by Rhett DeVane
“And,” she brushed across the row of hanging clothes with one hand, “I don’t have a smattering of an idea of what you’d like to be laid out in.”
Evelyn walked idly over to the bureau and picked up the intricately-carved silver hand mirror. She busied herself with a sprig of stray hair for a moment. “I want to do right by you, Mama. I really do. I’m just…I’m having trouble with how to go about it. Maybe you could send me a sign — just between you and me.”
No mighty trumpets blared. No angelic voices broke the silence. Evelyn sighed wearily and turned back to face the task at hand — choosing her mother’s laying-out ensemble. Her gaze rested on the bedside stand where she noticed a solitary cassette tape labeled with her mother’s precise, fancy script: Listen to this, Evelyn.
“Where’s that cassette recorder of Holston’s?” She opened and closed the drawers of the bureau and found nothing except rows of carefully folded gowns, socks, and underwear. The single drawer of the bedside table held the recorder/player and several tapes, all carefully labeled with Piddie’s handwriting.
With shaking fingers, she inserted the tape on side A and came close to jumping when her mother’s distinctive Southern drawl sounded from the speaker. “Hello? Hello? Testing one, two, three! Hah! I know how this thing works, I just always wanted to say that.” Piddie’s musical laughter filled the room.
“Well, Evelyn, honey…I reckon if you’re listenin’ to this recordin’, I’m either in the hospital, or I’ve passed on to my reward. Either way, there’re some things I need to say to you. So, if you ain’t sittin’ down, I suppose you’d better. I know how easily overcome you can be.”
Always the obedient daughter, Evelyn settled onto the bed.
“All righty then. Here goes nothin’. Evelyn, you’ve been a good daughter. I know it ain’t been easy for you, sharin’ your weddin’ home with your old mama here these last few years…but, I want you to know, it was greatly appreciated.
“I know you’ve heard me say how your father Carlton, God rest his soul, and I wanted to have a passel of young’uns. I don’t want you to ever feel like you were looked down on ’cause you were the only one the Good Lord chose to give us. You were a’plenty. And, we both loved you till our hearts nearly-’bout busted out of our chests.”
A single tear rolled down Evelyn’s cheek. A deep ache started in the center of her soul.
“Don’t you cry now. I know you’re tunin’ up to start. You’ve always worn your feelin’s on your sleeve, bless your heart.”
Evelyn quickly wiped the moisture away from her cheeks.
“I ain’t tellin’ you to bottle it up, neither. Just try to calm down so you can hear what I’m tellin’ you. There’ll be plenty of time for grievin’ — that’s what the layin’-out and funeral’s for. If you hold it inside, it’ll turn your soul black and blue.
“Now, I done told Hattie what I wanted done with me. I’d’a told you, but you’d of pitched a royal snit-fit, and honestly, honey, I just wasn’t up for it. This old bad heart just sucked the energy out’a me.
“This is what I want you to do. I ’spect you to honor my last wishes. I want you to lay me out for the visitation at the Triple C. I’ve passed it by Jake, and he sees no reason for anyone to object. Then, I want to be cremated and my ashes sprinkled over a nice sunny spot fit for a daisy patch.”
She heard her mother pause for breath.
“Put a little sittin’ bench there, if you’d like. It’ll give you a place to come visit when you’ve a mind to — I’ll be right there with you. I promise. It’ll be a place I don’t mind comin’ back to. Don’t you dare close me up in no dang coffin for all eternity! You know I’m claude-o-phobic. I’ll haunt you till the end of your days if you close me up in one of them awful boxes. Just rent one for the layin’-out, and you can turn it back in. I gave Hattie some instructions, too, on havin’ a headstone made to put up home in Alabama next to your daddy.”
A brief silence followed before Piddie spoke again.
“I want you to spread the word to everyone. Tell Elvina. It’ll give her somethin’ to focus on. It’s okay by me if you wear your dreary mournin’ clothes to the layin’-out, but I want bright colors and singin’ at the sprinklin’ service. I’ve lived a long, happy life, and I want you all to praise God and celebrate for me. I’ll be somewheres listenin’ in.”
Evelyn sighed. “All right, Mama.”
“Now…that’s all the hard part I gotta say. Next is…I’m so proud of you, I could just about bust! You’ve finally found the one true thing you’ve been called to do — sewin’ and makin’ folks look pretty. Even the governor’s wife! I still ain’t over that! I’ll suwannee!”
Piddie stopped briefly to clear her throat.
“Keep up with that. It’s your God-given talent. As to the cookin’ — even though you have improved a sight, I’d let Joe take that task on. He’s havin’ a big time doin’ it, and it’ll give him a hobby for when he retires from coachin’ those nuts up at the ’hooch. It’s important that a person keeps on livin’ and learnin’. Otherwise, what’s the use of stayin’ around takin’ up space and gettin’ in ever’body’s way? Joe Fletcher is a good man, Evelyn. If you never done nothin’ right again in your natural born life, you could rest easy that you chose your partner well. I love Joe like a son.
“Well, sugar…I’m kindly windin’ down. I’ve made some other tapes for a few folks. Please, if you will, make sure they get into the right hands after the service. I’ll be obliged for it.
“Oh, I almost forgot…I want to be laid out in that pretty yellow dress you made for me for my birthday party. Ask Mandy to do up my hair like I had it then. Maybe she can get some real daisies from Jake for my hair. I’d like that. Since it’s only for a few hours, they should hold out without wiltin’. Be sure to tell Mandy to be careful with the color. It’s the pale yellow I like. She’ll remember.”
Her mother’s voice grew soft.
“I love you, Evelyn. You’re everything I ever wanted in a daughter. Don’t worry. I’ll be holdin’ you and Joe a place over on the other side…if the Good Lord’s willin’ for me to be there my own self.”
The hiss of dead air filled the room. Evelyn hit the stop button. She looked up. “Thank you, Mama,” she whispered.
“How a person grows up, how the family treats a little youngun – that’s awful important. Makes all the difference in the world. The older you get, the more you realize that your roots are what’s holding you up, not tying you down.”
Piddie Davis Longman
Chapter Sixteen
Hattie
As Piddie’s estate executor, the responsibility for carrying out her last wishes rested with me. For the first time in my life, I was pushed into making final arrangements: speaking with the funeral director, choosing the casket for the visitation, meeting with the minister, and asking Mandy to style Piddie’s hair one last time. Initially, Evelyn was passionately opposed to cremation. Just when I thought I’d have to dig in for a drawn-out confrontation, she mysteriously changed her attitude, graciously allowing me to attend to the details.
The notion of death as a business was difficult to grasp. I wandered through the casket viewing room like a first-time car buyer, aghast at the quoted prices running the gauntlet from modest to extravagant. Piddie’s voice whispered in my head. “Ain’t you glad we’re just rentin’ one of these boxes instead of buyin’ it, gal?”
I suppressed a giggle and felt a momentary blush of warmth on my shoulders, as if an unseen entity had rested an arm around me in comfort and camaraderie.
“There are two ways we can proceed,” Joseph Burns, the funeral director, said. “You may choose to rent one of our ceremonial caskets for the visitation. However, if I may suggest, we do have a complete selection of specially-designed cremation caskets. The deceased will rest in the casket for the viewing, then we will provide transportation to the crematorium we contract with in Tallahassee. Since it is designed to be combustible, the cremation casket is le
ss expensive than a conventional one.” Joseph paused. “I say this only to offer you a choice, Miz Hattie. I’ll be pleased to arrange whatever you think best.”
I nodded.
“Because your aunt requested a public viewing, it will be necessary for me to prepare her body. We will return her cremated remains to you within two to three days of the viewing.”
I was leaning heavily toward the choice of a pale rose-colored casket embellished with painted flowers when I tripped on a wrinkle in the carpet and almost fell headfirst into an emerald green casket lined in pastel green silk.
“Mr. Burns? I think she’d like this one. Evelyn’s sending up the yellow outfit Piddie wore for her birthday party, and I just believe it’ll look good next to this shade of green.”
“Fine, Miz Hattie.” Joseph motioned toward a side door. “If you’ll step into my office, we’ll go over the itemized statement of expenses the state law requires me to cover with you.”
I checked the contact list: Dragonfly Florist, Morningside AME church, and Hank (ugh!) Henderson’s law office. The tiny brass bell on the front glass door of the Dragonfly Florist shop announced my arrival.
Jake looked up from the clipboard he held. His face was painted with a mixture of confusion and sadness. “Oh…hi, Sister-girl,” he said absently.
“At the risk of sounding totally lame, how are you feeling this morning?”
Jake frowned. “Dismal. Washed out. Like I have a hangover from an all-nighter.”
He pushed his hair back with one hand. “I can’t believe she’s really gone. How can that much life and energy be snuffed out just like that?” He hugged the clipboard to his chest. “What are we gonna do without Piddie?”
I sighed deeply. “That, I can’t answer.”
For the third time in the last few years, I had lost a loved one, and grief was proving to be the one thing practice did not make perfect. “I can’t shake the feeling that she’s still hanging out with me, all around… watching, commenting on the preparations for her wake and funeral service.”
Jake’s left eyebrow arched upward.
“Why are you looking at me so funny?”
Jake rested one hand on my shoulder. “It’s not you…for once. The shipment of flowers I ordered before Piddie died came in this morning. My usual order, nothing additional. When the van arrived, I got ten extra containers of daisies.”
The hair prickled on the back of my neck. Jake looked at me for a moment, then we said in unison, “Piddie!”
“She practically threw me into the casket she wanted.” I said. “Why should I be amazed that she’d make arrangements for you to have plenty of her favorite flowers on hand?”
“She hated carnations. Said they reminded her too much of a cemetery plot.” Jake pulled thoughtfully on his chin. “You know, since I don’t have to make a drape for the top of the casket, I could flank it on either side with a stand of daisies and leatherleaf fern, even scatter a few arrangements through the parlor at the mansion. Piddie told me not too long ago, she didn’t like the look of a casket smothered in a cape of flowers.”
“She’d love whatever you come up with, I’m sure. Well…that takes care of that. Save the bill for me, and I’ll write you a check out of the estate account.”
Jake waved his hand. “This one’s on me, Sister-girl. I’ll do it up right.”
“That’s really sweet of you, Jakey. But, that’s a lot of flowers.”
He shrugged. “Even if I could charge you, I wouldn’t. I just got off the phone with my supplier. I wasn’t billed for the daisies, and he insisted that he didn’t send anything over the normal order and won’t accept payment for them. The man thinks I am a total lunatic, I’m sure of it.”
“That…is weird. Let me run. I have to stop by Hank Henderson’s office this morning.”
Jake wrinkled his nose as if he had bumped into a pool of fetid air. “You poor dear.”
“Necessary evil. He has Pid’s updated will.”
“I suppose you and the family’ll have to endure him long enough for the reading.”
I tipped my head and smiled. “Actually, sweet love, you’ll get to be there, too.”
“Whatever for?”
“Hank gave me a list of benefactors to contact, and you’re on it.”
Jake lay the clipboard down. “Imagine that. What do you reckon Piddie’s been up to?”
“Stirring things up, as usual. I have a good inkling that death won’t stop the likes of Piddie Longman.”
Jake’s blue eyes sparkled. “Hmm. Wanna meet me later at the Homeplace for a French dip sandwich?”
“I’m not really hungry, to tell you the truth, but I could stand a tall glass of iced tea.” I checked the time on my watch. “How about around one? That’ll give me time to stop by Hank’s office and then talk with Reverend Jackson at Morningside AME.”
“He’s preachin’ Piddie’s service?”
“Get this. Piddie pulled him aside several weeks ago and told him exactly what she wanted for her funeral…down to the music. I think it’ll be unlike anything this town’s ever seen.”
“Just like Piddie, herself.” Jake smiled sadly. “Okay. I’ll meet you down the street at 1:00. Jolene will be back to cover the shop by then.”
“Go on a cry if you need to, when I’m dead and gone. But, cry for yourself – to rinse your soul clean of sadness. Don’t shed one tear for me. No sir! I’m gone to glory.”
Piddie Davis Longman
Chapter Seventeen
Triple C Day Spa and Salon
The day of Piddie Davis Longman’s wake dawned dreary and overcast with the promise of rain. Though the heavy low-hanging clouds kept the blazing August sun at bay, the air was sluggish with humidity. The weather matched the somber mood of the attending friends and family.
The slated plantation blinds were half opened, allowing the meager gray natural light to filter into the front parlor of the Witherspoon mansion. Jake’s floral artistry filled the cavernous room. Pale yellow pots of daisies, fern, and wispy baby’s breath were scattered throughout the parlor. The casket was flanked by two massive Boston ferns on white wicker stands and matching floral arrangements of daisies, white roses, fern, and slender barren branches coated with white paint and clear glitter. The opposite end of the parlor was filled with the floral tributes that had arrived in time for the wake. Most were of the typical funeral spray variety. One stood out; a red and gold asymmetrical oriental design wired from family friends, Dr. Paul and Sushan Wong of Beijing, China. The room appeared cheerful and uplifting in an odd way, and I knew instantly that Aunt Piddie would approve.
Following tradition, the members of the immediate family were the initial visitors to the Triple C’s formal parlor. Bobby, Leigh, Holston, and I stepped through the front entranceway, followed closely by Piddie’s grandson, Byron, his wife, Linda, and two great-grandsons. Joe supported Evelyn with one arm wrapped around her waist.
“I’ll go with you if you want to see her,” Holston said softly.
In that instant, I decided to break a lifelong taboo. I slid my hand into my husband’s, and we walked toward the coffin. I gasped involuntarily.
“You okay, hon?”
I nodded. Piddie’s physical earthly form, though devoid of animation, appeared peaceful and angelic, as if it glowed with an internal light. An extra-long head cushion supported her hairdo: layer upon layer of soft yellow curls dotted with fresh daisy blossoms. Her hands were folded over a weathered white Bible. A plain gold wedding band was her only jewelry.
My aunt’s expression was one of peace; the many small worry-line wrinkles smoothed by Joseph Burns’ practiced hands. The corners of her lips turned slightly upward, as if she was privy to some important and vastly amusing cosmic joke. My thoughts drifted back to when Bobby and I were children. Piddie would pretend to be asleep, and then suddenly jump up and scare the dickens out of us. We’d squeal with a blend of mock terror and delight.
Seeing her body resting amidst the
flowers in the dark green casket she helped to choose, I felt my spirits lift slightly from the oppressive gloom. Somewhere deep inside, I knew. Piddie was safe — in a peaceful, happy place. My challenge would lie in releasing my selfish need for her physical presence. The grief I felt was for me, not for her.
For the next three hours, multitudes of people of mixed races and economic levels came to pay last respects. Folks who would normally pass each other on Washington Street with a polite nod joined in their unified praise of a woman who had possessed the ability to look past the earthly covering of a person, clean through to the essence of spirit.
As soon as Piddie’s passing became known, the community had folded my family in a warm cocoon. They provided food by the armloads, planned childcare for Sarah and Josh, and ran small errands we didn’t have the energy to do ourselves. Grief had thrown us into pure survival mode. Without neighbors prompting us to eat and sleep, we would’ve just as soon stared numbly into space. The chronological age of the deceased loved one didn’t matter. Whether attired for an infant or an aged person close to a century in years, grief wore the same heavy gray cloak.
Dressed in a crisply pressed tailored black suit, Joseph Burns stood by the entrance to the hair salon. His calm, discreet presence was reminiscent of an English butler — aware of every nuance and ready to attend to the needs of the visitors.
“Mr. Burns?”
He snapped to attention, his face painted with genuine warmth and concern. “Yes. Miz Hattie?”
“I…I…just wanted to say…thank you. Piddie…she looks beautiful.”
Joseph extended his hand and rested it lightly on my shoulder. “I’d like to think I treat all of my clients with the same respect, but I have to admit, when it came to Miz Piddie… well, she was like my own family. There’re a lot of folks who feel the same way. Piddie Longman’s done a lot for this town.”
We stood side by side watching the ebb and flow of mourning-clad visitors filing by the casket.
