Reinventing Leona (6 page)
Parker glanced at Maddie, swallowing hard as if his oversized Adam’s apple clogged his throat. “Thank you, but I best be on my way.” He gave a retiring wave with his stocking cap. Then in a move reminiscent of his clumsy four-step basketball layup, he turned for the door. The leaf blower caught the edge of a silver tray loaded with pieces of Bette Bob’s Coca-Cola cake and sent the whole thing flying off the counter onto the dingy linoleum floor.
Maddie released her hold on her robe and put her hand to her mouth to stifle a laugh.
“Here, watch the bacon.” Momma passed the fork to Maddie. “Don’t you worry, Parker. I’ll get that.”
Flipping strips of side meat, Maddie watched Tater Tot and Momma clean up the mess while a red-faced Parker apologized over and over.
Maybe some things
never change.
But the absence of her father’s hearty laugh was proof the Harpers’ future was not one of them.
Dressed in black, Leona sat alone in the backseat of her mother’s limo. Snatches of “We Are Going Down the Valley” ran through her mind, but her clenched lips would not part and grant the funeral hymn an iota of tonality.
She inhaled through her nose and held it, making use of the controlled-breathing technique J.D. taught her the summer he and David suckered her into hiking a fourteen-footer in Colorado. Each rocky step to the top of the mountain required tremendous effort, but the deep cleansing breaths worked, lessening her muscle cramps and lightheadedness.
Reaching the count of ten, Leona exhaled through puckered lips at the same moment her son opened the car door. The biting wind filled the fancy interior, but she needed more air than her crushed lungs would hold if she expected to complete today’s climb.
She suspected the cause of her current oxygen-starved state was twofold. Grief backed up like a cement truck and dumped its load on her chest; then her irrational fear of overloaded vehicles kicked in. When everyone piled into the limo to go to the church, the thought of the added weight elevated her blood pressure to the point of detonation. While her mother’s chauffeur circled the block, she sat on both hands to keep from clawing through the special-order leather or popping the sunroof to climb out over Melvin’s head. Even though fear and despair loomed like a mountain, for her children’s sake, she had no choice but to summit.
David stuck his head inside. “Ready, Momma?”
Lord, help me stand firm.
Taking her son’s offered hand, Leona stepped out. From the corner of her eye, she could see that the church parking lot was packed as if today were Easter morning and all the backsliders had clocked in early for their yearly attendance credit. Leona swallowed and blinked back tears. No matter the reason for the crowd, J.D. would have loved having a full house for a change.
Roxie, who insisted she be seated with the family, stepped up and smoothed the wrinkles from Leona’s gabardine skirt. She gave a tug, then buttoned her friend’s coat against the cutting wind. “You look good, girlfriend.”
“Thanks.” Leona reached for the crooked arms of her children. “You kids ready?”
David and Maddie offered tentative smiles, their encouragement rippling through the pressure of their simultaneous squeeze against her cold hands. No doubt about it. The Harper children were made of stern stuff, due in large part to her limitation of their association with the elders’ and deacons’ children. Thank goodness. This dark tunnel would be impossible to navigate alone. Ducking her head against the wind, Leona allowed her children to lead her up the sidewalk.
Wayne Darling, director of Darling’s Funeral Home, met the little party at the double doors. “Right this way, Mrs. Harper.” With the ease of a full-sized linebacker, the pasty little man jockeyed his clients through the horde of people crammed into the foyer.
A single-file line snaked from the guest book podium and into the hall. It reminded Leona of the return lane at the Walmart counter the day after Christmas. Had someone promised these folks a refund for eighteen years of contributions in addition to their attendance sticker if they showed up for the preacher’s funeral?
Clutching the arms of David and Maddie, Leona summoned a determined smile. She averted her gaze from the commiserating stares laced with an unmistakable hint of relief. As she passed, Leona could have sworn she heard people whisper, “Better her than me. Better her than me.”
Leona picked up her pace, sticking close to the mortician. Wayne herded the grieving party through the large crowd and down the administrative hall. He opened an unlocked door and ushered them into a modest, dimly lit room.
The faint scent of bay lime stung Leona’s nose. “Wayne, what are you doing?”
“Sorry, Leona. But when we have a funeral at this building, J.D.’s office is the nicest place to hold the family until the processional.”
Leona felt her knees quiver as she stood in the center of the quiet office lined with her husband’s treasured commentaries and concordances. “Can’t we wait in the nursery or something? I don’t think I can . . .” She looked at the large empty desk chair half expecting J.D. to straighten the desk pad, stick his sermon notes in his Bible, then escort her to the sanctuary. A frantic apprehension swept over her. If she couldn’t stand being in his office, how could she step into that auditorium and take her place on the second pew for a service her husband would not be conducting?
Roxie wrapped a protective arm around Leona’s waist, firmly bringing her close. “Wayne Darling, you’ve got two minutes to get that processional hymn started and get her out of here, or I’ll see to it that you never get another part for that old hearse of yours.”
Understanding flashed across Mr. Darling’s waxen face. “I’ll be right back.” He wheeled and darted from the room. His hasty exit spun Leona’s entering mother against the doorframe.
Righting herself, Mother brushed off her tweed jacket. “Where’s the fire?”
“This is Dad’s office.” David’s forced cough failed to veil the crack in his voice.
Surveying the immaculate desk, Leona’s mother said, “At least he was neat.” She crossed the room and read aloud the inscriptions on the three plaques hanging on the wall commending J.D. Harper for five, ten, and fifteen years of service. “Two more years and he would have had twenty and, no doubt, another plaque to show for his efforts.”
Glaring at her mother’s cold-blooded eyes and reptilian tongue, Leona made herself a promise. The minute the funeral lunch was over, she’d pack the devil woman into her limo and send her back to the hole from which she had slithered. The Lord would just have to forgive her lack of Christian charity in this undeniably desperate instance.
Elder Davis poked his shiny bald head inside the door. “Wayne says they’re ready to start.”
Leona stifled an inappropriate urge to laugh at the irony. J.D. had been right. The Cadillac dealership owner’s head did look like a Volkswagen Beetle with the doors open. “Howard, thank you for taking over the service.” She gripped the hand of the strong-armed board chairman who turned every board meeting into a wrestling match. “J.D. would have expected no less.”
Howard gave a quick nod, ears flapping back and forth as if they were at the mercy of a stiff breeze. “On behalf of the board, I want to assure you that it’s our Christian duty to care for the widows and orphans, and that’s what you can count on us to do.”
Roxie snorted. “That’s the least you can do, Howard Davis. The Harpers have given you eighteen of the best years of their lives.” She nudged Leona. “Get your kids, girlfriend, and let’s do this right.”
Glancing over her shoulder, Leona shot a smug smile toward her mother. “The Lord provides.” If her arrow pierced her mother’s scaly hide, she’d seek the Lord’s pardon for her spiteful attitude at the earliest opportunity. After all, if God could forgive her banishing her mother, she didn’t see the harm in making the Almighty’s dispensation of grace worth his while.
Leona walked the sanctuary aisle supported by her children on either side, her best friend behind her, and her Lord leading the way. Tempting as it was, she mustered restraint and did not check on her mother’s negotiations of a church aisle for the first time in years.
Only a fool would press the limit of the Lord’s forgiving spirit.
* * * * *
David followed Momma, chafing with each offered condolence gushing from the teary-eyed ladies in the funeral-lunch serving line. An uncomfortable familiarity washed over him like the combined smells of brewing coffee and musty old hymnals stacked in the corner of the fellowship hall. He held out his Styrofoam plate and waited.
Maxine Davis spooned up a corner of scalloped potatoes, then plopped the skimpy helping next to a dollop of lime-green congealed salad. “Did you come all the way from London, Davy?” She stabbed a thin slice of sugar-cured ham. Using a long bony finger, she freed it from the fork and dropped the meat beside the crusty potatoes.
“Yes, ma’am.” David tugged at the knotted tie pressing against the lump in his throat.
“I told Howard we won’t have to look for a new pastor if Davy comes home.” Maxine licked ham juice from her fingers. “You’re every bit as good as your father.” A sly twinkle sparkled in her half-glasses. “Maybe even better.”
To his right, David could sense that Momma’s intense gaze did not rest on her lanky thorn in the flesh, but rather bore a hole through him, awaiting his reply. Certain his face had turned the color of the Story sisters’ tomato relish, David did not risk making eye contact with Momma. “Thank you, Mrs. Davis. But I intend to go into law.” David braced for the weeping, wailing, and gnashing of teeth, but Momma turned quietly and moved on to the desserts without comment. Why did he wish she had thrown a fit? He wanted to punch somebody, but what kind of a man wants to fight his recently widowed mother?
“A doctor and a lawyer in the family. Isn’t Leona Harper the luckiest woman in the world?” The elder’s wife leaned across the folding table, her voice dropping to a raspy whisper. “Well, except for her husband dying, and Leona being so young and all.”
“Except for that.” David knew his terse reply had hit its mark when Maxine clamped her thin lips, snatched up the empty casserole dish, and made for the kitchen sink. Landing the verbal blow gave him a perverse pleasure. He grabbed a roll and strode toward the head table.
Laughter echoed in the packed fellowship hall. David shifted on the metal folding chair wedging him between his mother and grandmother. His insides rumbled as if his restless soul warred against his exhausted body, looking for a way of escape. David tried to focus on the melting puddle of green Jell-O floating his ham like a raft. But despite his efforts of concentration, he felt his spirit tear free. Helplessly his weary body hemorrhaged as the traitorous phantom hovered above the sea of suits and Sunday dresses, eavesdropping on various conversations, wanting to hear none of them, sentenced to listen to every word.
From his vantage point above the crowd, it appeared the entire community of Mt. Hope turned out to pay their respects to his father. Everyone from the mayor to the Story sisters’ brother, Ray, their trash man, stopped by the head table to speak their praise for the Reverend Harper. If these folks loved the guy so much, why didn’t they say so when he was alive? David’s soul recoiled. Unwilling to absorb any more, the offended spirit slipped back into the hollow place in David’s chest.
David swirled the curling meat in liquid Jell-O, creating a tidal wave that turned the scalloped potatoes green. How many meals had he eaten in this cavernous room? Hundreds. Maybe even thousands. And they all tasted the same, whether the menu was ham, fried chicken, or finger foods.
He watched his grandmother daintily picking through a helping of crusty green bean casserole. Roberta Worthington was a woman who didn’t have to depend upon the leftovers from a church potluck to tide her family over for the next week. David scooted his chair back from the table. Once he was bringing down the big bucks, he’d never eat potluck again. He excused himself and headed for the dessert counter.
Bette Bob McDonald smiled from the other side of the table laden with pies and cakes, wiping her hands on the checked apron covering her from neck to knee. “How about some of my famous bread pudding?”
“Sure.” David didn’t recognize the petite blonde standing beside Mrs. McDonald and dragging a knife through a pan of nutty fudge.
“David, we sure are going to miss Reverend Harper.” Bette Bob scooped a mound of vanilla ice cream and heaped it upon a bowl of the steaming delicacy. “If I recall correctly, you pick out the raisins and only eat the ice cream.” She winked at David.
“Have to get up pretty early in the morning to pull one over on you, Mrs. McDonald.” David realized he had instinctively handled his irritation the way Momma had taught him. Paste on the perfect-preacher’s-kid smile, keep the voice respectful, but the gaze direct. That he had resorted to this trick of the trade chafed him. He was a grown man, for Pete’s sake.
“Aunt Bette, where do you want these?” The curvy candy assistant pointed at the squares of chocolate she’d placed on plates. She smiled at David.
An impish grin spread across Mrs. McDonald’s face. “David, why don’t you show my niece how we serve dessert around here?”
“Your niece?” David ignored the creamy rivulet trickling over the edge of Bette Bob’s bowl of warm pudding.
“Amy’s my youngest sister’s girl. Been living with us since she got a job at Mt. Hope’s little hospital.”
David felt the collar of his white dress shirt tighten as the azure blue eyes examined him. “Are you a doctor?”
“A nurse.” Amy’s perfect smile warmed the fellowship hall to an uncomfortable temperature.
“His sister’s almost a doctor.” Bette Bob’s face looked like she had just solved the mystery of gravity or something equally daunting. “Amy, with your medical background you’d fit right in the Harper family.” Bette Bob smiled, waving a sticky hand in front of her niece as if she were presenting the prize behind door number one on
Let’s Make a Deal
. “David, why don’t you give this
single
young lady a little assistance?” She thrust the bowl into David’s hand, along with a plate of fudge.