The Funeral Dress by Susan Gregg Gilmore Page B

memories of the woman Nolan called a red-eyed snake. But she figured they should meet at least once before her grandmama was dropped in the ground for good. Emmalee leaned over the casket and studied the woman with the thick layer of beige makeup on her skin and a blue scarf tied around her head. She couldn’t see the color of her eyes, and she struggled to find traces of her own mama in the woman’s deeply lined face.
    “Never seen a girl get so close to the dead before,” Billy said and blew in her ear. He had eased up behind Emmalee without warning, but she did not frighten. “Wouldn’t get too close, you know. She might reach out and grab you. I’ve seen it happen.”
    “No, you ain’t, Billy.”
    “Yes, I have. They’ll hang on to anybody passing by. Some just not ready to go on, I guess.” He moaned like a ghost might and blew another blast of warm air on Emmalee’s neck. Emmalee swatted him away.
    “They can hear you, you know. Keep an eye on her. She’ll blink fast if she’s listening. You’ll miss it if you don’t keep a close watch. Sometimes they even talk back.”
    “Shut up, Billy. She don’t scare me, and you don’t either.”
    “She don’t?”
    “Hell no. Only the living can do that.”
    Billy snickered. “Guess so.” He steadied his elbow on the edge of the casket and stared at Emmalee.
    “She’s my grandmama,” Emmalee answered, not daring to take her eyes off the woman boxed up neat in front of her in case there was some truth to what Billy had said. “Why she wearing that rag on her head?”
    “She didn’t have any hair except for what the family brought to my daddy in a paper bag. Heard them asking if Daddy could put it back on her.” Billy pointed to the wisps of white hair protruding beneath the edge of the scarf. “He did the best he could. Got some of it on. Mother helped him. Family seems pleased. Daddy says that’s all that matters.”
    “She looks good. Don’t know what she looked like before. She’s got some hair though sure enough. Your daddy done good, I guess.”
    Emmalee examined the woman a while longer. “Yep, he done real good,” she said and pushed her way past Billy and the other mourners. She walked back home, holding one lasting memory of her grandmama in her head.
    Standing outside the funeral home all these years later, Emmalee pulled the crocheted blanket over the baby’s face and stepped onto the wide wooden porch. She knocked on the door and waited. She glanced up and down the street and knocked again.
    Mr. Fulton opened the door a few inches, appearing in a bathrobe and black slippers. He scratched the top of his head. Then he held his weak hand to his mouth, cleared his throat, and offered up his familiar smile.
    “Young lady, what in the world are you doing here? Nolan forget something? Is something wrong? Something wrong with the baby?” he asked, his tone growing anxious as he rubbed his fingers across his short-cropped hair.
    “No sir.”
    Mr. Fulton stared at Emmalee.
    “I come to see Miss Leona.”
    He tied his bathrobe shut. “What time is it anyway? I was about to head upstairs.” He turned and hobbled down a long hallway toward the kitchen, motioning for Emmalee to follow. He looked around as if searching for a wall clock or a pot of coffee warming on the stove. “I don’t know what all your daddy told you about last night, but the bodies aren’t in good shape. I can’t let you see them this way.” Even his smile broke tired. “Come back tomorrow. Better yet, the day after. I’ll have time to do most of the repairs by then. Mrs. Fulton’ll hang the white wreath on the door like she always does when the bodies are ready for viewing.”
    Emmalee planted her feet firm. “No. No, sir. I come here to see Leona.”
    Mr. Fulton shook his head.
    “Look, I know she ain’t in good shape,” Emmalee said. “And I know you ain’t even been to bed. But if you don’t let me see her—” She paused and pulled out a kitchen