“What a terrible shame,” Miriam muttered. “What a terrible tragedy. I remember—”
“Miriam,” Gus cautioned, “let it go.”
She sniffled into a lace handkerchief. “I know. No one has a monopoly on regret. But still.”
The rhythmic sound of hoof beats and the crunching of iron tires on gravel, had everyone turning to gaze at the new arrival.
The lone occupant of the four-wheeler was a large red-bearded man wearing a black suit with a clerical collar. He alighted from the buggy with amazing agility for his size and approached the group.
“It’s been so many years, Buck,” he said, extending his hand. “I had hoped our reunion might be under more pleasant circumstances.”
“Thank you for coming, Reverend Christian. Please allow me to introduce Mr. and Mrs. Grayson—”
“The banker. I know you by reputation, sir, though I’ve never had the pleasure of meeting you in person. You’ve been very generous to our community.” He turned to Miriam. “Mrs. Grayson, it’s indeed good to see you again. It would seem our work is done.”
She took his hand warmly. “Only the circumstances, Reverend. Our work is never done.”
Listening to them, Buck realized they’d toiled together in the Underground Railroad. With a smile and a shake of his head, he introduced Sarah and her mother.
Next came Janey and Job.
The minister smiled fondly. “Job doesn’t remember me, but I remember him. Emma brought him to me to be baptized. I’m afraid he didn’t particularly enjoy the experience. Cried through the whole thing, as I recall. Hello, young man.”
Janey urged him to greet the clergyman, which he did shyly, then looked to the chinaberry tree in front of Emma’s cabin. Buck followed his gaze, waiting for the four-year-old to say something. It was unclear if he understood what was going on, though Miriam had explained it to him in the most gentle and sympathetic terms.
“Shall we get started?” Reverend Christian said.
#
Randolph was both frustrated and excited. The trip to Columbia, a city he’d never liked, had been odious and uncomfortable in the horse cars of the trains he’d managed to bribe his way onto. But it was better than his walk home only to find his wife wasn’t there. The bitch.
No matter. She’d soon regret making a cuckold of him. And her mother would regret having him sent off to that stinking battlefield in Virginia.
The capital city looked even worse than he remembered it, now that most of it had been burned to the ground by that Yankee cracker Sherman. No matter. Randolph didn’t plan to be here long. A few years ago he would’ve challenged Doctor Elijah Buchanan Thomson to a duel, but the soldier’s life had taught him a few tricks gentlemen didn’t usually employ, and he was the man to use them. If he had his way he’d hang Thomson from a tree, the coward’s death, but there were other, equally effective ways to send a man to hell.
He’d pondered on the train how he was going to find this Dr. Thomson that Sarah chose to degrade herself with. Then it came to him. How do you find a doctor? By asking another doctor. It was at the office of the third physician that he finally struck gold.
“Buck Thomson?” the rotund sawbones had said. “I’m not familiar with him personally, but I do know he’s good friends with Gus Grayson the banker. I’m sure he’ll be able to put you in touch with him.”
The Grayson house was impressive and not difficult to find. A black butler answered the door.
“Doctor Thomson? He ain’t here, sir. They’s all gone to a funeral. Expects ‘em back later today. May I ask who’s calling and give him your name?”
“That won’t be necessary. I’d like to surprise him.”
#
The small party of mourners migrated to the site under the massive chinaberry tree. The gravediggers had suspended Emma’s plain pine casket on poles over the hole they’d finished excavating only minutes before. Jeffcoat’s men moved away and stood by the hearse as Reverend Christian positioned himself at the head of the coffin. He opened his prayer book and was about to begin the service when faces appeared along the sides of the dilapidated cabins.
Miriam followed his gaze, then called out to them. “Y’all come on up and stand with us. We’re all Emma’s friends. Everyone’s welcome to say goodbye to her. She would’ve wanted it that way.”
The minister echoed her invitation. “Let all come forward who wish to bid her a final farewell and usher her into the presence of the Lord, where there is joy and happiness forever.”
“Amen.”
Buck and the others slowly turned at the sight of half a dozen black men and women, and two small children shuffling toward the interment site. They were all skinny, their clothing threadbare. They had their heads bowed in respect, but Buck imagined they were also uncomfortable in close proximity to people who had once lorded it over them and controlled their fate.
The rector’s words were reassuring. “Come stand with us and praise the Lord in thanksgiving for Emma, for we have come not to mourn her passing but to celebrate her life.”
When they stopped a few paces behind the white people, the minister again raised his prayer book but began speaking without reference to it.
“O God, whose mercies cannot be numbered, accept our prayers on behalf of thy servant Emma, and grant her an entrance into the land of light and joy . . .”
Buck listened without hearing, except for the sobbing of the people behind him. How often had he sat under this tree, teasing Emma as she scrubbed clothes she’d drawn from the steaming metal tub with a wooden stick. As if her hands didn’t burn from the hot lye-soapy water, she would gently tease him back, ever mindful of her place. She smiled so easily, even when she had to have been exhausted, but the joy on her face was genuine when he’d recite “purdy” words from books she couldn’t read. How she loved poetry, the cadence and rhythm of verses with strange words and meaning even he didn’t yet comprehend.
“Out of the depths I cried to thee, Lord, Lord, hear my prayer . . .”
There was open weeping now.
“If anyone wishes to offer prayers or memories of Emma, please come forward,” the minister said. “Let us share the events and good deeds of her life here below.”
When no one came immediately forward Buck spoke up. “I don’t remember the exact words of the bible but the story of the widow’s mite describes her perfectly. Others gave great treasure, but she gave all she had.”
“Praise the Lord,” a woman behind him called out, and suddenly a deep male voice commenced singing:
“Nearer, my God, to Thee, nearer to Thee!
“Though like the wanderer, the sun gone down,
“Darkness be over me, my rest a stone;
“Yet in my dreams I’d be nearer, my God, to Thee . . .
As they finished the last verse, the gravediggers stepped forward and slowly lowered the casket into the hole. As it was being set in place, the minister closed his book and from memory recited a final benediction:
“Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord;
“Even so saith the Spirit, for they rest from their labors.”
The gravediggers were pulling up the ropes by which they’d lowered the coffin when Job stepped forward and said softly, “Bye, bye, Emma.” He turned and threw himself against Miriam’s dress. She rubbed his shoulders tenderly.
It was more than Buck could take. Raw emotions cascaded through him, burned his throat and racked his body. He emitted an audible sob and dashed behind the chinaberry tree.
As he leaned against the massive trunk, the former slaves began a spiritual he’d heard them sing many times, even while working in the cotton fields.