Authors: Brenda Bevan Remmes
“Oh, Reverend, I wasn’t thinking
. It’s been a long night. Oh my goodness. I am so sorry.” She bent slightly to accommodate his shorter frame and gave him a kiss on the cheek. Then she took his hand in hers and gingerly walked him across the dining room and into the formal living room. “I didn’t realize it would be such a hard climb for you. I just wanted some privacy.”
Although late March was still cool, the Reverend took out a handkerchief to wipe his forehead before he sank into one of the vintage chairs
. Billie quickly poured him a glass of sweet tea and set it down next to him. Liz started to offer to get him a diet drink, but the Reverend grabbed the glass immediately and drank the tea with relief.
Once he had regained his composure there were some pleasantries exchanged
, and Reverend Morgan began to reminisce about the Judge and the numerous stories that surrounded him. There were dozens to be told, but the Reverend picked the one most closely related to church attendance. “Remember that young man they picked up for drinking and driving one Sunday morning?”
Everyone knew the story throughout the county, but Liz, Billie and Maggie listened politely as Reverend
Morgan told it one more time.
“When he appeared in court, your father frowned and said, ‘Is it true you were drinking and driving on a Sunday morning?’ and the young man admitted with shame, ‘Yes, Your Honor, it is.’ To which the Judge bellowed, ‘Thirty dollars court fine and fifty dollars for n
ot being in church on Sunday.’ They say that young man went to church every Sunday after that, although he never stopped drinking.”
Everyone chuckled politely and Reverend
Morgan fumbled in his coat pocket for a sheet of paper. “Now about the service, Maggie...”
Actually,” Maggie said, preempting him, “my father and I discussed his funeral before he died.”
Billie and Liz exchanged glances as Maggie continued. “Liz, would you jot a few things down here. Billie, I’m going to need you to help out, also.”
Billie immediately obliged by handing Liz a piece of paper and a pen she’d placed on the sideboard after taking one for herself.
The Reverend returned his list to his pocket and sat back. “I’m delighted to know that your father had already given this some thought. More people should do that.”
Maggie began
. “I’d like for his body to be at Cottonwoods for a wake on Saturday evening.”
“That’s between you and the funeral home
. I see no problem,” said Reverend Morgan.
“Billie,” Maggie said, “if you would arrange the food for the wake and whatever else you think we might need for people dropping by tonight, it would be a big help
. I guess we’ll also need something at the house following the funeral. That’s a big task.”
“I can do that,” Billie nodded.
“Get a caterer, whatever. Make sure there’s plenty of food.”
“Okay.”
Returning to the Reverend, she continued. “I want the funeral to be this Sunday, early afternoon after church.”
Reverend
Morgan bit his lower lip and took a deep breath. “Well, of course, we can probably do that. We don’t usually do funerals on Sunday, since it’s a church day, but if that’s what you want. It’s awfully quick, though, Maggie…to get notices out, line up the organist and choir—prepare the burial site.”
“That’s where I’m hoping Liz will help me out
. As soon as you leave, she and I will work on the obituary to get to the funeral home and newspapers. Word spreads fast. Besides, more people could come on a Sunday than a weekday.”
“I understand,” he said
. Liz jotted down
obit
on her sheet of paper.
“On Sunday, I’d like for the church bells to continue to chime from the noon hour until the funeral at one
. I plan to have the casket placed on one of our farm wagons and pulled from Cottonwoods to the church. I will walk with the casket the half-mile to the church and then back from the church to our family cemetery.”
“You’ll need to check with Sheriff Howard,” the Reverend said.
“I’ll take care of that, Maggie,” Liz offered and added it to her list. This was the sort of thing she was good at. Liz loved to make a list and check off one item after another to the point that her youngest boys, Nicholas and Evan, begged her
not
to put anything else down in writing.
No more charts with their chores pinned to the wall.
“Reverend
Morgan,” Maggie leaned forward a bit in her chair. “You know my father always worked hard to bring this community together.”
“He did, indeed, Maggie
. He was a pillar among us.”
“He had hoped within his lifetime there would be some resolution to the conflicts in our racial past and more economic stability for everyone.”
“And there has been. Why, when I think of where we were thirty years ago and where we are today, there have been tremendous strides.”
“Strides—y
es. Resolution—no.” She paused. “He felt our family had a particular obligation since we benefited from the hard labor of so many people.”
“Goodness, Maggie,” Reverend
Morgan straightened in his chair, “the Kendall Family has managed their resources well. The town has benefited. Our church and community are indebted to your generosity.”
“Reverend,” Maggie paused for emphasis
. “I feel this is an appropriate time for us to break the racial barriers that exist among our churches and have a truly integrated service that includes the black community. My father would want that.”
Reverend
Morgan appeared confused. “Why, Maggie, if members of the black community wish to attend the funeral service, we would not keep them out.”
“I would hope not,” Maggie said, “but I would like to take it further than that
. I would like to have Reverend Melvin Broadnax co-officiate the service and the Jerusalem Baptist Church Choir sing. I would also like to have fully half of the pews set-aside for the black community to join us. I don’t want them standing outside the church.”
There was silence
. Reverend Morgan removed his glasses, took out his handkerchief and wiped his forehead again. He picked up his glass of tea and took a long swallow. Maggie Kendall had just put him in a very awkward position. Cedar Branch remained a small segregated town in many ways. Liz remembered the loud arguments over court-ordered school integration shortly after she first arrived. There had been many visits to the Hoole’s home asking Nathan and Euphrasia to support the building of a private academy. The Quakers stood by the public schools throughout, but twenty years later segregation still prevailed within private schools, swimming pools, clubs and the greatest bastion of separation, the churches.
“Maggie, dear,” Reverend
Morgan began after a long period of silence. “This is a very difficult period for you.”
“Of course it is,” she responded. She leaned forward even more in her chair and her eyes were locked on the minister. Liz knew she had anticipated his reservations; she was obviously prepared. “It is also an opportunity,” she said softly.
“This creates quite a number of problems.” Reverend Morgan shook his head.
“For example?”
“We have never had a black minister or choir at our church before. There needs to be more preparation before we do something as dramatic as this. The parishioners just aren’t ready for it. These things take time.”
“We don’t have that much time, Reverend,” Maggie said. “We just have until Sunday.”
“That is the problem. I would really need to discuss this with my church council.”
“Maybe some thoughtful prayer would do,” Maggie coaxed gently. “There would be nothing that would have pleased my father more than to believe that in his death he was instrumental in bringing about the first truly integrated religious service in our town, where black and white sat side by side, worshipping together. It would be a first, Reverend, and you would make history.”
“No doubt about that,” Reverend Morgan said nervously. He shifted trying unsuccessfully to cross his legs. Instead he raised his glass for more tea. Billie immediately grabbed the pitcher and gave him a refill.
“Why now, Maggie?” the Reverend finally asked. “Help me explain this to my congregation. Why does this have to happen right now?”
“Because my father is dead now, and I have to bury him.”
“I understand that. But could we not plan this for a future date? Does it have to be done this Sunday? Perhaps we could discuss a community service at Thanksgiving?”
“With all due respect, I just don’t think it would have the same impact then. Think of it, Reverend, we will have people coming from all around the state … judges, lawyers, politicians. It will make a statement about the kind of town my father hoped we could become. It will be a statement of what we believe. It will set the standard for new initiatives in race relations.”
The Reverend looked helplessly at Maggie.
“I could always ask Reverend Broadnax if we could have the service at his church,” Maggie said.
Liz knew immediately this was a benign threat, but it was what the Maggie she knew would say—more confrontational.
Reverend
Morgan struggled to find his voice. His chin jutted forward and his mouth dropped open. “Maggie, you don’t mean that. You’d have the service in the black Baptist Church instead of your father’s home church?”
“Well, of course I’d rather have it at the Methodist Church, but if you feel that my request is simply not something you can do, I don’t want to force you. Who knows, perhaps Reverend Broadnax won’t be able to accommodate me, either, but I could ask.”
“No, no, Maggie. I don’t want you to do that.” Reverend Morgan was shaken. “Do you truly believe these were your father’s wishes?”
“I believe,” Maggie said.
Liz watched her measure her words carefully, because Liz knew that above all else, Maggie Kendall was a political animal like her father.
“…my father would feel honored and pleased that a tribute such as this would come about as the result of his death.”
“Ask Reverend
Broadnax to call me,” Reverend Morgan said with a woeful tone of resignation. “I assume you’ll also ask him about the choir?”
“I will
, thank you,” Maggie said with a genuine tone of appreciation, “and one more thing…”
“Yes?”
“Daddy didn’t want any long eulogies, and he didn’t want a lot of politicians and lawyers grandstanding.”
“That surprises me some,” the Reverend said as he rose to again tackle the stairs, “but surprises appear to be the order of the day.”
Maggie followed him to the steps and Billie slipped in front of him. “I’ll walk you to your car, Reverend,” Billie said. Billie sashayed a bit more than necessary in her magenta skirt as she led the way in front of the minister, but perhaps she lifted his spirits.
“I don’t think you’ll regret this,” Maggie called down the stairs as an afterthought.
Reverend Morgan nodded his head and emitted a long sigh. “We’ll see, won’t we?”
When the Reverend was out of hearing distance Liz turned to look at Maggie. “Do you know what you’re doing?”
“I do,” she said confidently.
“Do you really think it’ll help?”
“I think if people would come together regularly they might find out they like each other. With friendship comes forgiveness.”
Chapter Six
The air was still cool, but the promise of spring and March Madness invigorated the conversation, despite the occasion. A group of Chase’s friends gathered on the patio outside the side entrance to Cottonwoods. Liz and Billie had predicted that Friday evening would fill the house with Maggie’s friends from Chapel Hill and Raleigh. With the Judge lying in the living room, Saturday evening would undoubtedly be more somber.
Chase stopped, exchanged handshakes and grabbed a beer from the cooler. When Liz went inside to help Billie she was surprised to see only a few people from the black community, all women, who stood in a small circle around
LuAnne. Liz stopped to speak, embarrassed, that she didn’t know each by name. LuAnne introduced everyone and extended Reverend Broadnax’s regrets that he was unable to attend due to a wedding. They left shortly afterwards.
Most of Maggie’s professional friends were upstairs in the main living room, or circling around a dining room table laden with cold cuts and finger foods. Meanwhile Helen Truitt held court in the middle of the downstairs den.