Bess gripped my arm. “Jory, Moses was of the water, and this is the way he would have wanted to end his life. He was unhappy, but now his weakness and his legs don’t matter. His mind is now everything it can be.”
“His mind was always everything it could be.”
She paused. “I will say this only to you and Ellie. Son, when you came to us, it seemed you and Moses became of one mind. He felt your yearning to learn of life and love. To Moses, that was an honor you may never fully understand. You sought his thoughts and wisdom. You gave him purpose, value, and pride. This was the greatest gift you could have ever given this old man.”
“Oh, Grandma.” The pain in my throat pulsed. “I was just doing the taking.”
She sighed shakily. “You gave my husband of sixty-nine years the greatest of gifts.”
“My God, sixty-nine years?” Ellie repeated.
“In two months, we would have been married seventy years. We were both nineteen when we married. Eighty-eight years is a long time to be alive.” She paused again. “Walk with me to the dock, will you, Jory?”
We walked slowly, arm in arm, as Julie and Ellie went over to Russell. Out on the dock, the wheelchair was upright, and Bess sat in it, facing the glistening water. I sat down next to her on the bench, my hand in her lap, her hands holding mine.
She looked out across the pond, the surface red from the reflecting sunset. She, too, was at peace. She rocked back and forth slightly, deep in thought. She smiled. “Yes, Jory, Moses is happy now.”
68
A Box with Handles
I HAD TO PLAN A FUNERAL for Moses, but I hated funerals, ever since that day so long ago.
* * *
Dad was in a wooden box, and the people in the pews were whispering to each other. Their sad faces turned toward me to get a glimpse of the orphan. I was sure they wondered what a little boy would do when all he had was his father, now dead. I tried not to look at them. They had no idea what I felt. As they walked by me, they touched my shoulder or head and whispered they were sorry. I just sat next to Stewart and stared at my lap, where I wondered about tomorrow. There was no tomorrow. What was tomorrow worth without my dad? It never occurred to me to worry about tomorrow, because Dad knew exactly what tomorrow held for me. He knew what was for dinner, what the weekend would hold for us, when I would get my new bike.
The road to my future was a sheer cliff at the end of his coffin, and as I peered over the edge of that cliff, I saw an eternity of nothing. There was no bottom, no sides. Nothing except my dad in a box. There he was, right in front of me and I couldn’t see him. He was lying in a box with handles. He was a cold, dead, corpse inside a box. Lifeless. Dead, dead, dead.
I stood. I didn’t know why. I left the pew, turned toward the church door, and headed down the aisle at my dad’s half-run, maybe faster. I looked straight down at the floor, hoping if I didn’t see anyone, no one would see me. I pushed open the heavy door, ran down the steps, and headed toward home.
About three blocks from the wooden box with handles, I heard, “Hop in. I’ll give you a ride.” Stewart was paralleling me slowly in his car.
“I’m not going back there!”
“Me either. I hate funerals.”
I slowed to a fast walk. My anger was fading to emptiness. “I want to go home.”
“Okay. Hop in.”
I got in. A few minutes later, Stewart said, “I’m hungry. Let’s you and me stop for a bite to eat.”
“I’m not hungry.”
He parked in front of Pau Pau’s Burgers and told me he’d be right back. He returned with two brown bags, set them on the seat, and started back down the road. He turned down a dirt lane, crossed a rickety bridge, and stopped in front of a dilapidated old house on a creek. We got out, and I followed him to the backyard where an even more rickety dock stood quietly in the water. He led me to the end and sat down, where we dangled our feet over the edge. He opened the bags and handed me a hamburger, unwrapped a package of French fries, and slid a bottle of Coke my way.
After a few bites, he said, “Jory, your dad and I go way back. We grew up together. We were best buddies. I really miss your dad, too. Don’t worry, he’s not upset about you leaving the church. He understands.”
I broke off bits of my hamburger bun and tossed them to a pair of begging mallard ducks. Without looking at Stewart, I said, “What’s going to happen to me?”
Stewart didn’t reply for a long time. All I could think about was taking Dad’s money and buying Stewart a more powerful pair of pants so he could defend me. But I knew he wasn’t going to win over Madge.
“I guess you’ll be going to a foster home until you’re eighteen,” he said quietly.
“I can’t live with you?”
“Madge is just too old. At least, that’s what she says, Jory. I’m sorry. I really did try, and I really want you to live with us, honestly. However, you know Madge. Sometimes I don’t know why I stay with her.” He tensed. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Well, why don’t you and I live in Dad’s house together?”
Stewart gave a short laugh. “You know, I almost wish we could. You’d be fun to live with. But I’m too old now to make a change, really am.” He cleared his throat. “Hey, buddy, don’t you tell Madge I said I’d rather live with you, or my ass is grass. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“Look, Jory, you’ll be all right. Most foster families are nice, I hear. And it’s only for a few years. When you’re eighteen, you’ll be able to come back here, and I promise I’ll help you get settled in and get everything taken care of. Madge won’t have a thing to say about it, I promise. So you only have to make it seven years. You can do that, buddy. And I’ll keep the store running for you. It’ll be yours when you get back.”
“Will I be able to live in my house?”
“You bet, partner. I take care of all your dad’s bookkeeping and all his financial stuff. I have what’s called ‘Power of Attorney’ for the store and the bank accounts.” He winked. “He did that when your mom died. Your dad was horrible with accounting stuff and couldn’t even balance his checkbook. His house is paid for, only taxes and insurance left. I’ll take care of everything while you’re away, and the house will be yours when you get back. You’re the only person in your dad’s will. I know, I helped him write it. Everything will be yours.”
“Even the store?”
“Yup. When you get back, I’ll be working for an eighteen-year-old boss. Now what do you think of that? You won’t fire me, will you?”
I knew he was trying to make me smile, but I only stared out at the water. “Why can’t I just stay here?”
“Believe me, I wish you could. Jory, I’ll take good care of the store and the house. I promise you, buddy. I promise.”
69
Of the Heart
RUSSELL ASKED if I wanted an autopsy to determine cause of death—drowning or heart attack. I said, “No, I know it was his heart.”
And that was how the obituary read. Whether it was of a heart attack or of his heart’s desire to leave us with only memories of love, without burden, it didn’t matter, for it was indeed his heart that took him from us. Moses had said to me, “I will do what is right within my heart—I promise.” Moses would not break a promise.
* * *
We expected a small gathering at the funeral, but when we arrived at the church, it was standing room only, and there were people gathered outside, too. As we walked to the front pews, I saw Miss Lucy and many others from Vicksburg, including Jacob and Max. I hugged them tight and thanked them for coming.
The pastor said his obligatory words of praise and read the usual passages from the Bible, all of which applied to Moses as he compared him to Moses in the Bible.
The pastor looked at me. “I’m sure Mayor Sheppard has something he would like to share with all of us.”
My body went cold. I had not even thought about a eulogy. “My God,” I whispered to Ellie, “I completel
y forgot.” She squeezed my hand.
I walked slowly to the podium like some force was holding me back, turned, and faced the full church of sad black and white faces. “I’m so sorry… In my grief…I completely forgot I should prepare to address you.” I lowered my head and looked at his coffin. “Grandpa, there are no words to express my sorrow.”
I turned and looked at Bess and the rest of my family. I could only look at them as I spoke. “I lost my mom before I had any memory of her, and I lost my dad when I was eleven. Yet, soon after Dad died, I found my grandpa, the incredible man here beside me. I was a frightened and lost little boy, trodden, astray, and down. But, Grandpa, you raised me up.” I looked at the coffin. “Yes… you raised me up.”
The woman in the choir loft, who had been playing the organ as everyone had come into the church, softly began playing the music, “You Raise Me Up”. I looked up at her. “I…I didn’t ask for this song to be played, and I thank you for doing so because those are truly the words I need right now.” Tears pooled in my eyes, a painful knot formed in my throat, and my lips trembled, but I owed this to Moses. I knew the words, but my throat would allow no sound.
I grabbed the podium to keep from collapsing in a sudden rush of grief. I tried to hide my blurry eyes, lowering my head.
Suddenly, from the choir loft, the angelic voice of a woman filled the entire church and melted into harmony with the organ, singing the words I wanted desperately to share.
It was so much more than a song; it was a declaration of the goodness of Moses. Her voice, magnificent, carried my emotions. “When I am down…and, oh my soul, so weary…when troubles come…and my heart burdened be…”
I looked up. She was at the rail, both hands stretched out in front of her. The organist followed as she sang. Every person turned to see from where the voice came and wipe tears from their eyes. I could barely see to walk to my seat, sliding my hand slowly along the coffin. Her brilliant and powerful voice captured and overwhelmed every emotion in the church. I felt as if I were standing in a surreal, frozen moment. I stood next to Moses, and her words filled me.
Somehow, I returned to the pew, and Ellie leaned into me on one side, my son on the other; I put an arm around both of them and pulled them close. I lowered my face, feeling the softness of their hair against my cheeks. Julie, Bess, Lucilla, and Mayhew held each other close, weeping.
The last chorus was not a lone voice, but seven, all just as grand. Three black men now stood to the left of the soloist, and three black women stood on her right, filling our tiny universe with the perfect words to bid a final farewell to Moses.
The organ stopped, and that first piercing voice sang the final, “You raise me up…to more than I can be.” When her voice stopped, her hands went to her face, and she, too, shuddered in tears.
* * *
Moses was put to rest in the small plantation cemetery under the oak tree next to the pond. The parade of cars seemed to go on forever, and vehicles were parked everywhere on the property. It showed me the true impact of this man. I knew many people were aware of Moses, but I had no idea how far reaching his legacy had spread.
Standing by the grave, I tried to take in all those saddened people, wanting to hug each one, when I noticed a man standing at a distance by himself, his head down. I had seen him before, but I couldn’t place where. Then it hit me with a cold chill. I had not seen that face since Russell had ripped off his KKK mask in our front yard. What a horrible insult, I thought as the anger built. I wanted him gone, now.
I saw him wipe his eyes. He looked my way for a moment, then slowly walked toward me on his way to his car. He never made eye contact, but as he passed, he stopped. “I’m so sorry,” he said, and continued quickly on his way. For an instant, I could not move, and my anger slipped away as quickly as it had come. Moses had reached into many hearts, but I had never thought his goodness would penetrate a white sheet.
I had never been to a black wake, and I had no idea it was a celebration, or that food for the family was tradition. There were hams, cakes, casseroles, breads, rolls, cookies, pies, enough to feed the entire town. It was wonderful mixing with friends of Moses and Bess from Vicksburg, and having Jacob, Max, and their families at the house.
At the end of the day, all the colored people put down their plates and gathered around the grave. Without cue, the song Sweet Chariot filled the air. My family and I walked over and joined in. It was the happiest and saddest feeling, watching them all in perfect rhythm, swaying from side to side, smiling wide, and such beautiful voices. Everyone came out of the house to become a part of our final farewell. When the song was finished, they sang Go Rest Ye on the Mountain, and the beautiful Negro Spiritual Just a Closer Walk with Thee. No one wanted the singing to stop; in a way, it never did, for sometimes I still hear the words they sang drift by on a breeze.
* * *
Julie published a wonderful article with photos of Moses and his family—all of us. It pleased Bess, and I believe she read it every day. Though there were no obvious signs—for Bess seemed incapable of changing—I sensed a change in her. Outwardly, she appeared as happy as always, but Ellie must have felt it, too, for she came to me and asked if it would be okay if she moved into the cottage to be with Bess. She said it would give her more privacy, and thought Bess needed someone there so she wouldn’t feel alone.
We let her know how much we appreciated how she felt, and we were proud of her wish to watch over Bess. Her reply was, “Dad, Mom, I love Grandma Bess. She’s the only grandma I have.”
70
Another Goodbye
HOW BESS DID IT, I do not know. She turned off the beating of her heart while asleep four months later.
It was hardest on Ellie. Sitting on the dock with Ellie, she said, “Bess was never sick. Why did she die? I miss her so much.”
I pulled her into me. “Darling, without the strength of Moses in her life, Bess could not manage to keep her heart going. You see, for almost seventy years, their two hearts beat as one. When you lose half of who you are, you lose strength. Bess needed to be with Moses more than she needed to be with us. Now they are both together and complete again. We can be sad for us, but we should be happy for Bess, and for Moses, for they belong together.”
Ellie pulled herself close to me and wept.
Bess was buried next to Moses. It was Ellie’s request that the caskets be placed in one grave, side by side; they touched each other. Ellie said, “That way, they will sleep next to each other in death as they did in life.” She said I should cut a hole in the side of each casket so they could hold hands for eternity. For a while, I actually thought about doing it.
Their headstones were placed to touch as well. I had a blacksmith forge a heart about a foot wide. On it was engraved, Two Hearts Beat As One. It bonded both headstones together.
We had a family-only burial. Bess had asked me to promise her that when her time came, there would not be a funeral, for all she wanted was to lie in rest next to her husband, with only her family to see her there. I promised.
* * *
Ellie asked if she could remain in the cottage. Julie and I allowed it, of course, and when I went to the cottage the next day, she had moved into their bedroom. She said she felt their presence there more than anywhere else. Everything in the cottage was immaculate, and the kitchen table had place settings for three, as Bess had always set it after Ellie moved in.
One day while visiting the cottage, I asked Ellie to fix us a cup of tea. Bess’ delicate cups and saucers were already in their places, all three. She poured the steaming tea. I reached across the table and opened my hand. “Can I hold my daughter’s hand?”
She reached out and placed her soft, fragile fingers in mine, and we pulled them together. “You’re a senior, young lady, and you will soon be off to college. I feel like I’m running out of time to tell my daughter she is the finest young person she could possibly be, and the most wondrous daughter in the whole world.” She looked down at her cup. �
�I just haven’t told you how wondrous you are often enough, or how much I love you.”
She met my gaze with glistening eyes. “No, you haven’t, Daddy, only every day. You should have told me at least a hundred times a day, don’t you think?”
I chuckled, and my free hand went to my mouth. I nodded. “Yes, at least a hundred times, and even that wouldn’t have been enough.”
* * *
I was in the study, reading, when Ellie came in.
“Dad,” she said, so resolute, “promise me you’ll never get rid of all these books. They were such a part of Moses. I love them. They mean so much to me.”
“Oh, darling, there is a marvelous history behind these books, and they mean more to me than you can know. I would never get rid of them.”
“What history, Daddy?”
And so I explained how the library had become a gift through a plantation owner named Mr. Mills, and how Moses expected me to read every single one of its books.
* * *
That evening, my son came to me.
“Dad, would it be okay with you and Mom if I moved into the cottage with Ellie? I don’t know if it will be okay with Ellie, I haven’t asked her. I wanted to ask you first.”
“Yes, of course it’s okay with us. But why don’t you let me ask Ellie, okay?”
“Would you?”
“Sure.”
Ellie was not at all surprised, and she didn’t mind. In fact, I think she was happy to have her brother’s company. I told Moses, and he moved most of his things immediately. At dinner, I tapped my glass to make an announcement.
“Since you two are slowly migrating away, this is to declare that dinner together will not cease to be a daily occurrence. It can be at the cottage and you two fix it, or it can be here as usual. But it will be together. Got it?”
My Water Path Page 29
