Dealing With the Dead I remember Mother telling of an incident from her teen years which involved sitting up at night with a person who was to be buried the next day. But I couldn't remember enough of the incident to be able to write much about it. So I asked my sister Elysse if she could help. Lo, and behold, Elysse had written a story about the incident for a class in creative writing she attended and sent it to me. As I have mentioned before, I did not know my SACKETT grandparents very well. So most of what I know about them came through what Mother and her siblings have told me. Grandma Sackett was one who preferred to work in the fields to doing house work and was one who was short on patience. Grandpa Sackett seems to have been the one who was patient and understanding. These characteristics figure into the following tale. Authors notes: There is a marvelous genre out there that has been labeled “Creative Non-Fiction”. This little story fits neatly into that category. The incident happened. However, I have not a clue who the deceased was. (If anyone has McFeeney’s in their family tree, no inquires please. I made up the name.) One rule in writing says, “Show me, don’t tell me.” To write the story with a flow of “Mother told me… She said they…,” is BORING. So, I put words in their mouths. I also am not sure which of Mother’s sisters were there. Since Ione, Cleo and Mother were the youngest, I used their names. I’m not sure where the incident took place. Since Mother was born in Winthrop, Arkansas I opted to use that for the location. Elysse King 1921 Grandview Avenue Redding, CA 96001 (530) 246-1150 e-mail elysseking@aol.com ------------------------ Mrs. McFeeney’s Last Night Above Ground The McFeeney’s were our nearest neighbors in Winthrop, Arkansas. I had known Mrs. McFeeney all my life. Mama would take me and my sisters with her to visit. Mostly we played around in the yard. When it was time to go home, Mrs. McFeeney would sometimes send us home with a bouquet of flowers. Her favorites were yellow roses. “Yellow roses are for friendship,” she told us. But my clearest memory of Mrs. McFeeney scared me half to death. It was a hot, muggy July day in 1924. Ione was seventeen, Cleo was fifteen and I was just a days away from my fourteenth birthday. We were the last of the Sackett girls still living at home. Mr. McFeeney rode over bare back on Old Clyde around six in the evening. He was hollering for Papa as loud as his old voice could go. Papa came running from the barn. Mama ran out of the house, wiping her hands on her apron. “Jonathan!” he yelled. “Good heavens, Luther. What’s the matter?” Papa asked, grabbing Mr. McFeeney as he slid off Old Clyde. “It’s Nellie.” He paused to catch his breath. “She’s dead. I went into the house to get some water. She was crumpled up on the floor by the back door. Oh Lord, Jonathan, she’s gone.” Papa helped him onto the porch. Mr. McFeeney collapsed into a chair, leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and buried his face into his hands. His sobbing brought tears to my eyes. “I don’t know what to do, Johathan. I just don’t know what to do.” “Ione. Cleo. Grace. Don’t you have some chores to do?” Papa said, motioning for us to go back into the house. Papa sat with Mr. McFeeney, patting his shoulder. We listened at the window. “I don’t know what to do, Johathan. I just don’t know how I’m going to go on without her. Oh Lord, what do I do now?” “We’re here to help you,” Papa said. When Mr. McFeeney pulled himself back together, Mama and Papa took him to Pastor Brownlee’s in our buggy with Old Clyde clopping along behind. In the evening, Ione, Cleo and I finished our chores, got supper started and were working on a quilt when we heard horses coming up the road to our house. Mama and Papa rode in the buggy. Mr. Daniels, Mr. Edwards and Pastor Brownlee were in a large farm cart. Mama came in, the screen door banged behind her. She laid her bonnet on the table and sprawled in a chair. Her hair was sweaty. “This heat is killing me,” Mama said as she fanned herself with the stiff paper fan from Winthrop Pharmacy. Her face was flushed and her eyes were puffy. “Pastor Brownlee said he’d like to get Nellie buried as quick as possible since it’s so hot. We’re going to hold services at the cemetery. Luther’s going to stay with the Brownlee’s tonight,” Mama told us. Mama sat up straighter, still looking spent. “There’s so much to do. ” she sighed. “Mama, why are the men here?” I asked. “To help get Nellie in the house.” “Here? Why here?” Cleo asked. “We’ll have people coming by to pay respects tomorrow, they’d never fit into that tiny house of theirs. I looked at Cleo and Ione. Their faces reflected my feelings. We’d never had a dead person in the house. As hot as it was, a shiver ran up my spine. “Where are we going to put her?” Ione asked, looking around the house. “Well, I guess we’ll have to put her on the kitchen table.” “Mama! In the kitchen? How are we going to have supper?” I asked. Mrs. McFeeney was a large woman. An image of us eating with Mrs. McFeeney laid out on the table flashed in my mind. The thought of passing food over her body made me shudder. “We’ll eat first. Now get the table set, the men are going to bring her in when we’re finished.” We walked to the stove in silence. “This is spooky,” I whispered. “I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep tonight, just knowing she’s here.” Cleo and Ione agreed. We were finishing up the dishes when the men started bringing Mrs. McFeeney into the house. She was wrapped in a quilt pieced in a double wedding ring pattern. After a short struggle they hefted her onto the table. Mama unwrapped the quilt and placed a sheet over her body. Ione motioned for Cleo and me to go outside. “I don’t know about you two, but I’d just as soon sleep in the barn tonight,” . Ione said. Cleo and I nodded in agreement. The men piled into the cart. “See you in the morning, Mrs. Sackett. Thank you for supper,” Pastor Brownlee said as they left. The screen door banged behind Mama and Papa. We stayed on the porch, dreading going inside. The barn idea sounded pretty good. “Girls,” Mama called from the kitchen. “Come on in here. You’ve got some work to do.” We looked at each other puzzled. We inched into the kitchen, standing in a row. “You’re going to need to get her washed up a bit. Then get her dressed.” Mama handed Ione one of Mrs. McFeeney’s dresses. “Can’t some of the ladies from the church do it? I asked. “Mama. Why do we have to do it?” Ione asked. Her eyes grew big. Mrs. McFeeney’s big pink dress drooped down to the floor. “Because I said so!” Mama said sharply. “Do any of you see any of the ladies from the church here? We’re the closest Nellie has to family and she’s not going to her grave looking like that.” She motioned toward Mrs. McFeeney. “Neighbors will be stopping by tomorrow and I’ve got to get some rest. After you get her cleaned up and dressed I want you to sit up with her tonight.” My mouth dropped open. Cleo and Ione reflected my look. “Mama, why do we have to sit up with her, she’s not going anyplace?” Ione said. “Now listen to me,” Mama said firmly, “I don’t want any backtalk! It’s showing respect. This is her last night above ground and she deserves consideration. Not just for her but for Luther. It’s a comfort for him to know she’s not alone. Now, you’d better get busy.” Mama took a kerosene lamp from a table in the living room and joined Papa in the bedroom. The living room grew dark as she closed the bedroom door behind her. “It’s not fair. We shouldn’t have to do this,” I moaned. “She’s Mama’s friend why doesn’t she come out here and clean her up?” “Well, it may not be fair but I’m not going to be the one to tell Mama that,” Ione said. “You want to go tell her?” I shook my head. We stared at the lump on the table. A slight evening breeze moved the curtains on the open window. Though it was still sticky and hot, I trembled. We stood staring at the mound on the table. Ione was the first to speak. “One of you get a wash pan and cloth. I guess we’d better get started.” She took a deep breath, stepped up to the table and pulled back the sheet. Mrs. McFeeney’s curly white hair was standing on end. Her right eye was open a little. Her normally pale skin was a medium pink. “We’re going to have to lift her up to get that dress off,” Ione said, placing her hands under Mrs. McFeeney’s shoulders. I didn’t want to touch her let alone lift her. “What does she feel like?” Cleo whispered. “Get over here and help and you’ll find out,” Ione said. Cleo reached out and gingerly touched her arm. I stepped closer and felt her forehead. As hot as it was, she felt cool. It wasn’t as bad as I’d thought it would be. “Come on! Help me lift her!” Ione said. I pulled from the front. Cleo helped hold her head while Ione tried lifting her shoulders. I heard her dress rip. “Well, that‘s not working,” Ione said. She stood back, thought for a minute and continued, “I was just thinking. She’s never going to wear that old dress again, why don’t we cut it off of her?” Cleo got Mama’s scissors from the sewing basket and started snipping away at the dress. We tugged until we got the dress out from under her. Her white camisole overlapped her old fashioned pantaloons. “That wasn’t bad,“ Cleo said. “Yea, but we still have to get a dress on her,” Ione replied. All three of us pulled up a chair, sat down and stared at Mrs. McFeeney. It wasn’t going to be easy. “I wish Papa could help us lift her,” I said. “Me too, but I don’t think we better wake him up,” Cleo said. Ione stood up. “Well, we’ve wasted enough time. Let’s get on with it.” Cleo and I got a good grip on her shoulders and started lifting. Slowly her shoulders came off the table. Ione had her hands under Mrs. McFeeney’s armpits, grunting as she pulled. Emma turned around and braced herself against Mrs. McFeeney’s back and pushed as hard as she could. “Ione, get the dress over her head, we can’t hold her up much longer,” I said trying to keep her from falling to the side. Ione slipped the dress over her head and down to her shoulders. “I can’t get her arms up, they’re too stiff!” Mrs. McFeeney teetered for a moment then slumped forward. That’s when Mrs. McFeeney let out a long, low groan. I don’t know who screamed first but I was the first out the back door with Ione close behind. Cleo practically flew out the window. We were in the yard, jumping up and down screaming and crying when Mama came out the door. “What on God’s earth is going on out here?” Mama had her hands on her hips. Her long graying hair hung loose below her shoulders. “It’s Mrs. McFeeney, she’s come back to life.” “She groaned at us!” “She’s alive!” we shouted all at once. “Now hush up! I can’t understand a word you’re saying with all of you screaming at once! Ione, what happened?” Mama asked. Papa was fastening his overalls when he stepped next to Mama. “Mama, she came back to life. I heard her groan at us,” Ione said, half crying. “You know good and well people don’t come back to life.” “But Mama…” “No buts! What’s got into you? You’ve got better sense that that!” “I guess people don’t come back to life but I heard her with my own ears,” Ione said. “Maybe you need to wash your ears out. Am I going to have to be up all night with you silly girls? I need to get some sleep,” Mama yelled. “Now hold on a minute, Ophelia. Hear ‘em out.” Papa said. “Now tell me exactly what happened.” Ione did the talking. When Ione finished, Mama turned to Papa. “Jonathan, you know that’s nonsense.” “Why don’t you go on back to bed, I’ll get this cleared up. Go on,” he insisted, making a shooing motion with his hands. Mama turned on her heel and stomped into the house. Papa waited for Mama to be out of earshot. “I’ll sleep in the barn, but I’m not going back in there until Mrs. McFeeney’s buried,” Cleo said. “Come on inside.” He put his arm around Ione’s shoulder. “Come on Cleo. Grace. Come on,” he coaxed. Cleo and I fell in behind him. He stopped when we got onto the porch. “Is Nellie covered?” he asked. “Yes, Papa,” Ione answered. “Papa, you can’t make me go back in there,” Cleo said shying away from the door. “It’ll be okay, I promise,” Papa said in a calm voice. “Come on.” We followed him inside. “Now sit down.” He pulled up a chair next to us. “You weren’t hearing things.” All three of us were getting ready to run out the door again. “Sit down. She didn’t come back to life. There was still air in her lungs. When you moved her you pushed the air out. There’s nothing to be afraid of,” Papa explained patiently. “Did you say you were trying to get her dress over her head?” “Uh huh,” we uttered in unison. “Didn’t Mama tell you how to get her dressed?” “No,” Ione answered for us. I was confused. We knew how to put on our clothes. “I guess she got in too big a hurry to get some sleep. Mama’s pretty upset. Nellie was a good friend and she’s grieving. She was closer to Nellie than to her own Mama.” “She didn’t seem upset,” I said. “Mama holds a lot inside.” We listened to Papa’s deep voice explaining how troubled Mama was for Mr. McFeeney. Papa paused, running his fingers through his thick black hair. “About that dress. What my Mama used to do was cut the dress down the back then tuck it in around the body. No one can tell and it’s a lot easier.” I felt pretty foolish. One of us should have been able to figure that out. Papa walked to the table. He pulled on her right eyelid until it closed. “She looked like she was winking at us,” Papa said with a slight grin. “That should help your nerves a bit.” We nodded. It was better. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. This is Nellie McFeeney.” He placed his hand on her shoulder. “You were never afraid of her in life and there’s no cause to fear her in death. She was always good to you girls. Show her the same respect you did when she was alive. I know she’d be grateful for what you’re doing for her.” We sat as Papa stood up. He stopped outside the bedroom door. “Cleo, when you’re done you can sleep in the barn if you still want to.” “I’m alright now, Papa,” she said. A little smile slipped onto her face. We got the dress tucked in around Mrs. McFeeney. Ione brushed her hair. When we were done, we talked the rest of the night. As the eastern sky started showing light we started cooking. Breakfast was ready when Mama and Papa got up. When the last of the neighbors arrived and paid their respects the men loaded Mrs. McFeeney into the cart. “Since you’ve been up all night, you don’t have to go to the cemetery if you don’t want to,” Mama told us. We rode in the back of the cart with Mrs. Mc Feeney. Each holding a yellow rose.