Eden Hill (22 page)

“Thanks, Mavine. Arlie sold one of his hogs, so I was able to buy a ten-yard bolt of fabric from Willett’s. He ordered this in especially for me; I really liked the daisies. So Darlene and I both have new dresses.”

“Ten yards worth?” The fabric was covered in daisies. Big daisies.

“Last year I could get by with seven, but Darlene’s grown
and my patterns work better with an extra yard. And then there’s the curtains in the kitchen.”

“Is Vee here tonight, Mrs. Osgood?” asked Darlene, with stars in her eyes.

“Yes. He’s with the men, I think.” They’d be grown soon enough, but for now she thought the whole thing cute.

Several others had come in toward the end of the visitation, including Grover and Anna Belle, and surprisingly, Brother Taggart. Reverend Caudill had relinquished his spot at the door and was moving throughout the room, talking with each of the mourners. He chatted at some length with Virgil, desperately searching for something good to say about the deceased at the funeral the next day. “All I can think of is that she always paid cash,” Virgil had said.

Fortunately, Welby and Alma shared a couple of anecdotes about Mrs. Crutcher once bringing cookies to vacation Bible school, and the time she’d given the church some fans from the funeral home. “A shame,” Welby said. “And such a good woman too.”

Alma chimed in with a compliment of her own. “She always had such a generous spirit.”

A good woman? A generous spirit?

But what about those things he’d learned from Del over lunch at Stacy’s Grocery? Daughters of Confederate Defenders? Surely a darker stain than he’d imagined. That
did
explain some things.

Well. Reverend Caudill swallowed a reply and wrote these down in a small notebook, where he’d already scribbled a few notes. Not much to go on. He’d already chosen his message from the ministers’ manual: “Funeral Message for Person(s) Unknown to the Clergyman.” Wishful thinking, perhaps.

Soon Grover and Anna Belle took their leave, apologizing to Del for leaving so early. The Prewitts slipped out, followed by the Osgoods. Welby and Alma stayed until almost nine o’clock talking with Del and Elizabeth. “Once again, I’m so sorry, Del,” Alma said as she put on her scarf. “Call us if we can do anything.”

“Thanks, Alma,” Reverend Caudill answered. “We’ll let you know. Thank you for coming, Welby. Del, I think we’re ready for you and the family to have your time alone with your mother before they close the casket. I’ll get the lights in the back, and then have prayer before we leave.”

Reverend Caudill closed the door behind them and went to the back room to turn out some lights. As he returned to the parlor to close the casket and lock the front door, he came upon a scene that stunned him to silence.

Brother Taggart stood in front of the coffin beside Del and his wife, his hat held respectfully in his hands. They were speaking softly.

Reverend Caudill cleared his throat. “Begging your pardon, Brother Taggart, but this time right now is only for the family.”

Nobody moved or spoke, but Del held up his hand.

Brother Taggart stepped forward. “Reverend Caudill,
there’s something you need to know.” The man paused. “Madeline Crutcher was my mother.”

Reverend Caudill grabbed at a flower stand to steady himself. “Your . . . what?”

“My father told me it was her idea, but she always claimed he’d forced her, and she hated Negroes because of it. I think she hated herself. My father and his wife raised me as one of their own. Del’s always known, I think, but I promised Mrs. Crutcher I’d never tell anyone so long as she was alive.

“So now, my new friend, you know her secret. And mine.”

Reverend Caudill led in prayer, including prayer for himself. And all those gathered around the casket. It may not have been too connected or coherent, but it was sincere. Yes, even in a little village where everyone knew everyone else, there were still unknowns.

But at least one secret, and the one who had forced it into hiding, had been set free this week.

The funeral and burial were uneventful, and Reverend Caudill was grateful. Virgil and Grover both closed shop during the service, and a good portion of the congregation turned out for the event. Carolina and Virginia were both there, Carolina having flown in by jet the evening before. Several of Del’s friends attended as well.

Del’s half brother, Jeremiah Taggart, was not there. He’d called earlier to say he wouldn’t be attending, didn’t want to be a distraction.

It was a good funeral, if such a thing can be said. Reverend Caudill wouldn’t have admitted as much aloud, but he thought he’d done a masterful job of delivering a message that painted a glorious picture of the Promised Land but avoided any mention of the deceased.

V
IRGIL’S BREAKFAST COFFEE
was not sitting happily in his stomach, but was arguing with Mavine’s fried bacon and losing badly. Two tablespoons of Maalox had only made it worse. The early hour didn’t help either, and this morning Ticky and the pups were nowhere to be seen. He’d have to go it alone.

Mrs. Crutcher’s funeral had caused him to close the station down for most of a day, and he was behind in his work. Both he and Welby had been obliged to attend, and Reverend Caudill asked if the church could use his parking lot because the pastor expected quite a few people to show up. Cornelius had kept the Zipco station open during the memorial service,
which Virgil thought was in poor taste, and had filled the fuel tanks of several attendees as well as the hearse driver. Virgil had several repair jobs to be done today, and hopefully some gasoline customers would come by as well.

Welby was once again working on Grover’s Plymouth. The car had been dropped off two days before, but Grover had said there was no hurry because he could walk if he needed to, and he wasn’t planning on going anywhere anyway. The hood was open, and Welby’s trouble light was hanging from the prop rod.

“Morning, Virgil!” Welby had placed a box of spark plugs, a distributor cap, and several electrical items on a mat on the fender. “You’re early again today. You okay?”

“I suppose. What’s the price of gasoline at the Zipco today?”

“The same as yesterday, but he’s giving away a free coffee cup with a fill-up. Has a sign out with a picture of one on it. They look cheap, like they’re imported from somewhere
 
—even have a lightning bolt on the side. Where’s your own mug, by the way?”

“I quit at a single cup this morning. Mavine says I need to cut down because it’s making me nervous.”

“Makes sense.” Welby had disappeared under the hood to tweak something.

“On the other hand, she says I’m not nervous enough.”

“The Zipco thing is getting to her? Well, Alma can never make up her mind either.”

Virgil reached for his coffee and then realized it wasn’t there. “Welby, what do you think we ought to do now?”

“We ought to finish this tune-up and give Grover back his car. Would you hand me my plug socket and torque wrench?”

Virgil passed the tools to Welby’s outstretched hand. “No, what else do we need to do about the Zipco station? Mavine has been talking about it all weekend.”

“I thought we had all this settled.”

“I did too. Like we talked about, the Bible says I need to be a good neighbor. But I need to be a good husband too. I’m trying hard, Welby, but I’m just not sure I can be both at the same time.”

“So what’s she saying?”

“That I need to be more . . . aggressive. I think that was the word she used.”

Welby twisted the ratchet. “Did she have any specific ideas?”

“To begin with, she says our place needs paint. Honestly, I’ve had the same notion myself lately. Vee gets out of school soon, and maybe he can do some of the work. A fresh coat on the walls couldn’t hurt. Besides, she thinks it will be good for his character.”

Welby grinned and laid a corroded spark plug on the radiator. “So far, I’d agree with her. Did she say anything else?”

“Yeah, she wants us to put in a nice ladies’ bathroom with a commode and sink and running water. Says that would bring in more women as customers.”

“Alma always wants our bathroom to look nice. Even put a little fuzzy cover on the lid. One of those things that women like.” He adjusted his light, directing it into the engine compartment. “What else?”

“She kept talking about a uniform. Said we ought to look more professional, whatever that means.”

“Professional?”

“That’s what she said. Cornelius Alexander wears a company uniform, with a fancy hat and everything. Gets them through Zipco, I suppose. I guess we could buy something like that through Petroleum Supply, but then we’d have to have them fitted and probably dry-cleaned. She and Alma already have us in starched pants and shirts. Something else to itch.” Virgil’s memory of the suit and the visitation were still fresh in his mind.

“She read in
Photoplay
or some magazine about how women are impressed by a man in a uniform. Says it gives women confidence. Maybe that’s why several women who used to come here have started buying gasoline at Zipco.”

“Virgil, we never had very many ladies come by anyway. Around here, men do most of the driving, and their wives just ride along. Mrs. Crutcher always drove herself around, and Gladys does sometimes, and that’s about it. Would you hand me a small screwdriver?”

“That’s changing, Welby.” Virgil found the tool in the box and handed it over. “A lot of things are changing, and I don’t know what to do about it.”

Welby snapped the distributor cap in place and carefully backed out from under the Plymouth’s hood. “I still wouldn’t worry, Virgil. Fix the place up if you want to, but changes are going to happen regardless of what you do. These things have a way of working themselves out.”

He cleaned the screwdriver, wiping it on the ever-present
shop rag. “On the other hand, it’s a good idea to do whatever Mavine wants.”

Virgil spent most of the morning on the telephone after locating the instrument under a pile of catalogs and junk mail. Del Crutcher was back at work at the hardware store in Quincy, and was happy to supply good quality paint in whatever shades Virgil needed, and yes, he always kept the basic colors in stock. He also had a selection of brushes and thinner. Besides, Del wanted to talk to Virgil about selling his mother’s Buick. “It has all new tires and a recent tune-up,” he said.

Another call, and the plumbing estimate was scheduled. And most importantly, Virgil made an appointment tomorrow with his banker. Somehow, all of these improvements would have to be paid for.

“I have your lunch almost ready.” Mavine had the iron skillet hot and the hamburgers frying when Virgil arrived. The aroma of burnt grease and toasted bread had greeted him at the door, along with an unfamiliar scent he couldn’t quite place.

“Thanks.” He took off his work shoes at her request, placing them on the mat by the front door. “Del is coming this afternoon to give us an estimate on the paint, and the plumber should be here about the same time. Looks like we’ll be able to fix the place up before the Fourth of July.”

“That’s wonderful news!” Mavine plopped the blackened patty of meat on an equally abused bun, globbed on a teaspoon of mustard, and centered it on a plate. A pickle and a heap of potato chips finished off her presentation. “I told Vee he’d get to help with the painting. For some reason, he didn’t seem to be too excited about it. I was hoping that reading Twain would inspire him.”

Virgil started to say something, thought better of it, and poured himself a glass of milk instead. “Mavine, he’s still in school because of the snow makeup days. I’m figuring Welby and I will be doing most of the work. We can close the garage for a day or two if we have to, and only sell gasoline. Grover has a ladder I can borrow, and we have a couple of brushes left over from the church Work Day. The building just isn’t that big.”

“All the same, I don’t want Vee up on that ladder. Remember what happened to Grover at church? He scared Anna Belle nearly half to death!” She’d joined Virgil at the table with her own sandwich.

“I won’t let anything happen to Vee. He can paint the floor, if that’s what you want. He can’t fall off the floor.”

“Well, we can worry about that later. Today, you have plenty to do. Tomorrow, you’ll want to go over to see Mr. Willett to have your uniform altered.”

“Uniform?”

“Yes. It’s in a box by the door. He’ll need to measure you and make some changes so it’ll fit properly. It’ll need cleaning, too.”

“Mavine . . .”

“It’ll wait. Right now, we’re enjoying our lunch.”

He knew better than to argue, at least this time. He relaxed as best he could and took a bite of his meal. “Mavine,” he said, “just what is in this hamburger?”

“Pineapple! The recipe was right on the side of the can. It said, ‘You can have the taste of Hawaii right in your own home!’”

Virgil finished his hamburger
 
—with effort
 
—and ate the potato chips, even though they were now mushy from swimming in fruit juice.

Cornelius smiled. Not only had business picked up, but Charlie was staying busy mounting tires and doing oil changes. For the first time since opening, he was able to make a full weekly payment against his balance with Zipco and still have some money left over for food. Writing the check gave him a certain satisfaction, tempered only by the bills still coming in for Suzy’s delivery. He’d even bought them a couch
 
—from a thrift store in Lexington.

He’d taken a late lunch so he could watch Suzy while JoAnn went to Willett’s Dry Goods to buy a new dress. “Get whatever you like! We’ve done really well over the last two weeks, and I want you to have something just for you!”

“I could alter my maternity clothes, but there is only so much I can do.” Her eyes twinkled. “Besides, they might be needed again someday!”

Cornelius shone as well. “It would be nice for Suzy to
have a little brother.” He handed JoAnn the car keys and had Suzy wave bye-bye as JoAnn went out the door.

Business wasn’t the only thing that had improved. For the first time in a long time, JoAnn seemed happy and at peace with herself, and with him. She hadn’t mentioned her mother’s opinion of him for some time now, and they were having fewer arguments. His increasing success had been part of it, she’d said. But she also said that her growing faith had played a stronger role.

Reverend Caudill’s visits had been welcome, if a bit awkward, and Grover and Anna Belle had been very kind and generous. He was beginning to like Eden Hill, and even the church.

The pastor had said there was much more to church than sermons and music and nice people, and that made Cornelius think a bit deeper. But while Cornelius liked the preacher, Reverend Caudill had lately been bringing up topics that made Cornelius uncomfortable: faith in Jesus, grace for people who’d fallen short of God’s expectations. Was he trying to imply Cornelius wasn’t good enough? That somehow his efforts weren’t enough?