32

Tori saw Paulette come back in the church. Alone. She didn’t watch her all the way down the church aisle, but it was plain to see she wasn’t happy. Even after Tori turned her eyes back toward the front of the church where Aunt Hattie’s casket sat, she could hear Paulette and her friend whispering. She couldn’t hear what they were saying. She didn’t want to hear what they were saying.

The older ladies in the church would be frowning at them if they didn’t hush. Some of them were probably already frowning at Tori for letting Samantha stand on the pew and look behind her. Graham was seated toward the back, and she kept holding out her arms to him and saying her baby-talk word for Chaucer. Graham thought it was funny that Samantha called him by his dog’s name.

Tori should have stuck some crackers or a sucker in her purse to distract her. A funeral wasn’t the best place for a two-year-old, but she wasn’t the only child there. Nearly everybody in Rosey Corner was squeezed into the church. A few parents had let their children stay outside. Tori could hear them through the windows, pushed up to let in air. With every pew packed, it was a blessing the spring day wasn’t any warmer than it was. Even so, fans waved all around the church and some of the men yanked at their starched collars.

Tori didn’t blame those mothers who let their children run outside. She’d considered asking one of the older girls to keep an eye on Samantha, but the road was so close. The other kids might get distracted playing together and Samantha could get away quick. Just the other day she had crawled under the fence and headed across the field without a backward glance. Going fishing, she said. So it was better to keep her in her lap whether she was restless or not.

Besides, Aunt Hattie wouldn’t be bothered by Samantha smiling at the people behind her. She’d be smiling and saying the last thing she wanted from any of them was solemn tears. Happy tears. That would have been her order for them. Set your hands to clappin’ and your feet to dancing ’cause that’s what I’m a-doin’ up in heaven. Aunt Hattie’s words had a way of showing up in a person’s head.

Mrs. Weber didn’t let her children stay outside either as she ushered them into a pew toward the back. Clay didn’t come in with them. When Samantha saw Mary and Lillie, she squealed with excitement. Tori shushed her, and Samantha let out a wail. Tori’s mother produced a small box of cookies from her purse. Mama was always prepared. Samantha happily settled down in her lap.

Lorena leaned forward from her spot sandwiched between Mama and Daddy to whisper, “They’re here.” Tori twisted around to see Kate and Jay coming in the church. Lorena would have popped up to go meet them, but Mama put a hand on her leg to stop her.

A hush fell over the church as Jay ushered Kate down the aisle. The news that she’d lost her baby had already swept through Rosey Corner.

Kate looked so feeble that Tori hurt for her. When she was a kid, Tori had caught every bug going around and even now she kept a cold in the winter time, but she couldn’t remember Kate ever being very sick. She was the strong one. The one who made sure everybody was all right. But now she wasn’t all right. She leaned heavily on Jay, her face white with the effort of coming into the church. Jay looked sad and tired too. At the same time, they looked so connected by their love that tears welled up in Tori’s eyes. Kate had Jay to love her through this.

They walked to the front to gaze down at Aunt Hattie. Tori had viewed her earlier, but had no feeling that any part of Aunt Hattie’s spirit remained in that shell of a body. That didn’t keep the sight of her from bringing to mind a thousand memories, and Kate had to be feeling the same. Even more so, since she and Aunt Hattie were so close.

After a minute, Mama took her hand off Lorena’s leg to let her go stand with Kate. It still somehow surprised Tori to see Lorena so tall, almost an adult now, and with such a big heart. That morning Lorena lay facedown on her bed, crying with abandon because she wanted to get all the tears out so she could sing at the services. But she must not have spilled all the tears. There with her arm around Kate, she reached her free hand up to swipe away tears. How often Tori had done the same, but rarely had she seen Kate do so.

Tori couldn’t tell if Kate had tears in her eyes now or not as she stared down into the casket for long moment. Then she put her hand on top of Aunt Hattie’s hand and leaned down to whisper something to her, even though Aunt Hattie’s ears were past hearing.

Purses all over the church clicked open as women pulled out handkerchiefs they hadn’t expected to need to say goodbye to dear Aunt Hattie who they knew was so ready to make the flight to heaven. But they shared Kate’s double grief with damp eyes and sympathetic hearts.

Mama handed Samantha back to Tori so she could go to Kate. Jay moved to make room beside Kate, but he hovered behind them.

Samantha pushed away the cookie Tori offered her and scrambled out of Tori’s lap to stand on the pew looking behind her again. “Cay,” she cried and reached out her arms.

Clay was standing just inside the door. His broad shoulders and suntanned face were a stark contrast to Kate’s pale face. Tori pulled Samantha into her lap and turned back toward the front, but not before Clay’s eyes swept over her. She suddenly felt too still inside, as though waiting for something to happen.

But nothing did. Another quick look over her shoulder showed Lillie scooting over and Clay lifting Mary up to perch on his knee so he had room in the pew beside his family. Tori’s heart began pounding up in her ears. What in the world was wrong with her? She was at a funeral. A person wasn’t supposed to think about anything but the person she was grieving. Certainly she shouldn’t be noticing how Clay looked so strong. Or remembering how safe she’d felt those few seconds in his arms after he’d kept her from falling at Graham’s pond. If she was thinking about anything besides Aunt Hattie or Kate, it should be Sammy.

His funeral had been in this church. The telegram said he was dead, but there’d been no body. Perhaps that was why she had such a hard time giving up Sammy. Because she hadn’t seen him with the life gone from him the way she could see Aunt Hattie. If she’d had that last view of Sammy, she might have been convinced he was gone the way she could be sure Aunt Hattie had moved on up to paradise. Her head knew Sammy had moved on up to heaven too, but something in her heart refused to accept what her eyes hadn’t actually seen.

Aunt Hattie’s son died in the First World War. He too never came home. His grave was in France. Aunt Hattie knew how it was, and yet, she had given her beloved son over to the Lord. That was what she told Tori to do. It was futile to try to hold on to what was already gone.

The Lord gives and the Lord takes away. Tori had heard that from her more times than she could count. Then Aunt Hattie would go on. He took away from us, Victoria, but he didn’t never desert my Bo or your Sammy, and he won’t never desert me and you. That you can count on. Forever more.

And now Kate had lost the child she so wanted. Tori bounced Samantha on her knees and offered her another cookie. She hoped the child would get sleepy when Mike started talking about Aunt Hattie. At last one of the deacons pulled the bell rope to toll the three o’clock hour. Mike stood up from beside Evie at the other end of the pew. He held Evie’s hand and whispered to her a minute. Whatever he said didn’t work. Evie shifted uneasily in the pew. Sitting was not easy for her, but then neither was standing. Her face was a confusion of emotions as she watched Mike step up to the casket to speak to Kate.

Evie was worried about seeing Kate today or about Kate seeing her, so fully in the family way. That was all she’d talked about while they were getting ready for the funeral. That and how hard it was to find a black maternity dress.

Tori had pulled the black dress she’d worn to Sammy’s funeral out of the back of the wardrobe. She had never wanted to wear it again and she hadn’t until today. A funeral dress.

“Here I am about to pop with a baby and she’s lost hers.” Evie held her hands over her extended stomach as if to protect the baby inside her. “What in the world will I say to her?”

Their mother came in the room in time to hear Evie. “You’re not about to pop, Evangeline. You’ve got weeks to go,” she told her with a touch of irritation.

Evie let out a little breath, as though surprised by their mother’s words. “Only a few weeks.” She sounded close to tears.

Mama wasn’t often cross with anyone, especially not Evie, but the last two days had worn her down. She’d even been short with a customer who had dallied over finishing her shopping at closing time. She apologized to the woman and added a bunch of bananas to her order without charging for them, but her smile had been forced. As they walked home, she’d confided in Tori as she never had before.

“I know Aunt Hattie was ready, even anxious to go.” She spoke in little more than a whisper with her eyes straight ahead. “But I just don’t know what I’ll do without her.”

Sometimes there were no right words to say. Tori took Mama’s hand the way she might have held Samantha’s hand as tears slid down her mother’s cheeks.

But earlier that day, Mama’s eyes were dry as she set Evie straight. “Your sister won’t begrudge you a healthy baby when it’s time for your confinement.”

“But it might make her sad,” Evie said.

“She will be sad. She’s already sad, but that won’t have anything to do with you, Evangeline. And I guarantee you she’ll feel much worse if you back away from her because you feel a little uncomfortable. She’s hurting.” Mama took Evie’s hand and gave it a little shake. Then she reached for Tori’s hand too. “She needs her sisters. Both of you and Lorena too.”

Now Mrs. Taylor moved to the piano and began softly playing a hymn. A signal of the time to begin. Beginnings and endings. Were they simply different sides of the same door?