Where Yesterday Lives (22 page)

Their mother looked skeptically at her daughters. Across the room, Frank yawned and checked his watch.

“Well,” she continued, “I know there’s a problem between you two, but if you don’t want to talk about it then let’s get on with it. We still have a lot of planning to do.”

“About the music,” Amy jumped in. “Like I was trying to say last night—” She cast a disgusted glance toward Jane—“I think it would be nice if someone played that rugged cross song.”

“The Old Rugged Cross,”’ Jane snapped, providing the title of the song self-righteously.

“The church has offered its organist and soloist for Saturday if we’re interested. So maybe we could make that a solo number early in the service,” their mother said. She wrote something down.

“You’re right, Amy,” Megan said. “Dad loved that song. I think we should ask the soloist to sing it.”

Mom nodded. “What do you think, Aaron? Girls?”

“Fine.” Aaron was wearing his dark glasses again, and Ellen thought his cheeks looked tearstained.

“Fine,” Jane added.

“Ellen?”

“Sure.”

“Sure? Does that mean you’d rather have a different song?”

“No, Mom.” Ellen was drained, and she felt almost sick. The walk had done little to ease her anxiety She’d been too angry to feel like praying, so she’d spent the time thinking about her father first, and then about her marriage. In her haste she had forgotten her notepad, and she felt helplessly unorganized and a bit adrift without a distraction should the conversation become too heated.
If Dad were still alive I’d be able to count on his support
But her father wasn’t alive. He was gone. Forever. And Ellen felt his absence more keenly with each passing moment.

“Ellen?” her mother asked again. “Would you rather have a different song?”

Wearily, she tried to explain herself. “I don’t want a different song. It’s just hard for me to get excited about songs that will be sung at Dad’s funeral.”

Her mother sighed. Ellen thought her mother had sighed more these past days than in her whole life.

“Ellen, dear, no one’s asking you to be excited. It’s a fact of life. We have to plan his funeral service or it won’t get done. Try to understand.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Mom looked at her notes again. “Now, Megan. Have you considered singing at the service?”

Megan stared at her feet and fumbled her fingers uncomfortably. Ellen wondered at the hesitation. Everyone knew her sister had a beautiful voice, so much so that she was a favorite at local weddings and Christmas pageants. “I’ve thought about it.” She hesitated. “I just don’t think I could pull it off, Mom.”

“Are you sure, honey? Your father loved to hear you sing.”

Megan nodded. “I’m sorry It would be too much for me.”

“Okay, then, I think other than that we’ll just let the organist choose whatever music she wants.”

There were nods of approval around the room.

And so it continued.

Their mother led them from one topic of concern to another. They decided to use roses throughout the church since their father loved red, and they agreed on a time for the service. Next they spent an hour discussing whether to use a two-page program with their dad’s picture on the front or stick with tiny prayer cards. Once they decided on the two-page program, they worked another two hours on the contents.

They agreed to pick out a coffin on Thursday and to make Friday the private and public viewing day at the mortuary. Ellen and Aaron were opposed to the viewing, but their mother was adamant.

“It’s important that we have a chance to say good-bye and see him as he’ll be when we bury him. It makes it more real.”

Ellen shuddered at the thought. “He’s already gone, Mom. I mean, we can look at his dead body but we won’t be looking at him. That’s just a shell of who he was.”

“Mom isn’t interested in your theology lesson, Ellen.” Jane’s tone was typically dry

“Girls! That’s enough. We’re having a viewing and that’s final.”

Their mother sorted through her notes and glanced at her
watch. Ellen followed suit. It was five-thirty. There were cold cuts and various breads and salads in the refrigerator and they had planned to eat no later than six. They weren’t finished, but Ellen hoped they would take a break soon. They could always finish after dinner if necessary.

“Okay.” Mom glanced at her notes once more. “We still have to decide whether we want a full Mass or a shortened service where we do more of the talking.”

“A Mass is too impersonal. Especially at St. Francis,” Megan said. “Besides, I thought we were each going to write something about Dad and read it at the service.”

“We talked about it but we didn’t decide anything.” Amy glanced around the room. “I couldn’t get up in front of that many people if my life depended on it.”

“Same here,” Aaron grunted.

“I think I’ve changed my mind on that. I agree with Amy and Aaron.” At this pronouncement, everyone in the room turned and stared at Ellen.

“You don’t want to write something about Dad?” Megan was clearly shocked.

“Not for his funeral.” She had thought about reading a eulogy and decided against it during the walk from Megan’s apartment. “I’ve written him a thousand things in the past. He’s gone now. I can’t imagine summing up a lifetime of feelings in a two-minute eulogy. It’d be impossible. Let’s forget it.”

Jane cocked her head to one side and considered Ellen’s statement. “I think we should do whatever Mom wants. Regardless of how Aaron and Amy—” she hesitated for effect—“and
Ellen
feel.”

“Well, then—” Ellen stood—“maybe it’s time to wrap things up for the night and get back to the apartment.” It was all Ellen could do to keep her tone civil. It was obvious that Jane had agreed with the idea of individually prepared eulogies to spite her. Ellen was sick to death of her sister’s petty behavior. She just wanted to get back to Megan’s before she unleashed her
rising anger on Jane, despite her mother’s request that they get along.

“Sit down, Ellen,” Jane ordered. “We’re right in the middle of trying to work this out. We all heard what Mom said. She wants us to write a eulogy, however brief, and read it at the funeral. I think we should at least give her idea a chance.”

Ellen pinned her with a glare, then smiled sweetly “And I think Aunt Mary’s probably ready for a break after watching your children all day Why don’t we stop for now, pick up the kids, and come back later?”

Jane’s face grew red. “I don’t need
you
telling me when to give Aunt Mary a break. I can handle my children perfectly fine, thank you. That is one area where you can’t possibly know more than I do.”

“Here we go,” Megan muttered under her breath while the others squirmed uncomfortably.

“Jane, hear me out.” Ellen’s words were carefully controlled, but they did not hide her frustration. “You know the kids gave Aunt Mary a hard time this morning. Why make her work longer than she has to? Let’s take a break, get the kids, and come back.”

Ellen clenched her teeth so hard they grated together. Being around Jane was like being subjected to mental torture—and she wasn’t finished yet.

“My kids are not the big problem you make them out to be.” Jane raised her voice. “What would
you
know about raising kids? Like I said earlier, anyone who would choose a career over motherhood certainly has no room to comment about another person’s children!”

Ellen felt her control dissolve. Angry tears filled her eyes and she clenched her fists, driving them into her knees. “Jane, you are the coldest person I know! What happened to you? You and I used to be best friends when we were little and now look at you!”

“We aren’t little anymore!” Jane spat.

Aaron got up and headed outside. The others left the room
one by one until finally there was only Ellen and Jane, staring angrily at each other.

“No, we’re not little anymore,” Ellen said. “That’s true. But we’re still sisters and nothing can change that.” Ellen began to sob. The fight was gone from her voice and in its place was a terrible sadness. “I’m sick of you treating me like some kind of cosmopolitan ice queen. I have feelings, too.”

Jane remained silent while Ellen’s sobs became more convulsive. “Mike and I …we’ve tried to have children—” She broke off.

I can’t, God. I can’t tell her this
.

But she knew she had to. When she tried to speak, the words came out in grief-stricken sobs. “I’ve …I’ve lost two…babies, Jane.” She tried to catch her breath but the sobs continued to wrack her body “Do you have any idea how that feels? To know there’s a life inside you, and then …then …it’s gone?” She drew in several quick, jerky breaths and then exhaled slowly, trying to compose herself. “Right now …I’m …I’m just not ready to try again.”

Jane’s lower jaw dropped and her eyebrows raised slightly. She looked instantly remorseful. Ellen wrapped her arms around herself protectively, and suddenly her mother and Megan were there, putting their arms around her.

“Oh, sweetheart, I didn’t know,” her mother said. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Dad knew. He told me not to say anything to anyone else if I didn’t want to. It was too hard to talk about it.”

“Honey, I’m so sorry.” Mom hugged her.

“Ellen.” Jane’s voice was low, full of misery “I’m sorry, too. I never guessed … And I’ve been such a jerk today. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” She looked away quickly, but not before Ellen had seen the look in her eyes. Jane was lying. There was a reason why she’d been behaving so terribly but she was refusing to tell them.

Why won’t she tell me, Father?
Ellen’s heart cried.
How long will this go on?

When Jane turned back to her, there were tears in her eyes, too. “I’m—I’m sorry about your miscarriages. I didn’t know.”

Ellen’s anger rose again. “Of
course
you didn’t know How could you? You hardly talk to me anymore. But does that give you license to be angry with me for being childless? I swear, Jane, you think you’re the only one in the world who’s hurting.”

Ellen pulled away from the group and headed for her parents’ bedroom. “I need to be alone for a while.”

No one followed her.

Once inside she shut the door and sat down on her father’s side of the bed. She stared at the telephone through a blurry veil of tears. Since Sunday she had been so busy defending herself and avoiding Jane’s wrath that she hadn’t called Mike.

She remembered their argument the night before she left, and she was angry all over again. She wouldn’t call him. Not now when she was so upset. He would only think he was right about not coming to Petoskey

She took a tissue off her father’s nightstand and blew her nose.

“Why, Dad?” she whispered brokenly.

She missed her father so badly And now she was trapped in his house, surrounded by reminders of him, and faced with at least one sister who didn’t even like her. She clenched her jaw.

“I want out of here.” She glanced around the room, desperately seeking an escape.

She had no car; she would probably be stuck at the house until late that night. Her eyes fell on the Petoskey area White Pages.

Suddenly an idea hit her.

It was crazy…or was it?

She picked up the phone book and considered what she was about to do. She thought about the way Jane had made life miserable for the past three days. Then she thought about Mike and how he had refused to make even the smallest sacrifice for her sake.

With angry resolve, she took a deep breath and thumbed
through the book to the S section. Scanning the columns of names and numbers she finally found the one she was looking for.

Jake Sadler.

She picked up the telephone and dialed his number. Then she held her breath and waited.

That night, in the brand new wing of the First Baptist church fellowship hall in Pine City, Pennsylvania, Leslie Maple and twenty other women were meeting to discuss the need for a church prayer line. The conversation was heated.

“If someone wants prayer they can call their closest friends and ask for it,” Erma Brockmeir said. She sounded self-righteous and she knit her brows together in distaste.

“That’s right,” someone else spouted. “Anything more and we’d have ourselves a full-fledged gossip channel.”

Leslie Maple stood up and waited until the chatter died down. “If we are to believe in the power of prayer,” she began softly, “if we are to take the Lord at his word and lay our requests at his feet, then we have no choice. We must pray when we are alone and when we are together. We must pray constantly and we must pray as a body A prayer line is the best, most efficient way to let the congregation know when someone is in dire need of prayer.”

She stared beseechingly at the women. “If we are not willing to be part of that kind of prayer,” she hesitated, “then we are failing to do what Jesus wants. We are failing him.”

Several of the faces about the room softened and Imogene Spencer positioned her aluminum cane and slowly struggled to her feet. “As the church secretary at First Baptist, I, for one, think Leslie is right. Sometimes we older women need to listen to the younger set. Their ideas may be different than what we’re used to, but it is a disgrace to think we have grown so
deaf to the Spirit of God that we cannot hear his wisdom in the their youthful words.” She paused. “I say we start the prayer line today. As soon as we can find people who will make it work.” She studied the women and cleared her throat. “Now, can I see a show of hands.” She raised hers high over her head. “Who else is willing to join the prayer line?”

The ladies looked from one to another, then slowly a teary-eyed Erma Brockmeir rose her hand. Two women in the back row added their hands, and in the front row an entire section lifted theirs. Leslie grinned and pulled Imogene Spencer into a hug as the remaining ladies raised their hands.

“Well, my dear,” Erma said. “Let’s get busy. How exactly do we start a prayer line, anyway?”

J
ake Sadler twisted the cap off a cold bottle of Pepsi, sank deep into his leather sofa, and closed his eyes. He had taken orders for more than a hundred windows that day and he was exhausted.