Benediction

  That was nice of him to say, Mary said.

  Yes. He meant it too.

  Outside the bedroom it suddenly turned dark, a cloud was passing over, and it began to rain. It pounded straight down. A sudden dark fallen curtain. Then in a moment it stopped.

  I hope Dad heard that, Mary said.

  The air was cool and fresh now coming in the window.

  Oh, doesn’t it smell good, she said.

  Lorraine went to the window and opened it wider and Alene joined her and they stood watching as the sun came out again and the rain dripped off the eaves.

  In the evening Mary and Lorraine stayed with Dad, sitting on into the night beside the bed. Finally Lorraine went up to bed and left the door open so she could hear if there was anything to hear, and Mary got into her nightgown and crawled in beside him. I’m still with you, she said. Don’t worry about anything. I’m right here. She switched the lamp off and took his hand. She went to sleep immediately.

  When she woke at midnight he was still breathing. She went to the bathroom and came back and lay down and took his hand and went to sleep. At two suddenly she woke again. He wasn’t breathing, then after a long while he breathed again and shuddered. She turned on the lamp and looked at his face and got out of bed. I’ll be right back. She went to the bottom of the stairs.

  Lorraine! Please! Can you hear me? Lorraine!

  She came to the landing. Mom. What’s wrong?

  Come down here. Now.

  She hurried back to the bedroom and when Lorraine came they sat together beside the bed and held Dad’s hands and he took a short breath and after a long time breathed again. Then he made a sound down in his throat, followed by a drawn-out choking rattle, then a little weak noise again. Minutes went by. He breathed once more, a small shallow inhalation, almost nothing, and the little sigh, they waited, watching his face, waited … waited, but there was nothing more, that was all there would ever be, he never breathed again.

  Mary began to cry, rocking herself. I’m not ready! I thought I was. But I’m not ready! Not yet!

  Lorraine began crying too and she put an arm around her mother. They leaned toward the bed and Mary took Dad’s hand and kissed the back of it and held it to her cheek and then stood leaning over and pressed his quiet face between her hands and kissed his forehead and kissed him a long time on his cooling open lips. Good-bye, sweetheart. Good-bye, my dear.

  Lorraine bent over and kissed his cheek and touched his face. Be at peace now, Daddy. Good-bye.

  They removed his clothes and bathed his body, lifting each arm, and washing his hands, his papery fingers, they closed his mouth, pressing his jaw up, pressing his lips together though his mouth still stayed slightly open, and closed his eyes. They washed his face and ears and washed his scalp and washed all of his body front and back, holding his long thin cooling body as they did. They put clean pajamas on him and folded his hands together over his chest. Finally they lit a candle and turned off the lamp. They sat down beside him.

  After a long time Mary said, I think I’m ready now. Are you, dear?

  I am, Mom.

  They got dressed and called the nurse. It was about five then, the sky just turning light. The nurse came in right away and looked at Dad and collected the remaining medicines and filled out the papers. She left the house and at six o’clock they called George Hill, the mortician. Before he came they went back in the room one last time. Dad’s face was cold now to the touch, his eyes had come open slightly. They sat until George Hill arrived. Then they kissed Dad’s face a last time and left the bedroom weeping. George and his assistant wheeled in a gurney and lifted Dad’s body onto it and spread a white sheet over him. They rolled him carefully out through the doorway into the living room, mindful not to bump anything.

  We’ll be going now, Mrs. Lewis, George Hill said. If that’s all right.

  Mary nodded. She choked and couldn’t speak. She and Lorraine went with the men out of the house and stopped at the gate and watched them fold up the wheels of the gurney and lift it into the back of the van. George Hill looked at them once more and nodded and got in and drove slowly away.

  They walked back into the side yard and stood with their arms around each other, facing the east as the long day began.

  39

  PEOPLE BEGAN TO COME to the house in the middle of the morning, to offer sympathy and gifts of food, and Berta May came over again to help. Mary and Lorraine had dressed in good clothes by now and they met the people at the door and brought a few in for a brief visit.

  It rained that morning again, around ten o’clock, another of the short hard summer rains that blew through, then the sky cleared again.

  Later that morning Richard arrived from Denver in a new car and came up to the house. Lorraine hugged him and he was unusually quiet and Mary allowed him to take her in his arms. I’m sorry for your loss, he said. It makes me sad to hear of it. He sat out on the porch for a while and about noon he left and went over to Highway 34 and rented a motel room for the night and stopped to eat lunch at one of the highway cafés.

  At one o’clock Willa and Alene Johnson came to the house and relieved Berta May. Before leaving, Berta May made sure everything was in order, and Mary said, Would you mind doing one more thing for us? Would you take these notices around to the stores? If it’s not too much to ask. I know you’ve done so much already. It was the one thing Dad said he wanted.

  So that afternoon Berta May and Alice distributed the little stiff white cards with black borders, bearing the news of Dad’s death and announcing the memorial services to be held at the house and the Holt cemetery. The notices had been printed that morning in the back room of the Holt Mercury newspaper.

  They drove over to Main Street and Berta May stopped the car. Now you understand what to do. Take one of these into each store and hand it to the person at the counter, whoever is there.

  What should I say?

  You just say this is a funeral notice for our neighbor Dad Lewis. And be slow when you do this. Don’t do nothing in a hurry. Remember what you’re doing here. This is a solemn occasion.

  Alice got out and Berta May moved the car down to the corner of Fourth and Main. Alice went into all of the stores on the east side and crossed the street and entered the ones on the west side. When she was done, Berta May drove farther down Main Street and parked in the next block and watched as her granddaughter went in and out of those shops. She was wearing a blue dress. She looked like a nice girl. At the hardware store there was a Closed sign hung at the door and in the display window was a large piece of wrapping paper with writing in black. Our friend Dad Lewis died this morning. We’re closed until further notice.

  In the last block of businesses Alice came back to the car before she had finished. That woman wanted to know if the preacher at the Community Church was doing the service.

  What woman?

  That woman in there.

  What did you tell her?

  I didn’t tell her anything. I didn’t know what to say.

  That’s exactly right. Anybody who asks you, you don’t know. And you’ll be telling the truth. It’s none of their business. People like her make me real tired.

  When they returned home Berta May said, Now I’m going to go back and lay down a while. You take off your dress and put your shorts and T-shirt on.

  Can I ride my bike?

  Yes, but don’t you make no noise. I don’t want you bothering them next door.

  What are they doing?

  Those people are grieving. They’ve had a hard thing today. Other people are wanting to come and visit them and talk. They don’t need no noise outside. Do you understand?

  Yes.

  Not a sound.

  Yes, Grandma.

  Okay, go on and get out of that dress and hang it up. I don’t mean to sound unkind, honey. I’m just tired. You did a good job downtown just now. I’m proud of you.

  Next door Alene and Willa were doing what they could to help. Alene washed the coffe
e cups and saucers in the kitchen sink and put them to dry. There was a dishwasher that Dad had brought home a long time ago but they didn’t want its disruption in the house now.

  Lorraine and Mary had gone upstairs to lie down in the two bedrooms. When the phone rang Willa answered it at once and took down the caller’s name. The memorial will be held here at the house, she said, day after tomorrow. Yes, that’s right. Here at the house in the side yard, with a service at the cemetery afterward. Thank you, I’ll tell them.

  Later that afternoon Richard came back with a handful of flowers and Alene met him at the front door. I’m Richard, he said. Maybe Lorraine mentioned me.

  Yes. We’ve heard of you.

  Is she available?

  She’s sleeping, but you can come in and wait.

  Well. I don’t want to be in the way. I’m happy to wait for her. She’ll probably get up pretty soon. She never sleeps very well.

  Is that right? Alene said and led him into the living room.

  He’d bought the flowers at the grocery store on the highway and he was carrying them in front of himself in their thin green tissue paper like a kind of ceremonial element.

  This is my mother, Willa Johnson, Alene said. This is Lorraine’s friend from Denver.

  Lorraine’s asleep, Willa said. And can’t be disturbed.

  I’ll just sit and wait for her.

  The women looked at each other and Alene took the flowers to the kitchen and returned with them in a vase and set the vase on the coffee table.

  You don’t have to pay me any attention, he said.

  The phone rang and Willa picked it up. This is the Lewis house. Willa Johnson speaking. She explained again about the services, and hung up.

  And after a while Mary came downstairs and Richard stood up to meet her. I thought I had better come back, he said.

  Yes, she said.

  And then Lorraine came downstairs and he stood up again. I came back to see if I can help.

  Did you.

  I’d like to, if I can.

  There’s nothing to do right now. Thank you for asking.

  I brought you those flowers.

  I see that. Thank you. They’re beautiful.

  The women went out to the kitchen and he sat again on the couch, looking around the room, looking at the flowers. He picked up a magazine.

  Toward the end of the afternoon Rudy and Bob came to the house. They were greeted at the door and brought into the living room and were introduced to Richard. Rudy and Bob had on their good wintertime suits and were sweating and red faced in the heat. They sat down on the couch.

  You’ll have to excuse us now, Mary said. You’re welcome to stay.

  She and Lorraine and Alene and Willa went back to the kitchen and closed the door.

  Mary said, I can’t be sitting out there with them or anybody. I just can’t do it.

  Mom, you don’t have to.

  You do what you want, Alene said. You don’t need to think about anyone else today.

  There will be other times later, Willa said, but today now you just go ahead and do what you feel you need to.

  I don’t want to be rude. But I can’t sit out there. I think I need some air.

  Do you want company?

  She shook her head and went out to the backyard. They watched her through the window. She walked slowly into the shade under the tree and they watched her bend far over and touch the ground and lower herself onto her knees, wrapping herself in her arms, and now they could see she was crying, the top of her white head on the grass.

  Oh I should go out to her, Lorraine said. Look at her, the poor thing.

  No, I don’t think you should, Willa said. She has to do this. This is only the beginning. This is the first day.

  In the living room the men sat glancing sideways at each other and looked around the room and peered out the windows.

  We kept the store closed today, Rudy said. He cleared his throat. We had to do that.

  It was the right thing, Bob said. Out of respect.

  I don’t know if it was ever closed before on a weekday. Except for Christmas.

  Or New Year’s, Bob said. One of the holidays.

  I brought these flowers, Richard said.

  They stared at him.

  On the table here.

  After a while Richard stood up and went back to the kitchen and tapped on the door. Lorraine came out and went with him to the front porch.

  I think I’ll go, he said. There’s no point in me being here right now.

  I thank you again for coming.

  So I’ll see you tonight, he said.

  No. I won’t be going anywhere. I can’t leave.

  I got a motel room, he said. I thought you’d come join me.

  I can’t leave my mother. What were you thinking?

  I thought you could for a while. It’d be good for you. You need a break.

  No.

  Well, he said. When’s the funeral? Two days from now. I might as well go on back to Denver, if you won’t see me.

  You have to do what you want. But I can’t leave, you know that.

  I didn’t, he said. He leaned to kiss her and she turned her cheek. I see, he said. You won’t even kiss me.

  Not now. I don’t feel like that.

  He looked out toward his new car. There are just all kinds of things happening today and not happening today, he said. Isn’t that right.

  You can understand why.

  I’ll see you, Lorraine.

  She waited on the porch watching him walk around to the far side of the car. He got in and looked at her for a moment. He didn’t wave. Then he put the car in gear and sped off throwing gravel up behind just as a gray cat darted out in the street ahead of him. Oh! she cried. Don’t hit it! The car swerved in time and the cat ran out with its tail straight up and ran into the neighbor’s yard. She watched the car go on up to the highway and turn west toward Denver.

  In the house, when she went back inside, Rudy and Bob were standing in the living room, talking to her mother. She could see Willa and Alene out in the kitchen.

  I guess we better be getting on too, Rudy said. He looked at Lorraine. If there’s anything we can do, you’ll let us know?

  Yes, of course, she said. We appreciate all you do for us.

  We wanted to be here, Bob said. You know what we thought of Dad.

  Yes, we know, Mary said. You’ve both been very kind. You’re good friends.

  One thing we wanted to ask you, Rudy said.

  Yes?

  We wondered what you was thinking about tomorrow.

  Tomorrow? Lorraine said.

  Because we figured you will want to close the store for the funeral the next day.

  Of course.

  But the question is. Tomorrow.

  What do you think, Mom?

  I think Dad would want it to be open. Keep it closed today and again for the memorial, but open the doors tomorrow like always.

  That’s what we was thinking, Rudy said. He was looking at Lorraine again. But we thought we should ask.

  That would be the appropriate thing, she said. If you will open tomorrow, please.

  Well, we better get going, then. We’re sure sorry about Dad. We sure are. His eyes filled with tears. That’s one thing for certain. We’re going to miss him every day. It’s not going to be the same without him down there.

  They started to shake hands with Lorraine but she stepped forward and kissed each man on his clean-shaven cheek, red and streaming with sweat and uncomfortableness, and then they both hugged Mary in their warm good suits, their eyes full of tears, and went out the door and climbed into Rudy’s car and drove away.

  Then at dusk Rob Lyle came once more to the house. Mary and Lorraine and the Johnson women were out in the kitchen dishing up food and they asked him to join them.

  No, thank you, he said. I only came by to see if you were all right.

  You can just please stay here and join us, Mary said. We ask you to. You can see al
l this food. People have been so kind. You’ll be doing us a favor.

  Lorraine handed him a plate.

  All of these gifts of food are a tribute to your father, aren’t they. And to you and your mother.

  People thought so much of him. All over this county, Lorraine said. Help yourself and come into the dining room with us.

  They made another place at the big dining table and the women and Lyle sat down and he said a prayer of grace and they began to eat. But after a short while Mary put down her fork.

  Mom? What’s wrong?

  I can’t eat.

  You need to eat something.

  I’m not hungry. I don’t feel like it.

  You’ll feel more like it tomorrow, Willa said.

  Maybe I will. I don’t know that.

  Then suddenly the front door burst open and Berta May came rushing in. Alice! she cried. Is Alice here?

  They all stood up from the table and gathered around her.

  I don’t know where my girl is. I told her she had to be quiet. I told her you was grieving over here so she couldn’t make no noise. So I let her ride her bike. But, oh I’m afraid she took me too serious. She must of went someplace. Oh, I’m just afraid she’s got hurt or somebody’s done something wrong to her.

  Has she been out late like this before? Lyle said.

  Never. She never does this. Oh, what if something happened to my little girl. Berta May began to cry. Her chin quivered and she covered her face. Mary and Lorraine put their arms close around her.

  What about her friends? Lyle said.

  The old woman looked at him and dabbed at her eyes with a Kleenex. I called, she said, but they don’t know no more than I do. She don’t really have friends here anyway. We was waiting for school to start.

  What about the police? Willa said.

  I don’t want to call the police. This isn’t a police matter.

  I could search around town, Lyle said. If you’d like me to do that.

  If you could, maybe you’d see her somewhere. She might be playing with somebody that I don’t know about.

  Is there a part of town she liked to ride in especially?

  That’s it—I don’t know. I never paid enough attention. She always come back in the house to check in.