Chapter 11

“Is Sam upstairs?” It was out of my mouth as soon as I stepped through the door at home. Setting down Mattie’s suitcase, I headed for the hall, barely waiting for Lillian’s answer.

She turned from the sink. “Yes’m, he in his office workin’ away. I jus’ take him some coffee. You want some?”

“No, not yet. Oh, Lillian,” I moaned, turning back to her, “I just went to see Mattie Freeman, and can you believe that she died last night? I mean, we just visited her yesterday. It doesn’t seem possible.”

“Oh, Jesus,” Lillian said, snatching up a dish towel to dry her hands. “Miss Mattie Freeman, gone? Well, bless her ole heart, I guess she in a better place now.”

“I hope so. At least I hope it’s better than what was facing her here.” I started toward the stairs. “I’m going up to tell Sam. He’ll want to know.”

I tapped on the door to what had once been my sunroom, but was now reconfigured as a working office for Sam. He had it filled with machines of one sort or another, some of which beeped and flashed and hummed. How he got any writing or thinking done with all that noise was beyond me.

“Sam?” I pushed open the door as he looked up from the book that was open on his desk. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but, oh, Sam, you won’t believe who has gone to her reward.”

Sam’s eyebrows rose. “I didn’t know anybody was up for one.”

“Well, I didn’t, either. She seemed well enough to me. I mean, considering all she’s been through and discounting her mental state. I tell you, Sam, I’m shaken by it.”

Sam abruptly stood and started around the desk toward me. “What’s happened, honey?”

“Mattie Freeman, Sam,” I said, feeling a few tears spring to my eyes. “She’s gone. And I didn’t even know she was leaving.”

Sam took my arm and led me to a side chair. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I shouldn’t have been flippant. It’s never easy to lose someone you care about. Sit down and tell me about it.”

“Well, see, that’s the thing,” I said, sinking into the easy chair beside his desk. “I never thought I cared one way or the other about Mattie, and I really didn’t—I mean, personally cared. So I was really upset with her for giving me so much responsibility when we’d never been close. But now I don’t know why her sudden passing has shaken me the way it has.”

“I expect you’d have been better prepared if she’d been sick a long time. It’s probably the unexpectedness of it that’s upsetting you.”

“I guess. Except at her age, I don’t know what else I should’ve expected. But, Sam, you and I just saw her yesterday afternoon, and of course she didn’t look well, but I never thought . . . well, anyway, I spent an awful lot of time worrying about where she would go and who would take care of her when she got out of the hospital—all of which has turned out to be a total waste of time. I guess it should teach me a lesson. Make no plans for the morrow, for the morrow may never come—or something like that. Which is certainly true for Mattie.”

I straightened in my chair, struck by a sudden dread. “What about that power of attorney now, Sam? What am I supposed to do about that?” I just didn’t think I was up to making funerary arrangements, regardless of how much Mattie had thought of me. That was an honor I could do without.

“It’s all right, sweetheart. The power of attorney expires when the grantor does.”

“You mean . . . ?” I brightened considerably, realizing that my obligations were over and done with. “Well, that is welcome news. But, you know, Sam, now that I think about it, it hasn’t been so onerous, after all.”

After a few reassuring words and some comforting hugs from Sam, it occurred to me that I was most likely the only one among our friends who knew about this disconcerting development. So, after thanking Sam for relieving my mind, I left him to his work and hurried to the library. It was up to me, it seemed, to spread the word of Mattie’s demise to our friends and acquaintances. To be the town crier, so to speak, certainly gives one a feeling of importance, and I concerned myself with striking just the right note between accuracy in reporting and personal concern.

“Mildred?” I asked when Ida Lee called her to the phone. “I have sad news.”

“Who died?”

“Mildred! How did you know? You didn’t give me a chance to break it to you gently.”

“You mean somebody really did?” she asked. “Oh, my, that’ll teach me to play around trying to be funny. But, really, who was it?”

“Miss Mattie. Oh, Mildred, I went to the hospital this morning, even took her a dozen petits fours, hoping to perk her up—you know how she loved those things—and her bed was empty. Stripped, in fact, though I thought she’d just been moved. I declare, I was not prepared for where she’d been moved to. It’s really quite shaken me up.”

“Well, me, too,” Mildred said, a great deal more soberly than she’d started out. “I had no idea that she was in danger of leaving us. Believe me, if I had, I would’ve bestirred myself to go visit her with you and LuAnne. I wish now I’d gone with you.”

“Don’t worry about it. She wouldn’t have known if you were there or not. But I expect we’ll all have a few regrets in the next several days. Sam says we can’t dwell on those, though, since nothing can be done about them now. Still, I wish she’d known that I’d thought enough of her to bring petits fours.”

“Yes, that’s a pity. She loved those things. But, Julia, have you told LuAnne?”

“Not yet, but I will.”

“Well, hang up and do it right now. I want LuAnne to know that she’s not always the first to know when something happens.”

I had to laugh, for LuAnne would be beside herself at hearing a bit of news about which she had absolutely no idea. And especially to hear it from one who was generally the last to know anything.

_______

“LuAnne?” I said when she answered her phone. “I hate to be the one to bring bad news, but Miss Mattie died sometime last night.”

“What?”

I told her again, adding, “I just happened to have gone to see her early this morning, and . . .”

“And you didn’t call me to go with you?”

“Well, LuAnne, I had several unforeseen obligations to take care of, and I wanted to speak to her about them.”

“What kind of obligations did you have that you didn’t want me to know about?”

“It wasn’t like that, LuAnne. I don’t care if you know that Mattie had given me her power of attorney . . .”

“What! Why did she give it to you? I’ve known her as long as you have—longer, even.”

“I don’t know, but, believe me, I would’ve been glad to pass it along to you if I’d had the chance. But really, there was little to do, and now, nothing at all. Any powers I may have had expired when she did.”

“Well, I still don’t understand why she picked you. Why, Julia, I took her a loaf of banana nut bread every Christmas, and picked her up to take her to I-don’t-know-how-many parties, just to keep us all safe from that car. I even offered to drive her to and from church every Sunday, but she turned me down. I did that after she backed into two cars in the church parking lot. One of them was mine.”

“I know, LuAnne, you were always very thoughtful where Mattie was concerned. And the only reason I can think of for not naming you was that she didn’t want to burden you.” I was doing my best to console LuAnne for having been found lacking in Mattie’s eyes, or perhaps for having been merely overlooked. Although, to tell the truth, as much as I cared for LuAnne, she would be the last person to whom I’d entrust my business affairs. And the thought of her being in charge of my medical decisions sent a shudder down my spine.

“LuAnne,” I said, inspired by a sudden thought, “I would count it a great favor if you would call everyone, starting with Pastor Ledbetter and Emma Sue, the organist who’ll need a heads-up for the service, and all our friends and tell them about Mattie. They all need to be notified, and I am just overwhelmed here. Would you have time to do that?”

There was a noticeable silence. Then she asked, “You haven’t already called them?”

“No, I just learned about it myself.”

“And called me first?”

I hesitated for a moment of silence. “Yes, except I did tell Sam and Lillian. I mean, of course, they were right here when I walked through the door.”

“Well, okay. I can do that, if you’re sure.”

“I’m sure, and I’d be ever so grateful, and,” I added with a laugh, “to prove it, I’ll dance at your wedding.”

“Ha!” she said, her spirits improving by the minute. “How about at my debutante ball instead?”

We laughed together for a minute, then hung up. Or at least, she did. I merely clicked the phone off, then back on, and punched in Mildred’s number before LuAnne could.

“Mildred,” I said, thankful that she’d answered so quickly, “LuAnne’s going to call you about Mattie. Be surprised, and don’t tell her you already know.”

Mildred started laughing. “Okay, I’ll be properly stunned at the news, but keep in mind, Julia, that I intend to hold this over your head for just about forever.”