My Mother's Chamomile Read online

  We stepped back, behind everyone. Out of the way, trying to blend into the silence of the cemetery. Granddad’s rules. We weren’t to be the focus of the funeral. That was fine by me.

  All of my twenty-eight years, I’d known that what our family did made us different. Strange. The funeral business had set us apart from the rest of the town. The loneliness of it had always bothered me more than it did my younger brother. Cal, though, wasn’t as concerned with what people thought.

  “Cue Old Buster,” Cal whispered out the side of his mouth.

  Old Buster, or Reverend Barton Thaddeus, as we called him to his face, was one of two preachers in our tiny town of Middle Main, Michigan. The other preacher didn’t do funerals. As far as I could tell, he didn’t do much of anything. So, we got stuck listening to Old Buster a couple times a week. Much to our annoyance, he was family. Our grandmother’s cousin, he brought a fair share of frustration to us. But, really, most of the time, we just stayed away from him.

  The way Old Buster stood in front of the casket, his nose pointed up and his barrel chest puffed out, he certainly didn’t seem like a preacher about to make himself humble to share in the grief of a family.

  Thick Bible in the crook of his elbow, Old Buster flipped through the pages. Finding his spot, his eyes rested on the notes he’d used for years. The same funeral sermon every single time. Before he spoke, he wiped his upper lip with a tissue he kept folded in the palm of his hand.

  “Psalm Twenty-Three,” Cal whispered.

  Shoving the tissue into his jacket pocket, Old Buster opened his mouth. He read, not taking his eyes off the Bible, as if he had never seen the Psalm before.

  Finished with the reading, he closed the Bible, holding it to his chest. “Isn’t that passage a comfort to our world-weary hearts?” he asked the people who shifted under the canopy.

  If he’d really paid any attention to them, he might have realized that the comfort they most needed was a tall glass of ice water in an air-conditioned room.

  Old Buster invited everyone to pray. They bowed their heads as he went on and on. Calling down peace and comfort from God. Praying that anyone who hadn’t found salvation would seek Jesus in that day of great sorrow. I feared that if he didn’t cut it off soon, we’d have to do another funeral from all the heat-exhaustion-induced deaths that were sure to occur.

  When he finally said, “Amen,” we all sighed in relief. He got himself seated again in one of the chairs of the family row.

  A tall soldier in dress uniform approached the widow. With straight, controlled motions, he kneeled in front of her. She white haired and wrinkled, he young and muscled. Lips moving, he shared words of thanks for her husband’s service to his country. Their eyes locked, and she touched his arm before accepting the flag he offered. Her hands fell to her lap under the weight of the folded canvas.

  Old men lined up to the right-hand side of the casket. The veterans of our town. They wore ancient uniforms that either hung too big on their withering shoulders or too tight across thickened bellies. Still, they stood, and, one at a time, the men pushed red poppies made of paper into the spray of carnations. One at a time, bent backs straightened, bodies shaking from the effort, and hands raised to salute the casket.

  The last veteran stood by the widow, his head hanging heavy. He gathered his hands together at his waist and prayed. His words gentle, he only used a few. Enough to matter, though. And enough to dismiss the bereaved. They made their way to cars parked along the curved path cutting through the lush green of the cemetery.

  A lunch of deli slices and fruit filled Jell-O salads awaited them in the basement of the First Christian Church on Main Street.

  Cal and I waited until the last car pulled away. After the groundskeeper came to lower the casket, we left the cemetery to return to the Big House.

  That was our name for the family business. The Eliot-Russell Family Funeral Home. The only funeral home in town.

  “We have to grab lunch on the way back,” I said, getting into the passenger’s seat of the hearse. “I’m starving.”

  “I don’t mind stopping.” Cal started up the engine.

  “I have an arrangement meeting in about two hours.” I sighed. “This summer has been insane.”

  “So, speaking of Old Buster—”

  “We weren’t talking about him,” I interrupted.

  “We are now.” Cal buckled his seat belt. “Anyway, I heard he hired a youth minister.”

  “There are only three kids in the youth group.”

  “I also heard that he’s grooming the guy as his replacement.” Looking in the rearview mirror, he smoothed his light brown hair. Always the vain one, my brother.

  “Is Old Buster retiring?” I asked. “It’s about time.”

  “Well, that’s what I heard.” He steered the hearse slowly through the winding cemetery road. “Deirdre is never wrong.”

  “Seriously, Cal? That’s where you get your information?” I rolled my eyes. “She’s nothing but an old busybody. You can’t believe a word that comes out of her mouth.”

  “I don’t know, Ev. She says that of all the goodies in her bakery, the chocolate cake doughnuts are the best. And she’s right about that.” He shrugged. “The woman never lies about her doughnuts. I have no reason to doubt anything else she says.”

  “That makes no sense.”

  “It doesn’t have to.” He flashed his smug grin at me. “Hey, so I hear you had a little date the other day.” He smirked. I hated it when he smirked. Especially when the smirk was accompanied by the sparkle of mischief in his blue eyes. That smirk and sparkle may have charmed plenty of girls. As for me, it only made me want to smack him right across the face. But no fighting in the hearse. Granddad’s rules.

  “Where’d you hear that?” I asked, digging through my purse.

  “Well, Ev, you shouldn’t ask questions you already know the answer to.” He glanced at me.

  “How did Deirdre know?”

  “I told you, the woman knows everything.” He pulled around a tractor chugging down the road. The farmer put up a hand, waving at us. “Although, she admitted that she didn’t know the guy. She was trying to figure out his name. I guess that kind of blows a hole in the ‘she knows everything’ argument.”

  “Really. It was nothing serious.”

  “His name is Nothing Serious?” Cal laughed at his own joke.

  “No laughing in the hearse,” I said. “Granddad’s rule.”

  “Right. Thanks for that reminder. The cows we just passed would be so offended to see me laughing.” He turned left onto another paved road. “So, what was the guy like? Was he cool?”

  “I guess. I mean, he was nice.” I pulled the wallet from my purse. “But he’ll probably run far away when he finds out I work with dead people for a living.”

  “He doesn’t know yet?”

  “It never came up.”

  “How did it not occur to you to tell him?”

  “It just didn’t.” Unzipping my wallet, I dug out a couple dollars. “The date was going so well, I didn’t want to wreck it.”

  Cal cleared his throat. “If a guy is so easily scared off, he’s not worth keeping.”

  “Wow,” I said, a tad surprised. “That was really wise.”

  “Yeah. Take it from a guy who is absurdly easy to scare off.”

  “Some of the girls you’ve dated, you should have been terrified.”

  He pulled the hearse into the only fast food place in town. It also happened to be attached to our only gas station.

  “What do you want?” Cal pulled into a parking spot.

  “Burger and fries.”

  He took my money and got out of the hearse. He walked, hands in his pockets, toward the restaurant. A few college-aged girls stood outside their car, watching him walk by. If he noticed them, he didn’t let on.

  My cell phone vibrated from somewhere inside my purse. Pushing all the junk to one side, I found the phone with glowing screen at the bottom of my ba
g.

  “Hi, Granddad,” I said, answering it.

  “Hi, Evelyn.” Granddad’s voice crooned in my ear. “How’d the committal go?”

  “Fine. No problems.”

  “And Old Buster?”

  “Same as always. Long winded and sweaty.”

  “I don’t doubt that for a minute.” He laughed on the other end of the line. “Now, don’t forget you got an appointment this afternoon.”

  “Yup. We’ll be there in a few minutes.” I switched the phone to my other ear. “Hey, do you want us to pick up a burger for you?”

  “No, honey. Thanks, though. Gran made me a sandwich already. She’d be sore if I ate a second lunch, as much as I’d like to.”

  “We don’t have to tell her.”

  “You know I can’t keep a secret from her.” He chuckled. “See you in a minute. Love you, darling.”

  “I love you, too.” I hung up the phone.

  A mini van parked in the spot next to me. A teen boy climbed out, pressing his body against the side of the van. The way he peered into the hearse, I knew he wanted to see if a casket rode in the back.

  When the boy locked eyes with me, he sprinted toward the restaurant, almost plowing into Cal. My brother made his way to the hearse, a smile on his face and shaking his head.

  “Did you see that kid?” he asked after opening the door and handing me a paper bag full of food.

  “Yup.”

  “He was so freaked out.” He snorted, pulling the gear shift to reverse. “Extra ketchup and pickles.”

  “Thanks.” I pulled the burger from the bag. “You’re a life saver.”

  “If I was, I’d be out of work.” He drove out of the parking lot. “You’d better wait to eat that. You know. It freaks people out to see us eating in the hearse.”

  Shoving the sandwich back into the bag, I stifled a laugh.

  Just as we turned down the road to the Big House, Cal glanced at me.

  “I hope this guy is good to you.” He looked back at the road. “Whoever he is.”

  “Me, too.”

  I was tired of being alone.

  Chapter Two

  Olga

  Old wood moaned as I tugged open the dresser drawer. A stack of bleached white undershirts in one hand and a basket full of matched, black socks in the other, I had an easy job putting my husband’s clothes away. Sorting Clive’s laundry never took much doing.

  Over fifty-two years of marriage and his loads hadn’t varied in all that time. Unless I considered the size of his dress shirts. The man loved his food, that was for sure. And I enjoyed feeding him.

  I nudged the drawers closed with my hip and picked up the empty plastic laundry basket. When I turned, I caught a glimpse of myself in the full-length mirror. As long as that old thing had been there, it still got me all bothered when I saw my reflection in it. Especially because I’d gone up in size right alongside my husband.

  “Yes, darling, you are beautiful.” Clive stood behind me. “You don’t need to look in that old thing to know it.”

  I turned sideways, dropping the basket on the end of my bed. My backside stuck out a whole lot farther than it had even the year before. At least my stomach balanced it out. I tried to stand up straight as a rail. Tried to suck in my tummy. It took far too much work. Old age had tiptoed up on me. That sneaky cuss.

  “How’d I get old so fast?” I stepped closer to look at the wrinkles on my forehead.

  “Same way I did.” His hands warmed my shoulders. “One day at a time.”

  From behind me, he wrapped his arms around my waist. Even as strong as he was, his arms had gotten soft. They felt just as safe, though, as the first time he held me.

  “I never saw a lovelier woman,” he whispered in my ear. “More gorgeous than when you were just a young thing walking down that old country road.”

  He kissed my cheek. I turned, letting him plant one on my lips. I had to get all the smooches I could. I never could be sure how many more I was good for.

  “You got a busy afternoon?” My fingers moved to straighten his collar.

  “We sure do. Cal and I got a visitation to get ready for tonight.” Clive let me push the tie up against his clean-shaven neck. “Funeral tomorrow and who knows what next week brings.”

  “Only the Lord, I suppose.” I followed him into the living room. “You won’t be around for supper, will you?”

  “No, honey.” He swung his suit jacket off the back of a dinette chair. “I’ll just grab myself a sandwich later on.”

  “I got plenty of cold cuts in the fridge. And a little of the leftover chicken you liked.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “I think I’ll call Rosetta and see if she wants to get a bite with me.”

  “That’s a good idea. You’ll bring me home a piece of pie, won’t you?” He eased his arms into the jacket. “Maybe a little slice of coconut cream?”

  “I sure will.”

  “You have a good afternoon, Olga.” He winked at me.

  Oh, that wink of his still made a puddle out of me.

  “I sure do love you, Clive.” I wished he could stick around with me all day long. The older we got, the more I wanted to be around him.

  “You know I love you back, Olga.”

  I puckered my lips so he’d give me another kiss. Just as sweet as ever. Sometimes I thought they’d grown even sweeter.

  He turned and clomped his way down the stairs. The door at the foot of the steps closed with a familiar click.

  Every blessed inch of that house was familiar. The creaky floor and sticky door. I’d lived there so long, I knew where everything went and never had to stumble around in the dark. The chairs in the living room hadn’t moved in over thirty years, except when I vacuumed real good. Once I had things the way I liked them, I wasn’t inclined to rearrange them.

  Except for that darn mirror. I moved that blasted thing from one end of the apartment to the other. I’d put it in just about every room at some point. It always ended up back in my bedroom, right next to the dresser. I hated that old thing, reflection or not.

  That mirror had been a wedding gift from Aunt Gertie. She’d said that every bride should have a mirror just like it. She’d gotten it from her mother. Poor Aunt Gertie didn’t have a daughter to pass the thing down to. Not for lack of trying, though. She’d got herself a whole pack of boys from all her efforts. Irish twins, we called them. Six boys with only a year between them. That woman always had a babe at her breast, one on the potty seat, and another on the way. She just kept on trying for that girl.

  The only one she got was me. The price she paid for a girl in the house was the death of her older sister. My mother. She held that cost against me, it felt. Oh, she’d always taken care of my needs. Put a plate of food in front of me and a frock in my closet. But she never came to treat me like a daughter. More like a nanny for her boys or a maid in her kitchen. That ended up being just fine by me. I never asked for a replacement mother anyhow.

  I kept the mirror because I felt beholden to it. Besides my mother’s cookbook and one remaining cousin, it held the only link to my family. I treasured the cookbook. But as for Old Buster and the mirror, I could have been happy without either of them taking up space.

  Just thinking about it made my memory try to shove its way into ruining my day. I would have none of it, though. I pushed aside Aunt Gertie and all the memories she lugged around with her.

  “Goodness me,” I said to myself. “You’re too old now to be worried about all that nonsense.”

  I needed to get out of that apartment and away from Aunt Gertie’s mirror.

  My shoes squeaked against the linoleum on my kitchen floor as I made my way to the back door. Heading down the stairs, I gripped the railing real tight. Each step down got me closer to the outdoors. It didn’t matter to me how high the red of the thermometer rose, I craved the summertime air. It only lasted just so long in Michigan. I needed to breathe in as much of it as I could suck into my lungs.

>   My first gulp of air didn’t disappoint. The sweet smell of a newly cut lawn floated my way. I guessed it was as pleasing to the Lord as it was to me. Letting the door swing closed, I leaned against the side of the building, the brick prickling into my skin through my blouse. Turning my face upward, I closed my eyes, letting the sunshine warm me all the way through.

  A bird in one of the trees close by sang like his life depended on it. Just trilling and chirping away. The notes hit my ears, delighting me to no end. That aria filled my heart with gladness. I knew the Author of Creation had written that song Himself.

  Leaves on the tallest trees clapped, letting the wind toss them together, swaying to and fro. I sure did go out with joy, led forth in peace. Only, out in farm country where I lived, we didn’t have any mountains to burst forth into song. Just fields of corn and soybeans. But I believed that God could make that work, too.

  The rumbling of a car covered over the birds and breeze and leaves. Creaking of old hinges followed by a sharp slamming sent the songbirds to flight. I opened my eyes to watch them flit away.

  In the parking lot, a young woman leaned against a car, puffing on a cigarette. She took long draws off it, pulling the fumes deep into her lungs. As soon she finished off the first, she tossed it to the cement and lit up another.

  Another woman sat in the car, waiting. She didn’t pay attention to the smoking woman. Just sat, looking out the window into nothing I could see.

  I stayed put against the building, watching the two of them and trying not to be caught spying. I hoped they’d go inside soon so I could get out into the garden.

  Gretchen kneeled next to me by a row of fresh blooms. She worked in the soil, pulling on weeds and tossing them to the side. Her hands could be tender to the good plants and tough on the bad. Her discernment rarely faltered in the garden.

  “Honey, can you hand me the clippers, please?” I held on to a bunch of chamomile. “I didn’t see all these yesterday. Must have grown up overnight.”

  “Oh, great.” She passed the clippers my way. “You mind if I take those to dry?”

  “Not at all. Just so long as you make a small batch of tea for me.” After I made my cut of the stems, I handed them over to her. “Seems we got more chamomile this year. Must be your sunlamp did the trick.”