On Day 28 of The Story ADay Challenge, a friend and fellow author, Leslie Stack, offered the prompt: “Loretta’s face was hidden by the wide-brimmed hat boldly covered in ribbons and one rose. Rising slowly from the fourth pew, she raised her chin towards the minister and declared, 'I object.'” This is my attempt at doing it justice.
Present Again
"What's to be done with her?" Edmond queried.
"'What's to be done with her?'" Eliza parroted. "She's not a potato peel, Edmond! She's our aunt. We have to care for her."
"Care for her?! Don't you know Uncle Pete did everything for her? And I do mean everything. He kept the house and made her meals and dressed her and bathed her and-- Why, the only thing the woman does is eat and--"
"Edmond!" Eliza stopped him.
"Sleep," he finished, "I was going to say 'sleep.' We can't care for her like that. I have a job. You have your family and your school. You can't study for a degree, keep your home, and care for Aunt Loretta. She doesn't even speak, for Heaven's sake. She barely feeds herself. How are you going to do that?!"
"With your help, Brother Dear," Eliza snarked. "Now, come on. We've got to get going, the funeral home is here."
Edmond and Eliza loaded their aunt into the car. She was in her eighties now, but her body was as healthy as they get. Her mind, however, was a bit fragile. She had been the two's favorite aunt. Loretta and Pete never had any children of their own, so they had doted on Edmond and Eliza as if they were. Pete taught Edmond how to do woodworking, and care for the lawn, and hide in the game room from the women during family celebrations. Edmond had fond memories of their uncle's game room. Cedar paneling, a card table for Thursday's "friendly" poker night, an overstuffed chair in which Pete worked crossword puzzles for hours, and a second table on which there was always a jigsaw puzzle or paint-by-number in the works. The smell of cedar and pipe tobacco mingled in one unforgettable bouquet. It was the original "man cave."
As they rode to the church, Eliza thought about the memorable days she'd spent with her aunt and uncle before adulthood crept its way into her life. They were precious times of unconditional love received in the most basic of ways: crusts cut from peanut butter sandwiches, long bedtime stories, cooking lessons that always concluded with extra chocolate intentionally left on spatulas, and ice-cold pink lemonade on the porch. Pete taught Eliza she was his special princess and Loretta taught Eliza to sew. No other little girl was ever loved so much, no other young woman was granted such privilege and pride. Her high school graduation, her wedding, her aunt and uncle were not simply attendees, but radiant stars of a much larger panorama. They glowed with pride and showered her with their approval. Her parents raised her well, but her aunt and uncle loved her well. And when her parents passed, Pete and Loretta became "home."
As their limousine pulled up beside the church, people had already begun to gather. Loretta's eyes widened with wonder and she began to hum and whistle more loudly. To her brain, those sounds were words and she used them just as fluently. Eliza softly patted her aunt's arm and led her from the car. In the church, Eliza on one side and Edmond on the other escorted Loretta to the front pew. Just as Eliza wondered if this was going to be too much for her dear aunt, Loretta spied her beloved at rest in his best suit in front of her. Her gait quickened and she practically dragged Edmond and Eliza to the casket. Her voice was loud and afflicted, and she began to sob, her embellished, flopping hat giving her the privacy that she would have once insisted upon. She was receiving the news of her darling groom's death all over again.
Eliza looked nervously toward Edmond. He jerked his head toward the pews and he tugged gently at his aunt's arm, turning her back to the front of the church. Eliza, following her brother's lead, gave Loretta a nudge in the direction they sought.
The pastor approached. "Good morning, Edmond, Eliza. Would you mind getting your aunt into the front pew just over here? We're preparing to start."
Edmond spoke up. "Pastor Tom, if you don't mind, we'd like to sit a bit further back. I know it's unconventional, but my aunt is having a particularly difficult time of all this. With her issues and all..." his voice trailed off.
"No, no need to apologize," said the pastor. "That will be fine." Turning to Loretta, the pastor smiled and asked, "Is there anything I can do for you, Dear?"
Through what was left of her tears, Loretta lifted her face, smiled politely, and cooed. Despite whatever cognitive issues she had, her sense of propriety remained in some form, and the memory of what she had seen moments ago had begun to dissipate already. Pastor Tom returned the smile, nodded to Edmond and Eliza, and turned to take his place by the casket. The niece and nephew led their aunt to a pew a little further away.
When the service began, the minister talked of Pete's "friendly gatherings," refraining from actually calling them poker nights, but admitting to his own attendance from time to time. He spoke of dinners hosted by a "quite talented" cook and spending time with her gregarious husband while he did the dishes for his wife, allowing her to relax a bit after "such a sumptuous feast."
Edmond and Eliza caught one another searching their aunt's face for some sort of perception. There was none. They exchanged melancholic smiles and faced front again.
The minister spoke also of a wedding that had taken place some forty-six years before, a "union of two wonderful people who loved and served each other well." He said he'd never seen two people more suited for one another, and he said he'd never seen a bride blush so pink and a groom look so proud. "But now," he continued, "we must come together to say 'goodbye' to such a dear friend, uncle, and husband."
Once again, Edmond and Eliza glanced toward their aunt. Loretta was now beginning to doze, her head slowly dropping toward her chest.
Pastor Tom began to speak of the difficulty of saying "goodbye," of how we plan for our futures and hold hopes and dreams within our hearts, only to have them altered by the life we are trying to live. He acknowledged the pain and anguish but recognized the necessity to work through those feelings and see what can be gained from our tribulations. Pastor Tom gently talked of seasons and the passage of time which ages us and brings us closer to the end, but at the same time allows us to heal. The minister attempted to raise the mourners' thoughts to the future and the task of moving on without those we have loved. And he concluded in prayer.
"And with that," said the old minister, "please join us at the cemetery to say our final 'goodbyes' to Pete and commit his body to the earth."
At that moment, Edmond and Eliza who had been enrapt with the message being delivered sensed a stirring in the pew between them. Aunt Loretta, her face still hidden by her wide-brimmed hat, which was boldly covered in ribbons and a single rose, was suddenly jarred awake. Rising slowly from the fourth pew, she raised her chin toward the minister and declared, "I object!" She was once again the regal bride, standing in the place where she and her groom had been forever promised, though now she was defending their life and railing against the death that overtaken half of their bond. Her words had found their mark, her body and her brain were once again working as one. Her beloved was gone and her rage was greater than the disease that had taken her faculties. Loretta was present again.
She dropped back into the pew and sighed.
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