Paper Gods by Goldie Taylor

Author:Goldie Taylor
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Press

TWENTY-FIVE

Six pallbearers marched along the brick walkway toward the Potter’s Field, a dark metallic gray casket hoisted onto their suited shoulders. Pastor Melham stood at the center, far edge of the enclosed portable tent, wearing a long black cassock and a matching ceremonial stole. He nodded as the coffin was lowered onto the silver brace and secured. His freshly shaved head glistened in the midsummer heat. A barefoot woman, dressed in a black leotard and flowing gossamer skirt, performed a liturgical dance, her palms stretching to the heavens in silent praise, as the family took their places.

Althea took little Chippy onto her lap, making room on the row of satin-covered foldout chairs for Miss Rosetta and their kinfolk. Victoria, her husband, and their twins filed into the seats beside them. Melham offered Marsh a pitying glance, and then bowed his head in prayer.

“Some wounds heal over time, though even in our grieving we must embrace the lesson of our scars,” he began.

He concluded with a few words about a merciful God and how only the righteous would see the face of Jesus.

“There will be a full accounting,” Melham said. “And yet, an equal portion of grace has been afforded to us all.”

When the preacher was done gently chastising the living about the ephemeral nature of life and the abundance of grace, Victoria rose from her seat. She stepped to the foot of the coffin. With a warm soul-soaked voice, she began to sing.

May the works I’ve done speak for me,

May the works I’ve done, oh Lord, speak for me.

Her alto voice was strong and wonderful. The mournful mood seemed to lift. There was no organ and no choir, no cheering band of campaign supporters. Her arms outstretched, lifting her eyes over the steely gray casket, adorned with an array of white roses and lilies, and into the sky, this was between her and her God.

May the life I live speak for me,

May the life I live speak for me.

When I’m resting in my grave,

I want to hear my Master say,

May the life I’ve lived speak for me.

As Victoria retook her seat to a round of soft amens, the history of the burial ground unspooled in her head. Oakland Cemetery, situated along Memorial Drive and not more than a mile outside of downtown Atlanta, was the final repose of the city’s founding fathers, political leaders, and other dignitaries who littered the history books. Her father was buried here, as were golfing legend Bobby Jones, author Margaret Mitchell, and Maynard Jackson.

Victoria surveyed the extravagant mausoleums and sculptures that harkened back to a time when wealth and race followed one to the grave.

The mourners were surrounded by more than seventy thousand graves, including those of Confederate soldiers. Some were memorialized by towering, ornate sculptures and others marked by a simple marble plate. Over the years, some people reported hearing a man’s ghostly voice calling the names of those who died in battle. Victoria could hear nothing but the whispering winds.

She had come here in middle school on a field trip.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.