THE SANCTUARY (4 page)

“I’m sure you’ll convince her,” Sonya said.

Four

THE FUNERAL

“I
can’t breathe,” Julia whispered to Sonya as she squeezed her friend’s arm tightly.

“Do you think that you could loosen that death grip you’ve got on me?” Sonya said. “I can’t feel my arm anymore. Do that thing that helps you when you’re overly anxious. You know, when you think about desserts.”

“Chocolate.”

“What?” Sonya asked as she scanned the crowd looking for Lydia.

“It only works when I think about chocolate desserts. There’s chocolate mousse, chocolate soufflé, chocolate truffles, hot fudge sundaes…”

“Good, but do me a favor and just think about them without saying them aloud. You’re making me hungry. There she is,” Sonya said when she finally spotted Lydia sitting in the middle of the first pew. She tried to get her friend’s attention but without luck.

“You’re doing just fine. Let’s just take a seat here in the back and we can talk to Liddie after the service,” Sonya suggested. “You sit down here on the outside. That’ll help with your claustrophobia. Don’t forget to breathe. Deep breaths. That’s it.”

Julia had already attended funerals for her grandmother, aunt, and mother by the time she was eighteen years old. She told Sonya on the way to the service that she had not attended a funeral since her mother’s. It was just too painful. Combine that with her fear of confining spaces and periodic panic attacks and Julia was in a bad way. Sonya thought it was brave and touching that Julia insisted on coming for Lydia. A therapist had once suggested that when Julia found herself in a difficult situation she try to think about something that pleased her more than anything in the world. Something that she would only associate with comfort and joy. For Julia, that was chocolate.

“Chocolate-covered peanuts. Double-chunky monkey ice cream…” Jules said.

The small room was lit only by discreet floor lamps and funeral candelabras, making it gloomy and claustrophobic even to those who weren’t prone to this malady. The oriental carpet was designed to be a comforting color scheme of burgundy, dark blue, scallops of black, and a hint of pale gold looping throughout. The brightest thing in the room was the shiny, black metallic coffin.

And Lydia’s golden mane, which peeked out from under a broad-rimmed black hat. Even in the dim light, her hair gleamed like gold dust. Sonya took heart at the sight. The soloist and organist stopped their oratorio as the preacher took his place behind the pulpit. The long-winded minister read numerous passages of scripture and spoke the usual platitudes before turning the service over to the family. When it was Lydia’s turn to give a eulogy, she made her way stoically to the podium and began to speak in a low trembling voice.

“David was the love of my life.” She looked out across the room and abruptly stopped speaking. After an awkward silence, Lydia spoke again, “No words can express what I’m feeling right now.”

She returned wearily to her seat. Each step seemed an enormous effort, and everyone was relieved when she finally made it back to her seat. Sonya was shocked that Lydia didn’t say more than two sentences. She figured that Lydia must have been too choked up to speak. It wasn’t until much later that they learned the real reason.

Sonya convinced Julia to take a walk along the scenic waterfront before going to the wake. They both needed some fresh air and physical activity after the long service.

“This boardwalk wasn’t here when we were growing up. It was just a big, grass embankment and some old docks, remember? There weren’t all these boats here, just a few fishing trawlers,” Julia said as they strolled along it, enjoying the balmy afternoon. Sail boats glided gracefully across Winyah Bay while small boats and yachts skimmed the surface at full speed, leaving a wake of waves on their way to the Intracoastal Waterway.

“My mom and I didn’t move here until I was twelve years old, but I remember feeling like I’d finally come home. It’s no wonder you never left here,” Sonya said. “It’s so laid-back and peaceful.”

“Yeah, I love this place, but I thought I would do more traveling. I love my family, but I got married so young that I sometimes wonder what I’ve missed. Do you know that John and I have never been on vacation without the kids? I had Marla when I was twenty-one years old. I’ve always dreamed of John and me taking a romantic trip to Italy, complete with a moonlight gondola ride and a romantic five-star hotel where we ravished each other until the wee hours of the night,” Julia said with a sigh.

“There are plenty of romantic nights left for you and John. You’re lucky to have found your life partner at such a young age—and on the first try! You were the only one of us who knew exactly what she wanted. I was so envious,” Sonya said.

Julia almost told Sonya that John had left her. If anyone would understand, it was Sonya. But she needed more time to sort out her thoughts and emotions before she could talk about it. “I wonder how different our lives might have been if we had waited to get married and start a family,” Julia wondered aloud.

They had been walking arm in arm. Sonya patted her friend’s arm. “It’s okay, everyone has a few regrets, the whole road not taken thing. Damn Robert Frost.”

They paused to watch a snowy egret land gracefully on a tall patch of marsh reed that was swaying slightly in the breeze. The setting sun was quickly fading from a bright yellow to a reddish-orange as it dipped lower into the horizon. The colors were captured and reflected magically in the black-blue waters of Winyah Bay. It was a picture that any artist would feel compelled to paint.

“What a view,” Sonya said, taking a deep breath. “But the smell is another story.”

“Even though the paper mill is several miles outside town we can get a good whiff of it on a windy day. Daddy says that it’s the smell of money. Rutledge Paper Company is the single largest employer in the county. And that atrocity over there belongs to the other major employer.” Julia pointed at a giant steel structure at the edge of town that couldn’t be missed.

“Yeah, the Georgetown Steel Mill. That’s why we moved here. When my mom left her job after seven years, she finally told me how much she had hated it, but had been grateful for the paycheck.”

“Did you know that when the steel mill was built in 1936, the company brought in workers from all over, who ended up harassing the local women. With so many complaints, the town officials knew they had to do something. So, they brought this woman here from the Upcountry, known only as Madame Hazel, to Georgetown to run a brothel. After the steel mill construction workers were gone, the bordello became more upscale. Her clients were doctors, sea captains, merchants, and politicians. Yachts often came up the Intracoastal Waterway, docked in Georgetown, and the owners and their friends were taken out to the legendary bordello. Taxi drivers ran shuttle services from Charleston to Sunset Lodge. According to legend, that’s what the brothel was called,” Julia said.

“But prostitution was against the law, right?” Sonya asked.

“Oh yeah, but the law looked the other way until 1969 when the sheriff shut the brothel down without warning. The girls were forced to leave, but Madame Hazel refused to go. She stayed in Sunset Lodge until her death. The ghost of Madame Hazel reportedly haunted the house until it caught fire in 1992 and burned to the ground.”

“What a shame to lose a place with such history. It would have made a great restaurant or bed and breakfast,” Sonya mused.

“Yeah, I know. There’s a tiny sign where it once stood that reads ‘Sunset Lodge.’ You have to squint to see it. I think that we should have some kind of self-guided driving and walking tour of these kinds of historic sites with placards of what the place looked like and the ghost story or legend—maybe the placards could resemble tombstones. Those would look cool and be easily identifiable markers. Or maybe even a ghost walk or self-guided tour or narrated trolley tour of the historic district. Or both. Georgetown County needs a way to keep our history and folklore alive and promote the right kind of tourism and growth. Or I could help preserve the historically significant structures in our area. The Historic Preservation Committee has asked me to get involved.”

“What a great idea. You should definitely get involved with that project. I’ve always loved hearing the stories you tell about this area,” Sonya said. “Your house looked like a photo spread out of
Southern Living
. I was always spellbound by the stories you told at your family’s annual Christmas party.”

“I remember you and Liz spending the winter break with me during our junior year. It hadn’t even been a year since my mother’s death, but my daddy introduced me to his new friend Shirley, who stank of cheap perfume and kept patting his arm and laughing at everything he said. Thank God that was short-lived. My mother was surely rolling over in her grave. Thanks to Mama, I do know a lot about local history and legends. She dragged me around to all the area’s historic sites when I was little. She got me interested in local history and folklore, but I just can’t imagine tackling something like that.”

“I know. It would be a big undertaking, but maybe you can find a little time to donate. Preserving the Lowcountry lifestyle is worth the effort. I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately, and I’ve decided to get involved. I’m going to do some pro bono work to help local fishermen and shrimpers. I want to implement a statewide “buy local” campaign. Our guys are getting squeezed out. Grocery stores and restaurants are ordering from Thailand and Vietnam instead of from our fishermen because their prices are cheaper. We need to support our local fishermen, which helps preserve a way of life for all of us.”

“That’s such a great idea, especially since I can’t imagine crab cakes made with crab meat that isn’t from McClellanville or shrimp pilau made with shrimp from someplace other than Georgetown or Mount Pleasant,” Julia said.

“Exactly.”

“Okay, I’ll give it some thought. Maybe I can get Lydia involved. It would give us a chance to spend time together and help the community. Lydia does love to help others,” Julia said.

The wake was held at David’s parents’ house. Julia and Sonya expressed their sympathies to some family members and then sought out Lydia. They found her seated on the couch between David’s father and her Aunt Francis. She looked terrible. There were dark circles under her bloodshot eyes, she wore no makeup, and she looked so fragile that it was frightening. After greeting them warmly, Lydia’s aunt excused herself to welcome Pastor Owens, who had just arrived.

“I’m so sorry for your loss, Mr. Coble,” Julia said. “If there is anything that we can do, please let us know.”

“That’s very kind of you to say. It’s a terrible thing to outlive your children. First, poor Charles in that car crash. And now, David… Please excuse me, ladies,” he said. He pulled out his handkerchief, blew his nose, and wiped away tears as he staggered away.

Julia took his spot next to Lydia. She put her arms around her friend and gave her shoulders a gentle squeeze. “Hey there, sweetie. How are you doing?”

“I’m fine,” Lydia said stiffly, shrugging off Julia’s embrace. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to go check on David’s father. Please be sure to sign the guest book before you leave.” And with that she was gone.

As she disappeared into the crowd, Julia and Sonya simply stared at one another.

“What the hell was that all about?” Sonya whispered to Julia a few minutes later as they huddled on the back porch talking about what happened with Lydia.

“She totally blew us off,” Julia replied.

“But why?” Sonya wondered.

“You know Lydia. When she gets really upset, she shuts down. She won’t talk about it. You know as well as I do that she has always been the one who takes care of everyone else. She tends to retreat into herself when she’s hurting, positively recoiling at any sympathetic overtures.”