The Ladies Farm (8 page)

Now, though, filing into the chapel and eyeing the closed casket, Della felt a little guilty.
In all ways
, she imagined herself saying in suitably measured tones,
Pauline was a friend
.

Della had a method for getting through funerals. First you read everything there was to read. Depending on the denomination, this could be a prayer card, a hymnal, a desk-top-published summary of the deceased’s life, or just the manufacturer’s name on the chair back.
Then you thought back to the absolutely best time you ever had with the deceased. And you stayed there, reliving the thing in as much detail as necessary, until it was time to rise for the final hymn or prayer.

At that point you’d be overwhelmed with sorrow but the singing kept you from breaking down, and you could file out with your dignity intact. At the grave site, you just concentrated on whoever was collapsing closest to you, providing whatever comfort and support was needed. Before you knew it, you were back in the car.

As Della paged through the hymnal, she was surprised to hear that Pauline had once entertained dreams of performing great choral pieces. And when Hugh Jr. recounted how his parents had met at a workshop preceding a civil rights march, Della herself remembered how she had met Pauline at a PTA bake sale. Della had made brownies from a mix; Pauline had made six loaves of banana nut bread with whole wheat flour.

Barbara’s sniffling interfered with Della’s recall of Pauline’s long hair. The hair had been her greatest vanity. It seemed to have turned silver overnight, but even then, Pauline continued to adorn it with jeweled barrettes.

A glance to her right showed Barbara dabbing at her eyes with a hankie. Beyond her, Della saw Rita rolling her eyes and patting Barbara’s back. Kat, straight-backed and eyes fixed on the speaker, sat to Della’s left and Della couldn’t help thinking about Richard.

She imagined that seeing the three of them lined up this way would bring a smile to Richard. She could remember dozens of parties at Richard and Barbara’s with Richard playing the genial host, welcoming Tony and Della with hugs and kisses, escorting her to the bar with his arm around her shoulder. He told her later that he had always envied Tony, had always been attracted to her.

Della watched Melissa step up to the lectern as Hugh Jr. returned to the row of seats in front of theirs. Barbara leaned forward and put a hand on Hugh Jr.’s shoulder. He jerked, then turned slowly and
covered Barbara’s hand with his own and nodded at his mother’s old friend.

Meanwhile, Melissa had launched a somewhat sarcastic remembrance of the ingredients—all natural, no artificial additives—in Pauline’s life. Barbara’s sniffling had subsided and Della settled back, trying to picture Hugh and Pauline at the Morrisons’ parties.

Suddenly, she recalled Pauline in a bathing suit at what must have been a Fourth of July party. Pauline at her rounded, curvy best, pulling herself up the pool ladder, water running from her peachy flesh, as Richard welcomed her into the folds of a dry towel.

Pauline froze in Della’s mind, wrapped in the towel in Richard’s arms. Oh, shit! Della thought.

Kat glared at her. Had she spoken?

Finally understanding that she was the only one still seated, Della rose and joined the singing.

You’re wrong, she argued with the picture in her mind. Pauline wouldn’t do that. Pauline died with her husband’s name on her lips.

But the picture stayed with her. They finished singing and resumed their seats. The minister spoke and still the image remained, accompanied once more by Barbara’s weeping.

Kat caught her eye for a second and frowned with a nod toward Barbara, but Della didn’t care about Kat’s disapproval of Richard’s wife.

She was so preoccupied with Richard and Pauline that she barely noticed when the minister wound down and they rose for the Twenty-Third Psalm.

Hugh Jr. had offered them a car, of course, but they had declined. Driving themselves to the cemetery saved them from having to come back to the funeral home after the burial.

“I like that Melissa,” Rita said. “That’s a girl with Pauline’s heart.”

Nobody reminded her that Pauline’s heart had given out for no apparent reason at age fifty-seven.

“She’s more like her father,” Barbara said hoarsely, and Della leaned forward slightly to see around Kat to where Barbara slumped against the window. “Pauline was very kind, but Hugh … there was a heart. The way Melissa held on to those kids during the service? That was pure Hugh.”

The others considered this in silence. Della didn’t remember Hugh as especially affectionate, but you never know how someone is with his own family. It was high praise, though, from Barbara, who had Richard for comparison. Richard was a born hugger.

At least Pauline and Hugh were not at the same cemetery as Jamie and Richard. Della didn’t know whose idea this place was; maybe their church had a section here, or Pauline had made a hasty decision when Hugh died.

They stepped carefully onto the damp grass and walked to the edge of the awning. Hugh Jr. and Melissa and their families sat on folding chairs in front of the grave. Other mourners, many of whom Della knew, crowded beneath the awning.

Rita held on to Dave’s arm, and Barbara seemed to be suspended between Kat and Della. Just once, thought Della, I’d like someone to hold me up at one of these things. “Here,” she whispered to Barbara, “why don’t you take this chair.” She pulled an empty one from the back row and set it back a little so Barbara could sit. With a rustle from the layers of dark chiffon in which she had swathed herself, Barbara lowered her body into the chair.

She didn’t know what Barbara could see, seated behind two rows of people on the sloping ground, but something set her off again, and she was sobbing by the time the minister took his place and described Pauline as waiting for them on some distant shore.

That didn’t comfort Barbara at all. Her sobbing grew louder. Then, she made tiny mewing sounds, like a kitten, and people starting turning around to look.

Della didn’t care; let them look. They were lowering the casket into the grave, and Della was congratulating herself on her tolerance
when Barbara began to moan. “Oh, Pauline,” she moaned. “Oh, Pauline.”

Kat looked at Della and Della looked around for Dave and Rita, but they had disappeared. Shrugging in acquiescence to Kat’s demand, Della knelt next to Barbara. “Come on,” she whispered to the hands covering Barbara’s face. “Let’s go get some air.”

Barbara moved her hands to look at Della, but she didn’t stop moaning. “Oh, Pauline!… Oh, Pauline! I killed her! I killed her!”

Della stood quickly, taking Barbara’s elbow and yanking her to her feet. “Come on,” she said, not at all gently. “She’s in the ground, we’re all done here.”

Pushing and pulling, Della and Kat moved Barbara back to the car. Kat opened the car door while Della aligned Barbara with the front passenger seat and pushed gently on her shoulders. Barbara sat.

Kat, with a look that clearly stated
You can’t possibly ask me to comfort my lover’s widow
, fled toward Hugh Jr. and Melissa, to express her sympathy and to confirm they’d come out to Sydonia on Friday. Della hoped she rounded up Rita and Dave, too. She didn’t want to hang around.

“Here,” she said to Barbara. She reached into the back seat and pulled out a handful of fresh tissues. “Your handkerchief must be soaked.”

Barbara took the tissues and blotted her face, then burst out crying again. “Oh, God! Pauline! Oh, Pauline!”

Della was still standing, facing Barbara, who sat on the car seat with her feet planted on the ground. “Barbara,” she said softly, but Barbara was sobbing hard into the wadded tissue. “Barbara.” Della squatted down to eye level.

She reached over and put a hand on Barbara’s shoulder. The flesh felt warm through the silk and Della struggled to keep her hand there, imaging Richard’s hand in the same place.

“Oh, Della!” Barbara sobbed harder, leaning forward until Della was all that prevented her from tumbling forward. “Oh, God, Della,
I killed her!” Della, braced in her squat and pushing with all her might to keep this mound of quaking flesh from crashing onto her, barely comprehended at first. Shoving, finally, until Barbara sat back up, Della was panting when she replied.

“Oh, Barbara, don’t be melodramatic. You ran out to get help. It wasn’t your fault.”

“No, no, no!” Barbara moaned, shaking her head back and forth. “It was my fault,” she sobbed. “It was my fault.”

Della felt ashamed at the jolt of pleasure, undiminished by recognition that her joy stemmed from her chance to be forgiving and magnanimous while Barbara writhed with guilt. She deserves to suffer, Della rejoiced, even as she patted Barbara’s shoulder.

“She knew,” Barbara wailed. “She knew when she saw the ring, and it killed her!”

“She knew?” Della could stand the pain no longer and forced herself to straighten up. Hot arrows shot the length of her spine.

“All these years,” Barbara cried. “All these years, why couldn’t I leave it alone? Why did I have to go there, have to talk about Hugh? It was like I couldn’t stop myself, on and on about the amethyst!”

“Hugh?” Della dropped her arms to her sides.

“It was just one night. One night!” Barbara cried. “But it broke Richard’s heart, and now it’s killed Pauline!”

               Chapter 6

W
e were just a bunch of middle-class Texans, Della thought. None of us was a prom queen or a CEO. We raised kids, went to church, lived in houses with two-car garages, and now it turns out we were all just humping like bunnies.

She blinked at Barbara, who had doubled over until her head was almost on her knees. Her silk floral back shook with grief. My God! thought Della. She cheated on Richard!

She looked around, trying to ground herself in the present. The crowd was dispersing to cars parked all along the service road that bordered the cemetery. Small groups dotted the flat ground in front of the wrought-iron gates.

She didn’t see Kat, Rita, or Dave anywhere and guessed they were still with Hugh Jr. and Melissa. Della sighed. The door to the back seat hung open and she reached in again for more tissue. “Barbara?” she said.

Barbara looked up and reached for the tissue. “You won’t tell the others, will you?” Barbara asked. “I know you don’t like me, but—”

“Oh, for heaven sakes, Barbara, what makes you say that? Of course I won’t tell them. Here,” said Della, motioning at the tissue, “blow your nose. Do you have a compact?”

Barbara obeyed, then looked up with wonder. “Didn’t you ever
think about, when you were married, what another man would be like? Didn’t you—”

“Who knows what I thought when I was married?” Della shifted from one foot to another. “Who cares now?” She nodded toward the clutch that Barbara had thrown onto the floorboard. “That yours?”

Barbara twisted around and then reached, feeling with her hand until she retrieved the purse. There’s no one around to appreciate this, Della thought, now that Pauline’s dead. Me comforting Barbara over her unfaithfulness to Richard.

She felt her own eyes filling up and she turned away from Barbara. All she needed was another tear fest.

Nonetheless, her eyes stayed full and blurred the figure walking toward her. Until he said her name, she didn’t recognize Tony at all.

“You okay?” he asked, then looked into the car. “Barbara?”

Barbara finished applying her lipstick and smooshed her lips together for a long second before she flashed a smile at Tony. “Well, hi there, stranger. How have you been?”

In a move that surprised Della with both its speed and grace, Barbara popped out of the seat and stepped forward to hug Tony.

Tony hated fat women, and Della noticed how gingerly he hugged back before Barbara pulled away. Weight had been an issue between them, and Della still bore great resentment to his criticism. At least I was never that obese, she thought now.

“Tony,” Della said. “How are you?”

He shrugged. He was a little too narrow for someone so tall, and Della noticed that most of his own weight gain had settled in his gut. She had heard that he’d opened another two copy shops, and she wondered why he didn’t buy himself a new suit.

“Heard from Robbie yesterday. One of Hugh Junior’s friends called him.”

Della nodded. “He called me, too. He said he’d be here in August.”

Tony smiled a little. “He put Katie on the phone. That kid’s some talker.”

Della smiled back. This was what they talked about when they saw each other: their remaining son and their grandchild.

They stood for a second, Barbara beaming inanely and Della and Tony just looking at each other. “Sorry about Pauline,” he said finally. “This must be real hard for y’all.”

Della nodded.

“Guess what?” Barbara took up the slack. “I’ve moved out there, too!”

“Have you?” Tony asked, looking down at where he had dug up a plug of grass with his boot toe.

“Barbara’s sort of resident-for-life,” Della explained, crossing her fingers behind her back.

Tony raised his eyebrows enough to show he appreciated the humor, then shook his head, “How are you doing out there?”