Anger and Self-Pity clung to Beverley as she listened to her grandfather’s eulogy being read. The two demons were assigned to keep her on the path the kingdom of darkness had laid out for her. Anger ate at the child, filling her with more of himself as she thought about events leading up to this day.
Before Otis Scott passed away, the family and hospital staff prevented Beverley from seeing him. She never got the chance to tell him goodbye, or how much she loved him, or any of the things she needed to say to him.
“Against hospital rules and regulations,” some said.
“She’s just too young to see Otis in this condition. It will scar the child for life,” others said.
The more everyone kept her away from Otis, the lower she sank into Anger and Self-Pity. No one seemed to understand or care about her emotions. Anger and Self-Pity capitalized on the family’s disregard.
Enjoying the funeral service, Self-Pity sat on the back of the pew massaging Beverley’s head with gnarled talons. Looking around the crowded sanctuary through beady blood-shot eyes, he noticed there was not a strong presence of the Heavenly Host at the gathering. Detecting only a few white iridescent forms here and there, Self-Pity observed more dark menacing forms in the sanctuary than the other at this event.
Catching a glimpse of his cousins Turmoil and Despair and his old friend Anguish, Self-Pity saw many of his kind flitting around the grieving family. They emitted their evil perfume like a fine mist, saturating the atmosphere above the humans.
With such a small company of holy angels, Self-Pity experienced no hindrances as he diligently fed Beverley’s mind with thoughts that no one else cared for her the way her grandfather had cared for her. Doing an exceptional job of keeping the girl’s mind focused on her own troubles, he didn’t allow any thoughts concerning anyone else’s troubles to come through.
“Enter, Deacon Scott, into your rest. We all loved you but God loved you best,” Pastor Cleveland Barnes intoned over the remains of the dearly departed, Otis Sylvester Scott.
The congregation wept, some quietly and others not so quietly. They all reminisced about the man they knew and loved. Beverley looked around at the huge gathering of people in the church. Family and friends gathered in the sanctuary of Dry Creek Missionary Baptist Church in memory of their beloved friend, brother, and deacon.
Turning her head back to the front, Beverley caught sight of cousin Flora Mae Peterson just as she flopped to the floor in a pool of black silk while viewing the remains of Daddy. Cousin Flora Mae served as the main “swooner” during regular church service. She showed her best during funerals.
Far from serving as the only swooner, Mrs. Alma Williams joined cousin Flora Mae on the floor as she stepped forward to view the remains. She had already lost her wig once during the service when her body jerked from being hit by the Spirit. Usher Sister Kathleen White stealthily stepped forward and replaced the wig as it came off again when Mrs. Alma slid down to the floor. Sister White even took the time to make sure it was set on Mrs. Alma’s head correctly.
Beverley looked at Pastor Barnes speaking from the old pulpit, Daddy lying in the coffin in front of the altar. Multicolored flowers banked all around the coffin. The smell at the front of the sanctuary was both overwhelming and sickening.
The church was packed with many people. Many of these people Beverley knew. There were even more that she didn’t. Daddy was very well known and loved. He would be sorely missed in the community.
Pastor Barnes droned on about what a good man Daddy had been and what a powerful legacy he left for his family. Beverley caught bits and pieces of the message as she zoned out from the happenings around her: “Passed on to glory … life cut short by emphysema.”
Otis’s two sons, Leon and Richard, two of his daughters, Cassie and Lila, and Beverley all sat on the front row on the right side of the flower-filled sanctuary. Eyes downcast and tearful, Otis’s children mourned the loss of their patriarch who was “called home” as people of the Baptist persuasion fondly said.
On the second row on the same side of the sanctuary sat Otis’s baby sister, Ida Mae Collins, nieces, nephews, and various other relatives. They were all heartbroken because he had been taken away from them.
Not in attendance were his wife of forty-nine years, Beulah, and his daughter Barbara Ann who “couldn’t stand funerals.” Beulah was at home in bed, angry that Otis would leave her like he did. She wasn’t the only angry one in the family.
As white-gloved pallbearer Deacon Eldridge Turner stepped forward to close the lid on the coffin, the resulting thud gave a clear sound of finality. Beverley stood up from the front pew with the rest of the solemn mourners. They all prepared to move the coffin down the aisle and through the doors of the church to take her beloved Daddy to the grave someone had dug out in the cemetery.
Thirteen and heartbroken, Beverley marched stiff-legged down the aisle in her black collared, multicolored taffeta dress and black patent leather Mary Jane’s. Partially in defiance but fully in anger, she followed the people who had kept her from seeing Daddy before he passed away.
She had loved Otis Scott all of her life. The one thing she had loved most about Daddy came to her mind when she was allowed to look into the casket at his remains—the whiskers.
She loved to feel his whiskers at the end of the day. He usually brushed them against her cheek as he hugged her when he came home from work at the mill. As she looked at his corpse in the casket, she saw that someone had shaved his face clean. She would never feel those whiskers again. She missed those whiskers.
As they prepared to bury Daddy, she wanted to jump into the casket with him. She didn’t want to be left here to contend with Mama. Questions invaded her mind: Why Daddy? Could I in fact go with him? Why do I have to be left with Mama?
At the gravesite, Pastor Barnes picked up a handful of dirt as he finished the eulogy. “Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Lord, into Your hands we commend the spirit of our brother Otis Sylvester Scott, for Thou hast redeemed him, O Lord God of truth.”
All those in attendance said a final “Amen.”
Beverley stood at the edge of the grave looking at the casket as it slowly lowered into the ground. This was final and she knew it.
Why? The question reverberated through her mind as she turned away from the grave. Entering the car the funeral home had sent for her and her family, Beverley was so very angry.
After returning to the house, Beverley quickly shed her church clothes for work-clothes, grabbed Daddy’s old wood-chopping jacket, and went outside behind the house.
Frustrated, she chopped wood. She didn’t want to be bothered with all the people coming to the house after the funeral. These people were coming over for three reasons—to eat, to talk, and to cry. She didn’t want to do any of those things. She just wanted to chop wood and think about Daddy and the life they had shared.