I stepped gingerly over the debris and around several piles of dried animal feces. Before I went any farther, I decided to make sure there was not some ravaging beast sleeping in what was left of the doghouse. I bent down and looked inside the dark interior. The putrid odor of decaying flesh almost knocked me down. As I staggered back, I grabbed onto what was left of the roof to keep from falling. A shingle crumbled away in my hand and the rest of the rotten structure fell off in a cloud of dust to expose the sad and sorry sight inside. The carcass of a medium-sized dog lay decaying under a thick blanket of swarming flies. They buzzed angrily at being disturbed. Before they settled back down I saw a piece of rope tied around the sunken neck and deeply embedded in the reddish fur. The other end of the short tether was nailed to the floor. The dog could not have been able to move more than a few inches. When the flies shifted again I could see deep scratches and dried bloodstains on the wood where it had pawed frantically in a desperate effort to escape. It was obvious that the poor creature had been left to die of starvation and thirst.
An intense wave of anger at the person who had committed such an act of cruelty propelled me toward the house. Faded curtains were drawn tightly across the windows at the back of the house but I thought I saw movement behind one. I was climbing the steps to look in the back door when Mother saw me.
“Paisley! What on earth are you doing? Come back here this instant!”
She was still shaking her head when I slid back through the fence to join her.
“You’ve changed so much, Paisley. I hardly know you.”
“You’ve changed too, Mother.”
I bent down to brush the beggar lice off my pants and compose myself. She had been through enough today. The fate of the dog next door would have to be my sad little secret at least for now. I straightened up and smiled at her.
“You need a little goosing up, Mother. What have you been doing for fun lately?”
“Certainly not peeking into other people’s houses.”
“All us Yankees are no-good peekers,” I teased.
She suddenly looked pained.
“I’m sorry, Mother. I really am trying to be considerate.”
I pulled her over to a small wooden bench. The paint on it was peeling, and it had definitely seen better days. I hoped it would hold us both. Mother was right as usual, I thought woefully. I had stuffed myself. I felt ten pounds heavier and more than a little nauseated. The sight of the rotting carcass had done nothing for my digestion.
She pulled a dainty lace handkerchief out of her sleeve and dabbed at her eyes.
“It’s just that you said something that Abigail used to say. You must have heard her many times when you were little. Every night she would pull the blinds down so the ‘peekers’ couldn’t see in. I used to tease her about it.”
She smiled and patted my knee.
“You come by your teasing naturally. And you’re right. I could use a little goosing up. Things have been rather dismal around here since Abigail died. I wish you and Cassie could stay and visit a little longer.”
“You know I have to get back to work, but what about Velvet? When was my world-trotting sister’s last visit home?”
“The flowers Velvet sent were lovely, don’t you think?” she asked ignoring my question.
“Ten dozen exotic orchids!” I snorted. “For a funeral? Besides, I bet Joe Tom’s already got them in the truck of his Cadillac.”
She stood up and smoothed down the nonexistent wrinkles in her skirt.
“Oh, dear,” she sighed ignoring me again. “Duty calls. I must go back inside. Will you join me?”
“I think I’ll sit here awhile. I’m tired of people I hardly know asking me how I managed to lose a husband in the jungle.”
She bent down and kissed my cheek and then patted me on the head. I had been forgiven my trespasses once more.
I thought about going next door again but I knew Mother might be watching me from the window, so I sighed and decided to let it go. The day had been a long one and I was tired.
Cassie and I had been traveling since the predawn hours. Immediately upon our arrival at Mother’s farm in Rowan Springs, we had left for the little town of Lanierville fifty miles away where William had lived.
I was not kidding when I told Mother I had been surprised to see a Catholic priest take the podium at the funeral home service and introduce himself. When I had married Rafe in a Catholic ceremony twenty years ago, it caused quite a stir. Most of my family, including William and Abigail, were Protestants. This morning I sat in stunned silence and watched the little white collar of Father Barnard’s vestments bob up and down with his Adam’s apple as he spoke. I was too busy wondering what in the hell he was doing there to listen to what he had to say.
When the cleric was finished, Ernest Dibber rushed up to shake his hand and thank him. I remembered then that William had mentioned his neighbors were Catholic.
I turned to ask Mother what she thought, but we were suddenly hemmed in by a corral of aluminum walkers. William’s old buddies were lining up to offer their condolences. Mother smiled and spoke sweetly to everyone as usual, but the depressing smell of Ben-Gay and soggy Depends was too much for me. I had had enough of the Geritol crowd. I grabbed Cassie by the hand, and we went to get the car.
The funeral home did not have enough handicap parking spots for all the debilitated old folks. Some of them had to be wheeled and walked back to their cars at the far end of the lot. By the time we could safely start the car, Mother had joined us, and I moved forward to pull up behind the hearse in the “next of kin” space for the trip to the cemetery. To our surprise Ernest and his wife had already parked their car there.
Mother was outraged. “Who do they think they are? Why they’re not even remotely related to William!”
I felt a stirring of uneasiness, but restrained myself from reminding her that, technically, we weren’t either.
The graveside ceremony was even shorter and more abrupt than the one at the funeral home. The priest had a taxi waiting. As soon as he declared, “Amen!” he hopped in, and away he went. The only people besides us and the Dibbers who came to the cemetery were William’s two elderly female cousins. The four came together in conversation for a few moments and then parted company. They all left without a backward glance at the open grave. None of them had shed even one little tear for the dearly departed.
Cassie sat alone on one of the six or seven folding chairs surrounding the raw dirt of the open grave. She stared forlornly at the plain metal casket. At her feet lay a spray of cheap florist greenery mixed in with some inexpensive fake carnations—the ones that florists call “cemetery silk.” It was a rare moment. Cassie was usually in motion physically and emotionally. I had forgotten how truly beautiful she was. For once she had my blessing to wear her favorite color. She had pleased me by choosing a simple black silk dress. It was one that I purchased for her college wardrobe. I had the misbegotten notion that her need for “a smart little black dress” would be the same as mine had been twenty-five years before. I helped her cut off the price tag this morning. It had hung in the closet for more than a year unworn.
Even standing as far away as I was, I could see her thick black eyelashes. Dark brown hair hung straight and shining to her shoulders. My daughter did not inherit my hazel eyes and freckles. No unruly auburn curls for her. Her hair and eyes were dark