Benediction (29 page)

Did he own the store then? Lyle said.

Oh no. He was only a skinny young single man then. He had been in the army. But the
war ended while he was still in training. He never got sent overseas. He felt bad
about that. I didn’t. Who knows what might have happened to him.

They left Dad to himself for a while, he seemed to be making some private effort that
he had to make, and they went out to the living room where Mary brought them each
a cup of coffee. They sat down
on the couch and Mary sat in the rocking chair, leaving Dad’s chair by the window
empty.

You all just please help yourselves if you want more coffee, Mary said. She sipped
at her cup. She looked at Lyle. I don’t think we ever asked you. I guess we just assumed.
So I want to ask you now.

Yes? he said.

We’d like you to do the service for Dad, for all of us. At the church.

Lorraine and Berta May looked at her, then at him.

Yes. I’d be honored to do that, he said. But I doubt they’d allow me to perform any
kind of service in the church now. I’m not sure I’d want to anyway. We’re going separate
ways.

But you still live in the parsonage, Mary said. They’ve allowed that.

They’ve agreed to let me stay two months. So it’s not a clean break. Is that what
you mean?

I don’t know what I mean, she said.

Could you perform the service somewhere else? Lorraine said.

Maybe. But it depends. The other churches in Holt wouldn’t want to interfere by hosting
it in one of their sanctuaries.

What about the yard here at the house? Lorraine said. We could borrow chairs from
somebody, or rent them from George Hill maybe, and have the memorial right here in
the shade in the side yard. That might even be better.

Yes, I’ve done services outdoors many times.

What do you think, Mom? It’s up to you.

Well, I don’t know. I haven’t thought about it before. I know Dad sure looked out
that window for hours on end. I never understood what he was looking at, but it seemed
to give him a lot of pleasure. Yes, it might be just right to have his memorial in
the very place he spent so much time looking at.

Could we still do a graveside service at the cemetery afterward? Lorraine said.

Yes, Lyle said. I’m sure we could do that too. That wouldn’t involve any of the churches.

It’s a public cemetery, Berta May said. We pay taxes for its upkeep. Nobody would
stop us.

We’ll take care of all the practical details, Lorraine said. If that’s what you decide
to do.

Yes, Lyle said. I think so.

Thank you, Mary said. Thank you all.

In the evening Dad woke once and looked around and asked for water. Only Mary and
Lorraine were sitting with him now in the bedroom. He stared at Mary for a long time
while she held his hand. He stared over at Lorraine, then he pulled his hand back
under the blanket and fell into his restless sleep again.

Later that evening, Mary said, I have to go to bed. I can’t sit up any longer.

Do you want me to stay with Dad? You could have my room.

No. I want to be here with him.

You’re not afraid?

Why no. This is my husband. I’ve been with this man most of my life. Over half a century.
I know him better than I know anybody else in the world.

But you’re not afraid to be here now.

No, honey. There’s nothing here to scare me. I might be afraid about the future, but
not of this man in this room here.

Mom, I’ll be here to help in the future.

I know, dear. Now you should go to bed too.

After Lorraine went upstairs Mary lifted the blanket and slid in beside Dad. He was
lying on his back now. She patted his hand under the blanket and rose up to kiss him.

I’m right here. I’m not going anyplace, she whispered. You do what you have to do.
Did you hear us talking about you? I hope you didn’t mind.

She kissed him again on his cracked mouth and lay back beside him and lay still, peering
up into the dark room where the barn light
was forming dim shapes and shadows and strange figures, and suddenly she began to
weep.

Later in the night she woke abruptly and switched on the bedside lamp and looked at
him and felt his head, he was still breathing the same slow irregular breath. She
got up and went to the bathroom and went out to the kitchen, looking out into the
backyard and the corral and barn and stood staring at the darkness, and then drank
a glass of water and came back and checked Dad again and got in beside him and took
his hand again. When she woke in the morning he was still alive.

He lived through all of that day. He’d stop breathing for a while, then begin again
with a gasp, coughing, trying feebly to clear his throat. They moistened the inside
of his mouth with a swab and spread balm on his lips. He lay facing the door or the
wall, or lay stretched on his back, his face gray and faded, strained-looking, and
his eyes under the thin eyelids were fixed now, not moving.

They sat with him beside the bed talking softly and touching him now and then, holding
his icy hands, and whispered to him, telling him their feelings for him. They cried
every so often, then one would stay with him while the other went out.

In the afternoon Berta May came again and helped with the straightening in the house
and brought in dinner to eat, a casserole of meat and pasta and a green salad. Can
I do something else? she said.

You’ve done too much already, Mary said. You shouldn’t have done all of this.

Yes, I should of. You would for me.

Well, you know we thank you.

Now what else?

If you wouldn’t mind … people have been calling all morning long on the phone and
some of them want to come visit. I can’t have that. I told Willa and Alene to come.
They’re the only ones. I think they would be good. But I don’t want anyone else. Could
you answer the door for us, and explain to people?

The Johnson women drove up to the house in the afternoon and Berta May let them in.
They entered the front hall very quietly and she told them Dad was still alive, that
Mary and Lorraine were in the bedroom with him, they’d been sitting there almost all
the day. They’re just about worn out, she said.

Oh, wouldn’t they be? Willa said. Is there something we can do?

Everything’s done. You can go in if you want. They said to tell you to come in.

Berta May led them back down the hall and eased the bedroom door open and stuck her
head in. Mary gestured for them to come in, and Lorraine got up and brought two more
chairs from the dining room, then the four women sat near the bed together. Dad lay
on his back, his mouth open and his eyes shut, with the blanket covering him.

We can talk, Mary said. It’s all right to speak, if we’re quiet.

How is he? Willa whispered. Is there any change?

He’s worse, I think. Her eyes filled with tears. Willa and Alene leaned toward her
and took her hands.

I’m glad you’ve come, she said. I don’t want others to be here. That would bother
Dad.

No, Willa said. We don’t want to bother any one of you.

I just don’t want some people.

No. Of course.

Dad coughed, his eyes opened, staring, he stopped breathing. They watched him, then
he breathed in, a hard gasp, and shut his eyes and went on as before.

The poor man, Willa said softly. You know my husband always thought so much of him.
Dad Lewis is somebody to know, he said. Dad Lewis is a man you can set your clock
by. I don’t think he was talking about time.

Yes, Mary said. He was always reliable.

Yes, but my husband meant he was somebody that was straight up
and down, like the hands of a clock, somebody you could depend on, somebody to trust
completely.

That was nice of him to say, Mary said.

Yes. He meant it too.

Outside the bedroom it suddenly turned dark, a cloud was passing over, and it began
to rain. It pounded straight down. A sudden dark fallen curtain. Then in a moment
it stopped.

I hope Dad heard that, Mary said.

The air was cool and fresh now coming in the window.

Oh, doesn’t it smell good, she said.

Lorraine went to the window and opened it wider and Alene joined her and they stood
watching as the sun came out again and the rain dripped off the eaves.

In the evening Mary and Lorraine stayed with Dad, sitting on into the night beside
the bed. Finally Lorraine went up to bed and left the door open so she could hear
if there was anything to hear, and Mary got into her nightgown and crawled in beside
him. I’m still with you, she said. Don’t worry about anything. I’m right here. She
switched the lamp off and took his hand. She went to sleep immediately.

When she woke at midnight he was still breathing. She went to the bathroom and came
back and lay down and took his hand and went to sleep. At two suddenly she woke again.
He wasn’t breathing, then after a long while he breathed again and shuddered. She
turned on the lamp and looked at his face and got out of bed. I’ll be right back.
She went to the bottom of the stairs.

Lorraine! Please! Can you hear me? Lorraine!

She came to the landing. Mom. What’s wrong?

Come down here. Now.

She hurried back to the bedroom and when Lorraine came they sat together beside the
bed and held Dad’s hands and he took a short breath and after a long time breathed
again. Then he made a sound down in his throat, followed by a drawn-out choking rattle,
then a
little weak noise again. Minutes went by. He breathed once more, a small shallow inhalation,
almost nothing, and the little sigh, they waited, watching his face, waited … waited,
but there was nothing more, that was all there would ever be, he never breathed again.

Mary began to cry, rocking herself. I’m not ready! I thought I was. But I’m not ready!
Not yet!

Lorraine began crying too and she put an arm around her mother. They leaned toward
the bed and Mary took Dad’s hand and kissed the back of it and held it to her cheek
and then stood leaning over and pressed his quiet face between her hands and kissed
his forehead and kissed him a long time on his cooling open lips. Good-bye, sweetheart.
Good-bye, my dear.

Lorraine bent over and kissed his cheek and touched his face. Be at peace now, Daddy.
Good-bye.

They removed his clothes and bathed his body, lifting each arm, and washing his hands,
his papery fingers, they closed his mouth, pressing his jaw up, pressing his lips
together though his mouth still stayed slightly open, and closed his eyes. They washed
his face and ears and washed his scalp and washed all of his body front and back,
holding his long thin cooling body as they did. They put clean pajamas on him and
folded his hands together over his chest. Finally they lit a candle and turned off
the lamp. They sat down beside him.

After a long time Mary said, I think I’m ready now. Are you, dear?

I am, Mom.

They got dressed and called the nurse. It was about five then, the sky just turning
light. The nurse came in right away and looked at Dad and collected the remaining
medicines and filled out the papers. She left the house and at six o’clock they called
George Hill, the mortician. Before he came they went back in the room one last time.
Dad’s face was cold now to the touch, his eyes had come open slightly.
They sat until George Hill arrived. Then they kissed Dad’s face a last time and left
the bedroom weeping. George and his assistant wheeled in a gurney and lifted Dad’s
body onto it and spread a white sheet over him. They rolled him carefully out through
the doorway into the living room, mindful not to bump anything.

We’ll be going now, Mrs. Lewis, George Hill said. If that’s all right.

Mary nodded. She choked and couldn’t speak. She and Lorraine went with the men out
of the house and stopped at the gate and watched them fold up the wheels of the gurney
and lift it into the back of the van. George Hill looked at them once more and nodded
and got in and drove slowly away.

They walked back into the side yard and stood with their arms around each other, facing
the east as the long day began.

P
EOPLE BEGAN TO COME
to the house in the middle of the morning, to offer sympathy and gifts of food, and
Berta May came over again to help. Mary and Lorraine had dressed in good clothes by
now and they met the people at the door and brought a few in for a brief visit.

It rained that morning again, around ten o’clock, another of the short hard summer
rains that blew through, then the sky cleared again.

Later that morning Richard arrived from Denver in a new car and came up to the house.
Lorraine hugged him and he was unusually quiet and Mary allowed him to take her in
his arms. I’m sorry for your loss, he said. It makes me sad to hear of it. He sat
out on the porch for a while and about noon he left and went over to Highway 34 and
rented a motel room for the night and stopped to eat lunch at one of the highway cafés.