Cemetery Silk by E. Joan Sims Page B

coffee.
    â€œLet me send some of these folks on their way, and I’ll be right back,” she smiled. I watched her smile turn steely as she approached the young man.
    â€œBobby, I reckon your kids is gettin’ off the school bus right ‘bout now. Bet Mary Jo could sure use some help from their daddy while she’s lookin’ after the baby and cooking dinner. What say?”
    â€œI say you mind your own business, Molly,” he snarled.
    But he got up and fished some coins and a crumpled dollar bill out of his jeans pocket. Molly opened the cash register but he slammed his money down on the table and stormed out leaving the little bell over the door jingling madly.
    Molly paused at the other booth, spoke to the two farmers for a moment and warmed up their coffee. Then she stepped behind the counter and picked up a fresh pot and another cup and came back to our table.
    â€œWhere you folks from?” she asked with a tired smile.
    I decided to let Mother field Molly’s questions.
    â€œWell, my daughter here has been living up North for a while,” she made it sound like I had been serving a prison sentence, “but my granddaughter is going to school in Atlanta. I had some people here in Lanierville, and we came over to visit.”
    â€œWell, that’s nice. Who are they? I guess I know just about everybody in town and for about ten miles around. Been here since I came with my husband in 1970. Bought this little cafe and worked it together for thirty years ‘till he died last spring.” She stopped for a gulp of black coffee.
    Mother jumped in. “The truth is my cousin died last spring, too. And her husband just recently passed away.”
    Molly straightened up like she was ready to answer a question on Jeopardy. “The Roths, Mr. William and Miz Abigail! They were your people? Why, Miz Abigail was laid out the same day as my Hector. What do you know,” she added. “It sure is a small world.”
    Suddenly she was our new best friend, related to us by a cruel twist of fate. We had shared sorrow and that made us both friend and confidant. She scooted her chair up to the table and leaned in closer. It was an amazing act considering the size of her bosom.
    â€œWeren’t it a crime what those funeral home people charged? Not that my Hector didn’t leave me well provided for, and money for his funeral, too.”
    She shook her head without disturbing the lacquered hairdo even the slightest. “Poor Mr. William! I ain’t inquiring to be nosey, but he must’a had a hard time puttin’ away Miz Abigail. What with them only livin’ on the social security.” She whispered, “I heard she was buried in a borrowed dress.”
    I could feel Mother’s blood pressure rising even though her mouth maintained the same sweet smile. I took over to avoid bloodshed.
    â€œDid they come in here often?”
    â€œOh, you couldn’t say often, what with them being so careful ‘bout money and all. But Mr. William, he used to meet a couple of his friends here once a month for coffee and pie. And sometimes when they went for his checkup over to the clinic they would stop by here afterwards for some ice cream. Miz Abigail loved my rocky road. Mr. William couldn’t abide chocolate. He always had vanilla.”
    â€œYou make your own ice cream?” Mother, ever the gourmand, was intrigued enough to forgive Molly for her remarks about the dress.
    Molly beamed proudly. “Sure thing! Used to make fifteen flavors when Hector was alive, but now I’m doing good to freeze just the chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry. All the help I got is that no good child of my sister’s and her creepy husband out in the kitchen. Boy, that was a mistake. We should’a sold out and went to Florida instead of letting them come and work for us when Hector took sick.”
    She leaned closer across the table, bosom splaying out dangerously.