The Sittin' Up by Shelia P. Moses

they real?”
    â€œYes, girl! Look a little closer.”
    â€œThey real all right,” she said as she jumped around like she had ants in her britches. Anything dealing with school excited that smart girl. “Who’s this woman?” Pole asked. She stroked the picture as if she could feel the skin.
    â€œThat woman is Mr. Bro. Wiley’s mama.”
    Pole kissed Mr. Bro. Wiley’s mama’s face like they were old friends.
    â€œYou know, Bean, Mr. Bro. Wiley loved us so much, but he had his own family a long time ago.”
    â€œI know, Pole. I know. Now let’s hide this until after the funeral. It might be too much for Ma right now.”
    Pole took her dust rag and wiped the picture off like it was more valuable than gold.
    She tucked it safely in the drawer.
    â€œOur secret is safe for now, Bean. Let’s go get ready for the sittin’ up.”

T WELVE
    A fter the womenfolk were done cleaning, they started polishing the silverware that Ma got from Miss Remie. When Miss Remie turned sixty, she bought brand-new sterling silver and fancy china to match. She decided to give her old dinnerware to Ma. Actually, nothing was free. Ma’s boss lady would happily swap her nice belongings for a day’s work. If we had enough money for the month, Ma would gladly take the fine things instead of cash. She would only use the fancy silverware on Sundays, and at Thanksgiving and Christmas.
    Ma was still polishing when Miss Lottie Pearl announced she was walking over to Stony Hill to get the cabbage and white potatoes. She said the cabbage Miss Dora Mae cooked “sho’ ain’t good.”
    There was nothing in the world wrong with that cabbage, but Miss Lottie Pearl wasn’t satisfied unless she was outdoing the other womenfolk. She wanted her cabbage to be waiting on the stove just in case Miss Dora Mae came back with more.
    â€œBring them blue glasses you won at the county fair last fall,” Ma yelled as Miss Lottie Pearl walked out the kitchen door.
    â€œYou need me to go with you, Mama?” Pole asked, pulling off her gloves for the one hundredth time.
    â€œNo, child, stay here and help out.”
    Me and Pole had wiped everything in the house down, so I went to help Ma with the polishing, while Pole put the last cleaning cloths away. Ma wasn’t talking, so I thought it was a good time to ask some questions that me and Pole had been wondering about.
    â€œWhy are we bringing Mr. Bro. Wiley back to the Low Meadows? Can’t we just go out to the funeral home to have the last sittin’ up?”
    She stopped shining the big spoon and looked at me as if I’d stolen her fake pearl earrings from her old tin jewelry box.
    â€œLord, child, ain’t I raised you no better than that? It ain’t right to let a man lay in that lonely funeral home all week and not bring him home the last night. A man got a right to come home.”
    I loved Mr. Bro. Wiley too and I surely wanted him to come home one last time even if I didn’t exactly understand what Mama had just said. I stopped asking questions and helped her with the silver.
    While we were working in silence, Pole went outside and picked the few flowers that were left in the backyard to fill the vases in the house. When she ran out of vases, she used mason jars.
    Mama saw the daisies and her sadness went away for a short while.
    â€œThank you,
Dr. Cofield.
”
    â€œYou’re most welcome, Mrs. Magnolia Jones,” Pole said. My friend already had a way of making folk feel better.
    â€œI would appreciate you two going in the pantry and getting my green Depression plates. I do not have enough china dishes for everyone.”
    â€œMa, why do you call the dishes Miss Remie gave you Depression plates?”
    Pole would not hold her tongue.
    â€œBean, you ain’t listening in school. How you gonna be a lawyer if you don’t listen?”
    She sat down so she could