Eastland by Marian Cheatham

Author:Marian Cheatham [Cheatham, Marian]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2014-02-05T00:00:00+00:00

16

“The wakes, chérie,” Mama called from the parlor on Tuesday evening. “It is time to go.” I dragged myself out of my bedroom and down the creaky hallway, struggling to pin my watch to my new mourning dress with hands that would not stop quaking. Mama nodded her approval.

“Fits well. Non?”

“No. I mean yes. I don’t know what I mean.” I tugged at the cinched waist, the high collar that threatened to choke me. “To tell the truth, Mama. It’s a little tight.”

“I took it in here and there. So now it fits your figure.”

“What figure?”

Mama waggled a finger at me and headed into the dining room. I trailed after her, confused, yet curious. She stopped and pointed. “Look.”

I stared into the gilded mirror that covered one entire wall. A black-clothed image stared back.

The reflection looked like me, but different somehow. The girl in the mirror had a bosom that seemed to stretch the limits of her seams. Her hips were round and fleshed out wider than her waist. The woman gawking back at me had what men called ‘an hourglass shape.’

“When did this happen?”

“You have become a young lady. I only wish Papa could see you now.” Mama pulled me to her. “We must hold tight to each other.”

As if I would ever let go. I wanted to stay wrapped in her arms for the rest of my life.

“It is time.” She released me. “To say au revoir.”

“But what if I can’t say good-bye?” I ran a finger around the inside of my collar, trying to breathe.

Mama touched my cheek. “What would Mae want?”

I leaned my face into her warm, work-hardened palm. I knew the answer without evening thinking, but I lingered there a little longer than necessary, gathering strength from her touch. I lifted my head and threw back my shoulders.

“Mae would want me to be brave.”

Mama opened the front door. “I will be there with you, ma petite.”

I gave her a weak nod and an even feebler smile, snatched up our umbrellas, and headed onto the front porch. Mama shut the door behind her and then turned and gasped.

A swell of people flooded the sidewalks on both sides of the street. Hundreds upon hundreds of mourners had turned out for the visitations this evening. So many wake-goers, in fact, that we couldn’t open our umbrellas. It didn’t matter because today I

Eastland

welcomed the rain. I needed those pelting, wet slaps on the skin to keep me going. On our block-and-a-half walk to Mae’s, we stopped at five different homes where we waited in long lines to pay our respects. Some of the homes had lost two or three family members. The parlors were filled with coffins arranged head to toe in front of the window. The six VandeKipps were not to be waked in their empty home. Mr. Drojewska had offered to keep the bodies at his funeral parlor and bring their coffins to St. Mary’s tomorrow.

But the hardest part of this whole ordeal was seeing a deceased neighbor with bruises.

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