Bring on the Rain (20 page)

Chapter 12

“
Coy said park at his
dad’s.” Brook pointed across the road the next day as they drove to
the funeral. Jude’s house was on a hill opposite the
farm.

There were vehicles everywhere; they
had been in a jam on the way. Dovie may have been harsh, but she
was somebody and was well known. There was even a reporter or two
on the scene.

Madeline pulled the Bronco where Brook
instructed her, around to the side of Jude’s house. The house was a
log home, huge with a red tin roof and massive porch. It must have
taken up two acres.

She shook her head, wondering at the
Coburn's and their penchant for building. She supposed it was in
their blood, their grandpa had owned the first sawmill in these
parts, and he’d bought land all over for timber.

They had stopped by the funeral home
earlier but knew the real service would begin at the house. It was
a mixture of mountain tradition and a cultural event. The ceremony
mixed ancient ways with modern laws, the staying up all night with
the dead, and a viewing, the funeral and burial.

Here the men of the family dug the
graves, carried the casket, and performed most of the service. Many
of the old timers, though strangers, had done the duty for Madeline
years ago, she’d been ignorant of everything, and Aunt Gee Gee had
seen to the social part. She’d been too out of it
anyway.

Madeline slid her sunglasses on. She
wore wide legged black slacks and a thigh length square top with
sheer sleeves in the same color. Designed like a jacket, it nipped
in at the waist, cut vee in the neckline. Her sling backs were low
heeled and black. She wore her hair natural and
feathered.

She glanced at Brook who was digging
around in the car for something. Brook wore a straight mid-thigh
plum dress, simple, and the most normal thing she seen on her in
years. Her matching shoes were thin with straps, and she’d slicked
her hair down and wore pearls in her ears. It was amazing how
elegant and grown up she looked, even her makeup was subtle, her
lips only lightly glossed.

“
Here they come.” Brook took
her arm, having found what she was looking for.

They stood at the outside of the
jam-packed parked cars, waiting to cross the street after the
procession.

The Coburn men were on horseback. All
in black, riding offspring of the studs’ old man Coburn first
bought and bred in the county. Mitch and Jude, Coy and Jason, with
Lee, Doug, and several others she knew only by sight.

Madeline felt the somber mood as the
horses’ hooves beat on the pavement and resonated through the
valley. The erect, solemn men, the rose buds on the horse’s
bridles. It moved her. She exhaled a quivering breath.

“
Jesus,” Brook whispered in
an unsteady tone.

Madeline echoed that mentally as they
came abreast in precise action, the horses turned, and climbed
toward the home place. The graveyard was above the farmhouse, past
the huge garden and on a flat knoll. You rode either a horse or a
four-wheel drive, because there was no actual road, only the one
carved by those who visited the other graves.

She felt her heart constrict as the
scarlet and black wagon passed by, transporting the engraved wood
casket. The handles gleamed in the morning sun. The wood shone rich
amber. The bouquets of roses vibrated with each step of the team
drawing the burden.

Preacher Joe McNeil followed behind. He
walked grave and stiff, a tall man and robust; he wore a black suit
and white shirt and black tie. He carried his bible in both hands
near his chest.

The females came next, Deena among
them, all wearing black and carrying a white rose. Madeline laid
eyes on Deena for the first time in nineteen years, thinking she
was still tall and trim, still attractive with thick brown hair in
a twist. However, when she passed by, she saw the lines in her
face, the care-worn grooves that could have come from unhappiness,
or merely the grief of the day.

Eventually she and Brook crossed the
road among a crowd of people. Some she nodded to, others she didn’t
know.

The Coburn's were distinguished by the
place they had taken up in the wide yard, close to the casket. The
men had dismounted, holding the reins, lined up oldest to
youngest.

“
We’ll have a short service
here for those of you who won’t be going up the hill,”

Preacher Joe was saying as they stood
amid the crowd. “Mitch here, has given me the schedule, and we’ll
honor it gladly, allowing this family to have what brings comfort
for those who are gathered.” He read the twenty-third psalm and a
verse from Ecclesiastics.

Madeline permitted her gaze to scan
across the family. Watching Mitch, seeing his jaw set rigid and his
chest fall and rise in a way that showed his effort to keep
control.

Jude’s hair was back in a ponytail, and
he was helpless to the tears seeping down his hard visage. Coy wept
too. Jason, she saw with compassion, kept swallowing. Mitch seemed
to bite down on his teeth until the sinew of his jaw was
taut.

Madeline reached out and took Brook’s
hand, glancing at her, seeing her wipe at tears several
times.

However, it wasn’t until they were atop
the hill that she fell apart.

Mitch and Coy, after the short prayers
were complete, came over long enough to lead Brook and Madeline to
the SUV. They got in. The men rode their horses. She held Brook’s
hand tight. One of the funeral directors drove them up.

They exited and waited while people
streamed up to the oak-shaded gravesite, walking, carrying babies
and a few students rode four wheelers. Mourners were eventually
spread over the grassy hillside. The wind was sweet and high enough
to float over them.

Madeline felt, more than saw Brook
glance away as the casket was opened one last time and the family
passed by, leaving the roses on it. Many talking to Dovie, speaking
words that floated up to the blue sky, which was much more vivid
today. Brook’s fingers were digging into her own, but she watched
Mitch wait for the females to complete their passing. When he first
walked up, her throat closed, Madeline sensed his acceptance of the
past, his letting go, as he whispered deep and husky, “Save us a
place, Gran-ma. May the good Lord be merciful to us
all.”

He placed the rose and passed on, his
face finally streaked with glistening tears.

That completed, and another prayer
whispered, she spied Deena and her husband. Observing the tall,
balding man reach for his hanky. Deena dried her eyes. She stepped
up to the head of the casket as the men were cranking the lid
closed again. Nurtured singing bluegrass, Deena had a voice for it.
When she began a song called Angel Band, it raised the hair and
spread chills on Madeline. The mournful words floated down the
hills and hollow, ringing with a pleading honesty.

Lament was breaking over
like a wave, deep sobs of the men mingling with the women and
children. Some softhearted old soul kept saying,
“
Lordy, Lord Jesus
,” in a voice so humble, it caused more weeping. Madeline
gathered Brook against her side, feeling the both of them shiver
against each other.

Coy sang next, a song Vince Gill had
written for his brother, called Rest High on That Mountain. It was
heart rending slow, and sung in a tenor that pierced through
them.

Mitch sobbed once, grabbed Jude’s arm
in a manner that steadied him again.

Madeline moaned inwardly, it was hard
to hold any grudge when the frailty of life was brought home to
you. Death was final and grief here was for a woman who had begged
to be forgiven. A woman who had waited too late to make
amends.

Madeline knew in some surreal way then,
what mercy was. Mercy was being guilty, and still receiving
forgiveness. Who didn’t expect that for themselves if they believed
in a higher power?

Soon she would need forgiveness and
understanding from someone she loved.

Madeline didn’t realize how tight she’d
held her lungs until Coy was finished singing the last note. She
parted her lips bringing in air and reached in pocket for her
hanky.

Rubbing Brook's back and whispering,
asking her if she wanted to leave before the casket was
lowered.

“
I want to stay.” Brook
sounded hoarse.

Madeline nodded, torn by the crying of
the crowd, and so much of the past being buried with Dovie Coburn.
So much of her future now being revived by the same. She and Brook
watched the men of the family fill the grave with earth, and place
the flowers on it, so abundant they overflowed onto other graves of
elder Coburn's.

The crowd was drifting down to the
farmhouse, and they decided to walk down the hill too. They held
hands, dried their tears, and pulled themselves
together.

“
The wind feels good,” Brook
said finally.

Madeline smiled gently at her. “Smells
like rain, I think.”

They walked to the side, to let
vehicles pass and the men lastly as they finished the
burial.

Mitch and Coy dismounted.

Madeline didn’t say anything when her
daughter and Coy walked ahead, holding hands.

She was aware that Mitch longed to,
because he walked close, his arm brushing hers.

“
This is Nimrod the third.”
He nudged her arm.

She looked at the horse. It was pitch
black and shimmering, with a rippling mane and tail and long lashed
eyes. “He doesn’t look as ornery,” Madeline made her tone
dry.

He laughed, but it was a hurting one,
laced with pain and grief. “Are you staying longer?” He asked,
obviously wanting her too.

“
I’ll stay awhile,” Madeline
conceded, trying to ignore people who glanced at them when they
walked by.

At the edge of the yard, Mitch
explained he had to ride the horse back to his house and get his
truck. She nodded and went inside to see if anyone needed her
help.

Sunny had sent three hams and lots
other things. Madeline walked in the big farm kitchen, spying two
groaning harvest tables loaded down with food. There were at least
fifty women of all ages in there. Someone was singing a sweet and
gentle hymn as they filled plates and cups.

She left, figuring she would be in the
way. There were people who were good at these things. They did it
for family and strangers alike.

In the parlor, Madeline came
face-to-face with Deena.

Madeline slid her sunglasses farther
back on her head. She wet her dry lips, offering, “I’m sorry about
Dovie.”

Deena’s eyes were a bleak amber and
swollen from crying. However, the lines on her face were anything
but welcome. “I heard Coy is mixed up with your
daughter.”

Her spine stiffened. Before Madeline
could stop herself, she fired back, “I heard yours ran
away.”

Deena flinched. “She’s right outside,
thank you.”

“
Deena,” Madeline started,
bit her tongue, and shook her head. “I’m sorrier for you. Because
if you’re as miserable and as unhappy as you look, you've been more
than repaid for the heartache you’ve caused him.”

“
Jude told me about all the
confessions.” Deena snorted softly, looking over and around to make
sure no one overheard. “I’m not apologizing to you, Madeline. You
think I wanted my brother married to a woman whose mother was
crazy? Or my nephew?” Her lips thinned. “I’m not one bit sorry. I
still don‘t think you‘re good enough.”

Madeline said, “I don't need you to be
sorry, Deena. But you say one word about Brook, or to her—and I’ll
show you crazy.”

Deena flinched, obviously surprised by
the steel in Madeline’s voice.

Madeline knew that had been her mistake
in the past; always soft-spoken and respectful, always afraid that
if she fought back, people would say she was a nut like her mother.
Well, she didn’t care now. Madeline lifted her chin, her eyes firm,
and intent.

“
Dovie told me she’d messed
up with you, and you know what, I think she did. Worse yet, I think
you like being a troublemaker. I am not afraid of your mouth
anymore. You hurt your brother and it didn’t bother you a bit,
obviously. To me, I can see why you did it. But what you did to
Mitch was horrible.”

Deena looked shaken but whispered,
“He’ll get over it. Women are attracted to Mitch, and a piece of
ass is all the same to a man.”

Madeline’s laugh was sheer disgust.
“You’re a sad excuse for a woman, Deena. You‘ve always tried to be
a bitch, but you know something? You can’t be a bitch, until you‘re
a woman. Between your grandma, and your husband, you‘ve never had
to be. Try not running everyone's life and your mouth at the same
time. Grow up, for God sakes.” Madeline felt utter disgust for her
kind of bullying. “Nobody gives a shit if you approve of them or
not.” She turned, trembling and walked outside, feeling those eyes
on her back.

The big porch was crowded, as were the
steps and wide yard. People were talking, some were eating, some
were still crying, a few by the cars smoked and
socialized.