansion with the easy grace of long custom.

"I haven't been near an embalming in weeks," Jedwin said easily. "That's the secret to my cure, Mama."

Amelia sighed with exasperation. “You are nearly a grown man, James Edwin. Please try to remember that grown men do not suffer from vapors or weak stomach."

"I am
already
a grown man, Mama," her son replied without undue concern. "And were I to attempt to embalm someone this afternoon, I would lose my luncheon just as surely as I have in the past."

"James Edwin Sparrow," Amelia huffed with disgust. "You simply
must
get over this. Who ever heard of a man being sickened by his chosen profession? You are a mortician and embalming is a part of that. For heaven's sake, what kind of man vomits every time he opens a body?''

"This kind of man does," Jedwin snapped with more than a tinge of anger. "I don't know what to say to you, Mama. You seem to think this is something I do just to annoy you. You say, 'get over it' Don't you think I've tried to get over it? I've been trying to get over it for twenty years. Don't you think I know how ashamed Papa was of me?''

The stricken look on her son's face pained Amelia as if she had wounded him purposely. Consolingly, she patted his arm as they walked up the steps to the porch.

"I know you are trying to get better. And there isn't a doubt in my mind that you will succeed." She smiled at him in that warm, open manner that had once put all the beaux in Dead Dog at her feet. "Let's not think about it any more today. We don't want to spoil our afternoon."

Jedwin gave her a wry grin. "If we don't want to spoil the afternoon, we shouldn't have come to see Miss Maimie."

Conrad Ruggy, his once curly black hair now pure white, opened the door before Jedwin had opportunity to knock.

" 'Afternoon, Mr. Jedwin, Miz Sparrow," he greeted them, with a half bow of courtesy. "Fine weather we're having."

"Yes indeed, Conrad," Jedwin replied easily. "Cool of a morning and fine by midday, couldn't ask for a prettier autumn. And how is your mother? Is she feeling better?"

"She's better, much better," Conrad assured him cheerfully. "I think just contemplating the cost of your burying bill is going to keep that woman alive. She's just plain too thrifty to die."

"Well, I certainly hope so," Jedwin answered. "And how is Miss Maimie?" Leaning forward conspiratorially, he whispered, "No chance I'll be measuring her for a coffin soon?"

Conrad laughed heartily. "You are bad, Mr. Jedwin," he said. "That old woman gonna live to see us both in our graves."

"I wouldn't doubt it," Jedwin agreed. "They do say that the good die young."

Conrad was still chuckling as Jedwin made his way into the great parlor. The place was already crowded with all the best, and want-to-be-the-best, people in Dead Dog. Moving through the crowd was Conrad's wife, Mattie, and his daughter Maud passing half-filled cups of the sour apple punch that comprised the sum total of Maimie Briggs's hospitality.

Jedwin glanced up to see his mother ahead of him. She gave him an exasperated look and he knew she was irritated by having to wait for him. Speaking to Miss Maimie was like taking a dose of a purgative physic: best to get it over with before losing your nerve.

"I'm right behind you," Jedwin assured his mother as the two, with smiles and greetings to all they passed, made their way through the crowd.

Miss Maimie sat in the center of the room in a high-backed Queen Anne chair, her feet propped up on the ottoman like an Eastern pasha. A fancy brass-tipped cane curved its hand grip around the arm of the chair. She was a tiny woman, made more so by the shrinking of age. Her pure white hair was still thick and curly and she wound it across her head in a braided coronet. She was cheerful and laughing and all those around her were smiling, too.

"Miss Maimie!" Amelia exclaimed, as delighted as if she hadn't seen the older woman in ages. "How are you, dear?"

Amelia offered her hand and the older woman grasped it tightly between her own. Maimie smiled up at her sweetly, her eyes sparkling with such pleasure that her worn old face shone with beauty.

"My darling Amelia," Miss Maimie answered. "Why, I feel just as fit as I dare to be." She tittered at her own comment, and the crowd around her chuckled with her.”Is that a new dress you're wearing?"

Amelia blushed with pleasure. "Yes, do you like it?"

Maimie nodded, still smiling. "What an unusual color and fabric. It must have been expensive."

"I sent to Kansas City for it," Amelia admitted.

Patting Amelia's hand, Maimie sighed before turning to speak to the ladies at her right. "What a dear Amelia is," she said. "Just as fine a woman as you'll find anywhere."

"Why, thank you, Miss Maimie."

The older woman was still smiling cheerily. "And coming from that pig farm like you did." Maimie shuddered with distaste. "Old man Pratt was as useless a fanner as I ever knew. Why, none of us can fault you for one minute for your lack of good taste. Amelia dear, please be assured that we all just treasure you, despite everything."

Miss Maimie's smile was so warm and open, Amelia heard herself muttering a grateful, "Thank you."

As Amelia moved back, attempting to lose herself, and her tasteless new dress, in the crowd, Jedwin was forced to step forward. Leaning over, he politely kissed the old woman on her ? weathered cheek.

"Good afternoon, Miss Maimie," he said.

"Dear Jedwin, you grow more handsome every day. How is that weak stomach of yours?"

"I'm doing well, thank you, Miss Maimie."

"Such a burden ill health can be. Especially for a man. My dear husband, God rest his soul, never had a sick day in his life. I swear the man was strong as an ox and ne'er suffered an ache or pain in all his days."

Jedwin nodded in agreement and smiled wryly. "Yes, ma'am, I understand that he was quite a healthy man. Right up until he dropped dead at the age of forty-one."

Maimie's eyes widened, and she demurred slightly. "Well, yes, ah ... Mattie, can you bring me some punch? I swear my throat is as dry as a cotton patch in August."

The aging black woman quickly brought the drink and Maimie took it without acknowledgment or thanks. Maimie Barlow Briggs had grown up in those Southern cotton Fields. She pretended a past "before the war" of gentility and grace. The truth, which Jedwin had learned from his grandfather, was that Maimie's father had been a struggling Alabama cracker with twenty rocky acres of mealy cotton. The only slaves he'd “owned'' were his wife and nine children. None of these facts, however, prevented Maimie Briggs from espousing the superior attitudes of lofty ancestors she'd never had.

"Oh, that has quite refreshed me," she assured her circle of admirers before turning her attention once more to Jedwin. "Who are you calling on these days, young man?"

A guilty flush flooded Jedwin's face.

"Well, I'll swanny. Look at him a-blushing." Maimie actually giggled as she looked around at the crowd. "This young man is sparking someone on the sly!"

"No, Miss Maimie," Jedwin said immediately. "I'm far too busy to take to courting these days."

Maimie shook her head and wagged a finger at him. "I never in my life heard of a gentleman who was too busy for courting."

With laughter all around, the friends and family obviously agreed. "You'd best be staking your claim on one of these little pretties coming out of the schoolroom," she suggested. "You aren't getting any younger."

"I'm only twenty-four, Miss Maimie."

"Only twenty-four, my heavens!" she exclaimed. "And already your hair is that thin on the top." She gave him a look of sincere consolation. "Now just don't fret about it, Jedwin, it's one of those things that just can't be helped. It happens to blond men more than is fair. They just go as bald as a turnip before they are even in their prime. Now, my son, Luther, he's got the thickest head of jet black hair you ever did see."

"Yes, ma'am," Jedwin agreed, taking a convulsive swallow. "Could you excuse me, I think I'm needing a little refreshment myself."

His smile strictly window dressing, Jedwin moved through the crowd, joking and talking with first one person and then another.

"Mrs. Maitland. What a becoming hat you're wearing," he commented to the plain, rather timid wife of the local farrier.

"Mrs. Avery," he greeted a younger matron. "I saw young Jasper rolling his hoop down Church Street last week. What a handful he's getting to be."

"'Afternoon, Titus," he said with a nod to the grocer. "Have you been out hunting yet this season?"

"I've bagged a few quail," he admitted. "But Fanny hasn't let me out at night to chase down coons."

Jedwin's teasing grin was an echo of their shared childhood. "Yes, I saw Fanny when I came in. She does
look
like she's been keeping you busy of a night."

Titus shoved an elbow into Jedwin's midriff, but couldn't keep the sound of pride out of his feigned anger. "I'm hoping for a boy this time."