agreed to close for the hour of services, county offices closed. Courthouse has lowered its flag out front, school’s letting out early. That ought to satisfy anybody that comes asking who she’s got!”
“Friends are here today and gone tomorrow,” Mrs. Chisom told Laurel and the Mayor. “Not like your kin. Hope the Lord don’t ask me to outlive mine. I’d be much obliged if He’d take me the next round. Ain’t that a good idea, children?”
A little boy came into the room at a trot while she waited for an answer. He did not look at her or anybody else. He was wearing a cowboy suit and hat and double pistol holsters. He stopped when he saw where he was going.
“Wendell, you pull off your hat if you go any closer,” said Sis.
The child bared his head, continued to the coffin, and stood there on tiptoe, at Laurel’s side. His mouth opened. He was about seven, fair and frail. The ferociousface he looked at and his own, so near together, were equally unguarded.
“How come he wanted to dress up?” asked the child.
“Who promised if they could come in the house they wouldn’t ask questions?” asked Sis.
“Yes, me and my brood believes in clustering just as close as we can get,” said Mrs. Chisom. “Bubba pulled his trailer right up in my yard when he married and Irma can string her clothesline as far out as she pleases. Sis here got married and didn’t even try to move away. Duffy just snuggled in.”
“What’s his name?” asked Wendell.
“Wendell, run up those stairs and see if you can find your Aunt Wanda Fay. Tell her to come on down and see who she’s got waiting on her,” said Bubba.
“I don’t want to,” said Wendell.
“What you scared of? Nothing’s going to bite you upstairs. Go hunt her,” said his father.
“I don’t want to.”
“She better hurry if she wants to see us,” Bubba said. “Because we’re gonna have to turn right around in a minute and start back to Madrid.”
“Now, wait!” said Major Bullock. “You’re one of the pallbearers.”
“What did he call you, Dad?” cried Wendell.
“It seemed only right,” Major Bullock said to the room.
“Tell her to come double-quick,” said Bubba to Wendell. “Run!”
“I want to stay here,” said Wendell.
“I’m sorry. This is his first funeral,” said Sis to Laurel.
“Let me show you Judge,” Mrs. Chisom said placatingly to Bubba.
“I just finished seeing him,” Bubba said. “I couldn’t help but think he’s young-looking for a man pushing seventy-one.”
“That’s right. Not a bit wasted. I’m proud for you, Wanda Fay,” Mrs. Chisom said, addressing the ceiling over her head. “Your pa was wasted and they didn’t have the power to hide it.” She turned to Laurel. “But I reckon he’d lasted longer on nothing but tap water than anybody ever lasted before. Tap water, that’s all Mr. Chisom could get down. I kept listening for some complaint out of him, never got one. He had cancer but he didn’t whimper about it, not to me. That’s because we both of us come from good old Mississippi stock!”
A big, apple-cheeked woman in a hairy tam smiled into Laurel’s face from the other side. “I remember, oh, I remember how many Christmases I was among those present in this dear old home in all its hospitality.”
This caller was out of her mind, yet even she was not being kept back from Judge McKelva’s open coffin. By the rundown heels on her shoes as she lumbered toward her, Laurel knew her for the sewing woman. She would come to people’s houses and spend the whole day upstairs at the sewing machine, listening and talkingand repeating and getting everything crooked. Miss Verna Longmeier.
“And they’d throw open those doors between these double parlors and the music would strike up! And then—” Miss Verna drew out her arm as though to measure a yard—“then Clinton and I, we’d lead out the dance,” she said.
In Mount Salus nobody ever tried to contradict Miss Verna
“Friends are here today and gone tomorrow,” Mrs. Chisom told Laurel and the Mayor. “Not like your kin. Hope the Lord don’t ask me to outlive mine. I’d be much obliged if He’d take me the next round. Ain’t that a good idea, children?”
A little boy came into the room at a trot while she waited for an answer. He did not look at her or anybody else. He was wearing a cowboy suit and hat and double pistol holsters. He stopped when he saw where he was going.
“Wendell, you pull off your hat if you go any closer,” said Sis.
The child bared his head, continued to the coffin, and stood there on tiptoe, at Laurel’s side. His mouth opened. He was about seven, fair and frail. The ferociousface he looked at and his own, so near together, were equally unguarded.
“How come he wanted to dress up?” asked the child.
“Who promised if they could come in the house they wouldn’t ask questions?” asked Sis.
“Yes, me and my brood believes in clustering just as close as we can get,” said Mrs. Chisom. “Bubba pulled his trailer right up in my yard when he married and Irma can string her clothesline as far out as she pleases. Sis here got married and didn’t even try to move away. Duffy just snuggled in.”
“What’s his name?” asked Wendell.
“Wendell, run up those stairs and see if you can find your Aunt Wanda Fay. Tell her to come on down and see who she’s got waiting on her,” said Bubba.
“I don’t want to,” said Wendell.
“What you scared of? Nothing’s going to bite you upstairs. Go hunt her,” said his father.
“I don’t want to.”
“She better hurry if she wants to see us,” Bubba said. “Because we’re gonna have to turn right around in a minute and start back to Madrid.”
“Now, wait!” said Major Bullock. “You’re one of the pallbearers.”
“What did he call you, Dad?” cried Wendell.
“It seemed only right,” Major Bullock said to the room.
“Tell her to come double-quick,” said Bubba to Wendell. “Run!”
“I want to stay here,” said Wendell.
“I’m sorry. This is his first funeral,” said Sis to Laurel.
“Let me show you Judge,” Mrs. Chisom said placatingly to Bubba.
“I just finished seeing him,” Bubba said. “I couldn’t help but think he’s young-looking for a man pushing seventy-one.”
“That’s right. Not a bit wasted. I’m proud for you, Wanda Fay,” Mrs. Chisom said, addressing the ceiling over her head. “Your pa was wasted and they didn’t have the power to hide it.” She turned to Laurel. “But I reckon he’d lasted longer on nothing but tap water than anybody ever lasted before. Tap water, that’s all Mr. Chisom could get down. I kept listening for some complaint out of him, never got one. He had cancer but he didn’t whimper about it, not to me. That’s because we both of us come from good old Mississippi stock!”
A big, apple-cheeked woman in a hairy tam smiled into Laurel’s face from the other side. “I remember, oh, I remember how many Christmases I was among those present in this dear old home in all its hospitality.”
This caller was out of her mind, yet even she was not being kept back from Judge McKelva’s open coffin. By the rundown heels on her shoes as she lumbered toward her, Laurel knew her for the sewing woman. She would come to people’s houses and spend the whole day upstairs at the sewing machine, listening and talkingand repeating and getting everything crooked. Miss Verna Longmeier.
“And they’d throw open those doors between these double parlors and the music would strike up! And then—” Miss Verna drew out her arm as though to measure a yard—“then Clinton and I, we’d lead out the dance,” she said.
In Mount Salus nobody ever tried to contradict Miss Verna
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