and five children in a house as small as my cousin’s little cottage. The children were grown now and lived away from home, but it must have been a zoo when they were young and constantly under foot. Abigail told me once that the kids fought so much she was afraid they would kill each other.
Ernest and Sue Dibber had been quite visible all day. The couple reminded me of the nursery rhyme about Jack Sprat, but in reverse. Ernest was tall and bulky with a broad, fleshy face and squinty little eyes that almost met at the bridge of his nose. His wife was also tall, but definitely not bulky. Her cheap flowered dress hung loosely over a bony frame, her rough-skinned elbows poking out like knobs below the short sleeves. Her long, faded-blond hair was arranged in tight little constipated knots over each ear, accentuating the flatness of her plain and colorless face. I avoided looking into her eyes. There was something dark and shifting behind the pupils that made me shudder.
When we arrived that morning, Sue stiffly informed us that she and her husband had taken care of everything. They had arranged the funeral service, selected the coffin, and planned the splendid feast I had just enjoyed. I had to thank them for that, but I was somewhat surprised at their involvement in William’s affairs. They were, after all, only neighbors, whereas William was survived by two cousins besides Joe Tom, and then there was Mother. She and William had always been close and after Abigail died Mother was his only emotional support. It was unfortunate that she had been visiting a college friend in California when William was taken ill. He had been forced to depend on someone else.
I peered through the rickety fence that separated William’s backyard from that of his neighbors. Dibber’s lot was overgrown with weeds and strewn with broken pieces of old toys and empty tin cans. A dilapidated doghouse and a couple of badly chewed plastic water bowls seemed to have no present owner. Just in case, I moved cautiously as I squeezed through a space between rotten boards. I don’t know why I was playing the sneak. I guess I was curious because of the contrast between the Dibber’s neatly manicured front yard and the disarray of the back.
I stepped gingerly over the debris and around several piles of dried animal feces. Before I went any farther, I decided to make sure there was not some ravaging beast sleeping in what was left of the doghouse. I bent down and looked inside the dark interior. The putrid odor of decaying flesh almost knocked me down. As I staggered back, I grabbed onto what was left of the roof to keep from falling. A shingle crumbled away in my hand and the rest of the rotten structure fell off in a cloud of dust to expose the sad and sorry sight inside. The carcass of a medium-sized dog lay decaying under a thick blanket of swarming flies. They buzzed angrily at being disturbed. Before they settled back down I saw a piece of rope tied around the sunken neck and deeply embedded in the reddish fur. The other end of the short tether was nailed to the floor. The dog could not have been able to move more than a few inches. When the flies shifted again I could see deep scratches and dried bloodstains on the wood where it had pawed frantically in a desperate effort to escape. It was obvious that the poor creature had been left to die of starvation and thirst.
An intense wave of anger at the person who had committed such an act of cruelty propelled me toward the house. Faded curtains were drawn tightly across the windows at the back of the house but I thought I saw movement behind one. I was climbing the steps to look in the back door when Mother saw me.
“Paisley! What on earth are you doing? Come back here this instant!”
She was still shaking her head when I slid back through the fence to join her.
“You’ve changed so much, Paisley. I hardly know you.”
“You’ve changed too, Mother.”
I bent down to brush the beggar lice off my pants and compose myself. She had been through enough today. The fate of the dog next door would have to be my sad little secret at least for now. I straightened up and smiled at her.
“You need a little goosing up, Mother. What have you been doing for fun lately?”
“Certainly not peeking into other people’s houses.”
“All us Yankees are no-good peekers,” I teased.
She suddenly looked pained.
“I’m sorry, Mother. I really am trying to be considerate.”
I pulled her over to a small wooden bench. The paint on it was peeling, and it had definitely seen better days. I hoped it would hold us both. Mother was right as usual, I thought woefully. I had stuffed myself. I felt ten pounds heavier and more than a little nauseated. The sight of the rotting carcass had done nothing for my digestion.
She pulled a dainty lace handkerchief out of her sleeve and dabbed at her eyes.
“It’s just that you said something that Abigail used to say. You must have heard her many times when you were little. Every night she would pull the blinds down so the ‘peekers’ couldn’t see in. I used to tease her about it.”
She smiled and patted my knee.
“You come by your teasing naturally. And you’re right. I could use a little goosing up. Things have been rather dismal around here since Abigail died. I wish you and Cassie could stay and visit a little longer.”
“You know I have to get back to work, but what about Velvet? When was my world-trotting sister’s last visit home?”
“The flowers Velvet sent were lovely, don’t you think?” she asked ignoring my question.
“Ten dozen exotic orchids!” I snorted. “For a funeral? Besides, I bet Joe Tom’s already got them in the truck of his Cadillac.”
She stood up and smoothed down the nonexistent wrinkles in her skirt.
“Oh, dear,” she sighed ignoring me again. “Duty calls. I must go back inside. Will you join me?”
“I think I’ll sit here awhile. I’m tired of people I hardly know asking me how I managed to lose a husband in the jungle.”
She bent down and kissed my cheek and then patted me on the head. I had been forgiven my trespasses once more.
I thought about going next door again but I knew Mother might be watching me from the window, so I sighed and decided to let it go. The day had been a long one and I was tired.
Cassie and I had been traveling since the predawn hours. Immediately upon our arrival at Mother’s farm in Rowan Springs, we had left for the little town of Lanierville fifty miles away where William had lived.
I was not kidding when I told Mother I had been surprised to see a Catholic priest take the podium at the funeral home service and introduce himself. When I had married Rafe in a Catholic ceremony twenty years ago, it caused quite a stir. Most of my family, including William and Abigail, were Protestants. This morning I sat in stunned silence and watched the little white collar of Father Barnard’s vestments bob up and down with his Adam’s apple as he spoke. I was too busy wondering what in the hell he was doing there to listen to what he had to say.
When the cleric was finished, Ernest Dibber rushed up to shake his hand and thank him. I remembered then that William had mentioned his neighbors were Catholic.
I turned to ask Mother what she thought, but we were suddenly hemmed in by a corral of aluminum walkers. William’s old buddies were lining up to offer their condolences. Mother smiled and spoke sweetly to everyone as usual, but the depressing smell of Ben-Gay and soggy Depends was too much for me. I had had enough of the Geritol crowd. I grabbed Cassie by
