Authors: Brenda Bevan Remmes
Helen turned and walked to the steps
. She saw Liz and shook her head in hopeless resignation.
“Those idiots!” Maggie said, and dropped back into her chair
. “What gall!”
Liz walked over and sat opposite her
. The Judge lay serene, no longer stale, but dressed in a tuxedo and wine plum cummerbund. He might have enjoyed the previous exchange, although Liz couldn’t help but wonder why he had left Maggie to do the job instead of handling it himself. Too old, too tired… maybe too much water under the bridge?
Chapter Eight
Chase and Liz walked the half mile from their home to the funeral. Countless cars parked at angles along the street and up into various yards throughout town. The Sheriff had patrol cars blocks away from the church to prevent congestion. The chimes that the Judge had donated to the church in memory of his wife played “A Mighty Fortress is Our God,” followed by “For the Beauty of the Earth.”
As Liz approached Cottonwoods she saw a horse-drawn wagon at the bottom of the staircase that descended from the piazza and the main entrance to the house. Journalists hovered around with small groups of lawyers and various county officials in the front yard. Liz and Chase slipped in the side patio doors and walked up the back stairs. LuAnne stood awkwardly in the corner of the living room, lost in a roomful of dignitaries. Liz sidestepped the crowd to get to her.
From the other side of the living room next to the door, Billie waved
at them frantically. “Come here,” she mouthed, and pointed at the empty space beside her. Liz grabbed LuAnne’s hand and motioned to Chase to follow her as they wedged their way through the crowd.
As they watched, the casket
bearers moved the casket out of the room onto the piazza. Maggie followed like a bride awaiting the cue for her entrance. Billie discreetly held up her hand to stop the rest of the line. The choreography was in place: this was Maggie, all Maggie, the last of the Kendalls, who now stood alone at the top of the stairs to Cottonwoods watching the descent of her father’s casket for his final journey. Cameras flashed from all angles. It was the most published photograph of the day and appeared in all the state papers the next morning.
Once the casket was securely in the wagon, Billie motioned for Senator Winston Gray to join Maggie
. With his enviable full head of richly dyed brown hair and his closely cropped beard, he took his place to Maggie’s right as the line began to move.
Miss Ellie was next in
line on the arm of her son, Josh Cartwright. Josh worked with the State Department and lived somewhere around Washington, DC. It had been years since he had been in Cedar Branch. Liz remembered meeting him only a couple of times. Ellie’s two girls, Susan and Cathy, were further back in the line with their husbands. Chase and Liz walked with LuAnne between them.
Billie and Gill followed
. Liz had never seen Billie in black before, but today she conformed to dress etiquette. Her black chemise dress bore a large silk pink flower on the right shoulder and there was a pink belt around her waist. She also wore pink sunglasses and heels. Liz couldn’t remember having ever seen Gill in a suit. A small man, he looked quite dapper. A pink tie added bit of flash. He and Billie made a handsome couple.
In contrast, Liz felt pretty uninteresting in a knee length good-for-any-occasion black polyester dress
. The only salvation was that it was draped in chiffon that gave it a bit more upscale appearance. With an attractive head scarf and a long string of pearls, this was her fallback outfit for any occasion.
The procession walked the four blocks to the Methodist Church with
How Great Thou Art
ringing through the town. Maggie stayed just a few steps behind the casket. Jackie Onassis had nothing on Maggie Kendall, other than a few million more mourners. As they approached the church Liz saw at least two hundred people standing outside. Folding chairs had been set up and a microphone system was in place. Chase nudged her and nodded to the roof line below the steeple, where a large white bird perched reviewing the parade.
“Look at that,” Chase said. Hawk?
Liz looked up. “Couldn’t be. Owl, I think.”
The casket was rolled through the double doors of the church and up the aisle to the front as the Jerusalem Baptist Choir sang “Just a Closer Walk with Thee
.”
Their soulful tones echoed out into the churchyard.
Behind the reserved rows, the pews were filled with members of the black community on the left, and the white congregation on the right. Liz wondered whether they had been seated that way, or if a process of self-selection had placed the two races on opposite sides of the aisle. A small three piece band of a keyboard, the drums/cymbals, and a saxophone, assembled in front of the pulpit: apparently the Jerusalem Choir had brought their own musical accompaniment.
Miss Mary Law sat at the organ with her eyes straight ahead on the sheet music in front of her
. In her black suit and pill box hat, she looked every bit the Chair of the Methodist Women’s Auxiliary and church organist.
When the remaining participants were seated and the choir finished their first hymn, Reverend
Morgan rose to the podium. “Welcome to the Methodist Church and the celebration of the life of Judge Corbett Marshall Kendall. How pleased we are to have representation from all of our community here with us today,” he began. “It is not often that we come together to worship. How fitting that the Judge helped us make that happen.”
His words sounded sincere
. Liz recognized what a difficult situation this was for a man who had ministered only to white, conservative congregations for forty years. She fully appreciated his efforts to make this a service of inclusiveness.
“Le
t us bow our heads in prayer.” The congregation fell silent. “Our Father in Heaven, we are gathered here today to celebrate the life of our recently departed brother, Corbett Marshall Kendall. As we do so, we ask for your blessings on his friends and family as they struggle with their loss, even knowing that he is now with You in Heaven. Amen.”
At the organ, Miss Mary Law now burst into
“Joyful Joyful We Adore Thee
”
as the congregation searched for their hymnals. Once through the prelude with only a minor key adjustment, she paused with a long chord and was rewarded by a sea of voices that joined in as she belted out the first verse. Rarely had this church been filled with so many singing their praises to God. When she concluded all four verses, her face reflected genuine satisfaction with her performance.
Reverend
Morgan rose again. Liz looked at the program and could see that he planned to dominate most of the service; after all, the service was in
his
church. The Reverend Melvin Broadnax’s opportunity to speak came after the second song by the choir.
“Maggie,” Rev
erend Morgan began, “Reverend Broadnax, Distinguished Guests, Friends of the Family, and members of our community. This week we have suffered a terrible loss. We have all lost a friend, a mentor, and a community leader of substantial proportion. And Maggie, our dear Maggie, has lost a father.”
“But let not our grief overshadow our joy; the joy of having a man such as Corbett
in our midst.” Reverend Morgan continued with steady nerves and a more even tone to his voice. “Our beloved Judge Corbett Kendall has not left us. He has merely gone ahead to wait for us and perhaps stand before our heavenly Father in defense of us when our turn comes for the final judgment. What better representation than to have a judge waiting for us at the pearly gates?”
There were a few smiles and snickers
. At this point Liz thought she heard soft music in the background. As she scanned the front of the church, she looked first at the organ: a quick turn of Miss Mary Law’s head indicated that she’d heard the music, too.
It didn’t take long for all eyes in the congregation to focus on the young black man seated at the keyboard
. With his back towards the congregation and his face uplifted, he provided background music similar to the theme song for the soap opera
Days of Our Lives
.
Engrossed in his own words, Reverend
Morgan did not yet appear to be aware of the accompaniment. Mustering up more wind power than he normally displayed, he sang out with conviction, “The Judge sits today with his Maker. Our Judge Kendall has met the Heavenly Father, the Greatest Judge of All.”
A few respectful “
Amens,” called out from the black side of the church. Reverend Morgan seemed a little surprised. He paused before resuming.
“Corbett Kendall was the creator, preserver and protector of so many memorable contributions to our community that it is difficult for me to know where to begin. I must mention his great love for his home town of Cedar Branch where he was in a succession of a long line of Kendalls dating back to the late 1700s. Corbett Kendall loved Cedar Branch.”
When the keyboard increased in volume, Reverend Morgan finally took notice.
“Everywhere he went he would announce, ‘I am Corbett Kendall from Cedar Branch
,…’”
Several voices joined in to complete the sentence with him, “
the crown jewel of North
Carolina
.”
At first startled by the communal response, the Reverend then seemed pleased
. “Yes sir,
the crown jewel of North Carolina
. That is indeed what he called his home town.”
“Corbett Kendall loved his daughter, Maggie,” Reverend
Morgan went on, with force.
Pop pop
! The drummer hit the drum twice. “Amens” resounded in the church. The drummer smiled. Reverend Morgan leaped into the air with a start, causing the reading glasses at the tip of his nose to fall to the floor. Simultaneously the majority of the white membership jumped several inches above their seats.
Reverend
Morgan disappeared momentarily behind the pulpit to recover his glasses and then paused before speaking directly to the drummer. “Judge Corbett Kendall is sitting with Jesus today.”
The drummer nodded
.
Reverend
Morgan continued. “I cannot speak for Jesus. I can only imagine that Jesus spoke to Corbett as Matthew records when God said, ‘
This is my son with whom I am well pleased.’
“
For surely, most surely, God is pleased,” the Reverend added in a solemn tone.
Though a few “
Amens” rang out, the drummer appeared to be under control.
Liz was both surprised and proud of how well Reverend
Morgan handled this new approach to worship. This was unlike the stoic Methodist congregations who regularly sat in front of him on any given Sunday morning—
the
frozen chosen
.
Reverend
Morgan now juggled several things at once. His eyes shifted between his notes and the drummer as he resorted to a safe passage in the scriptures. “Let us not forget the words of John 14, 1-6 in this time of our grief: Jesus said to his disciples
, Do not let your hearts be troubled. Believe in God, believe also in me.”
The Reverend continued through the verses without interruption. The drummer was silent. The extended delay appeared to the choir to be their cue to begin the next song. Confused and obviously not expecting to be cut off quite so prematurely, Reverend Morgan moved to his chair while the Jerusalem Choir sang an
a cappella
rendition of
“
Down to the River to Pray” that floated through the church as if angels themselves had cast a spell over the entire sanctuary.
At the end of the five verses Reverend
Morgan was not about to try to top their performance. After a pause, Reverend Melvin Broadnax took the podium. This powerfully built man in his fifties with bushy eyebrows that dominated a smooth, shiny head played to the percussion instruments, and they played right back. Liz couldn’t help but be fascinated by the fact that the black congregation appeared to relax. Faith was not a burden for them, but a celebration.
“Maggie, Maggie,” Reverend
Broadnax said with his eyes on her. “While we cannot begin to understand the loss that you must feel, we are here today, ALL gathered here today to share your pain and be a witness to the life of a great man.”
Several “
Amens” were softly heard from the black side of the church.
“But I bring you good news. We are confident.”
P
op
went the drummer.
“Confident,”
blam
went the cymbals, “second Corinthians tells us CONFIDENT,”
pop blam, “that while we are home in the body we are absent from the Lord, but today,
yes, TODAY, Maggie…”