Clover

They dressed me in white for my daddy’s funeral. White from my head to my toes. I had the black skirt I bought at the $6 store all laid out to wear. I’d even pulled the black grosgrain bows off my black patent leather shoes to wear in my hair. But they won’t let me wear black.

I know deep down in my heart you’re supposed to wear black to a funeral. I guess the reason my stepmother is not totally dressed in black is because she just plain doesn’t know any better.

 

The sounds inside our house are hushed. A baby lets out a sharp bird-like cry. “Hush, hush, little baby,” someone whispers, “don’t you cry.” There is the faint breathless purr of an electric fan plugged in to help out the air conditioning, the hum of the refrigerator going in the kitchen, a house filled with mourners giving up happy talk for the quiet noise of sorrow.

We take the silence outside to waiting shiny black cars, quietly lined behind a shiny black hearse. Drivers in worn black suits, shiny from wear, move and speak quietly, their voices barely above a whisper. It seems they are afraid they might wake the sleeping dead. It’s like the winds have even been invited. The winds are still.

One of the neighbors, Miss Katie, is standing in the front yard, watching the blue light on top of a county police car flash round and round. She is shaking her head and fanning the hot air with her hand. Biting, chewing and swallowing dry, empty air. Her lips folding close like sunflowers at sundown — opening, like morning glories at dawn.

They asked Miss Katie to stay at the house. Folks in Round Hill, South Carolina, never go to someone’s funeral and not leave somebody in their home. They say the poor departed souls just might have to come back for something or another, and you wouldn’t want to lock them out.

 

My breath is steaming up the window of the family car. It’s really cold inside. Someone walks to our driver and whispers something. I see a cousin rush from a car with what Grandpa would have called a passel of chaos. They leave our front door wide open. A hummingbird flies to the open door and stands still in mid-air, trying to decide about entering, but quickly darts backward and away.

I press my face against the cold window. Only a few days back, my daddy, Gaten, raced out that very door, late for something. My daddy was small, but he could solid, natural-born move. Everybody says I’m small for a ten-year-old. I guess I’m going to be like my daddy. Funny, it’s only the middle of the week, but it seems like it’s Sunday.

 

They say I haven’t shed a single tear since my daddy died. Not even when the doctor told me he was dead. I was just a scared, dry-eyed little girl gazing into the eyes of a doctor unable to hold back his own tears. I stood there, they said, humming some sad little tune. I don’t remember all of that, but I sure do remember why I was down at the county hospital.

Things sure can happen fast. Just two days before yesterday, my Aunt Everleen and I walked in and out of that door, too. Hurrying and trying to get everything in tip-top shape for Gaten’s wedding supper.

Gaten didn’t give Everleen much time. He just drove up with this woman, Sara Kate, just like he did the first time I met her. Then up and said flat out, “Sara Kate and I are going to get married. She is going to be your new stepmother, Clover.”

I almost burst out crying. I held it in, though. Gaten couldn’t stand a crybaby. “A new stepmother,” I thought, “like I had an old one.” I guess Gaten had rubbed out his memory of my real mother like he would a wrong answer with a pencil eraser.

Everleen had been cooking at her house and our house all day long. My cousin Daniel and I have been running back and forth carrying stuff. I should have known something was up on account of all the new stuff we’d gotten. New curtains and dinette sets for the kitchen. Everleen said, “The chair seats are covered in real patent-leather.” Gaten’s room is really pretty. New rug and bedspread with matching drapes.

In spite of all the hard work Everleen was doing, she had so much anger all tied up inside her it was pitiful. She was slinging pots and pans all over the place. I didn’t know why she thought the newlyweds would want to eat all that stuff she was cooking in the first place. Everybody knows that people in love can’t eat nothing.

Even Jim Ed tried to tell her she was overdoing it. “It didn’t make any sense,” her husband said, “to cook so much you had to use two kitchens.”

“I don’t want the woman to say I wouldn’t feed her,” Everleen pouted.

“I think Sara Kate is the woman’s name, Everleen,” Jim Ed snapped.

Well, that set Everleen off like a lit firecracker. She planted her feet wide apart, like she was getting ready to fight. Beads of sweat poured down her back. The kitchen was so hot, it was hard to breathe.

Jim Ed gave his wife a hard look. “I hope you heard what I said.”

Everleen put her hands on her hips and started shaking them from side to side so fast, she looked like she was cranking up to take-off. “I heard what you said, Jim Ed. Heard you loud and clear. What I want to know is, what you signifying?”

Everleen was so mad, she looked like she was going to have a stroke. “Let me tell you one thing. Get this through your thick skull and get it straight. You are not going to get in your head that just because some fancy woman is marrying into this family you can start talking down to me. You better pray to the Lord that you never, and I mean never, embarrass me in front of that woman. Because if you do, only the Lord will be able to help you.” She waved a heavy soup spoon in his face. “Another thing, Jim Ed Hill, I am not going to burn myself to a crisp in that hot peach orchard getting my skin all rough and tore up. I’m sure all miss-uppity-class will do is sit around, and play tennis or golf. One thing is the Lord’s truth, she is not going to live off what our . . .” She stopped short, “I mean what your folks worked so hard to get. Everleen Boyd will not take anything off anybody no matter what color they may be. I’ve been in this family for a good many years, but I sure don’t have to stay.”

My uncle looked at me. I guess he could see I was hurting. He put his arm around me. “Oh, baby, we ought to be ashamed, carrying on like this. We can’t run Gaten’s life for him. And we sure don’t need to go out of our way to hurt him. Gaten told me out of his own mouth, he truly loves the woman he’s going to marry. My brother deserves some happiness. You are going to have to help him, also, Clover. Getting a stepmother will be something new for you to get used to.”

Jim Ed turned to his wife. “You always say you put everything in the Lord’s hands. I think you better put this there, too, and leave it there, Everleen.” Well, that quieted Everleen down. She never bucks too much on advice about the Lord.

Right then I couldn’t even think about the stepmother bit. All I could think about was what Everleen said. Maybe she was thinking of leaving Jim Ed and getting a divorce. She called herself Boyd. I didn’t think she wanted to be a Hill anymore. If she took her son Daniel and left me all alone with the strange woman, I would die. I knew in my heart, I would surely die.

I was starting to not like my daddy very much. Not very much at all. Miss Katie says, “Women around Round Hill leave their husbands at the drop of a hat these days.” If Everleen leaves it will all be Gaten’s fault, I thought. All because of his marriage plans.

Everleen pulled me from Jim Ed to her side. I buried my face against her sweaty arm, glad there was the sweat so she couldn’t feel the tears streaming down my face. Her hot, sweaty smell, coated with Avon talcum powder, filled my nose. It was her own special smell. I felt safe.

Finally she pushed me away. “Let me dry them tears,” she said dabbing at my eyes with the comer of her apron. I should have known, 1 couldn’t fool her.

I don’t know if it was what Jim Ed said about Gaten or the Lord that turned Everleen around. Probably what he said about the Lord, but it sure turned her around. After a few minutes she was her old self again.

“All right, little honey,” she said, “we better get a move on. We got us a marriage feast to cook. Now I’m going to put together the best wedding supper that’s ever been cooked. Then I’m going to put you on the prettiest dress you daddy has ever laid eyes on.” She glanced at my hair. “Lord have mercy, Allie Nell’s still got your hair to fix.”

Anyway, Everleen was still cooking and cleaning at the same time when the telephone rang. My daddy had been in a bad accident. Everleen snatched lemon meringue pies out of the oven and drove her pickup like crazy down to the hospital.

 

The sign in the waiting room said ‘NO SMOKING’ but Uncle Jim Ed smoked anyway. He let long filter-tipped paper jobs dangle from his mouth and almost burn his lips before he remembered to take a draw.

There was an intercom system like the one at school. A voice was repeating, “Code blue — code blue. Room number 192.” Nurses from everywhere hurried down the long hall.

Everleen stirred her hand around inside her pocketbook like she was stirring a pot of boiling grits. She pulled out a handful of candy without a piece of paper on it and divided it between me and Daniel. Daniel ate his. I didn’t eat mine. I can’t stand candy from Everleen’s pocketbooks. It’s the same as sucking down perfume.

It was getting later and later, and I still hadn’t seen my daddy. The sun was setting. It had cast its last shadows for the day. Those long, lean shadows, they crept through the windows and clung to the clean hall floors, waiting for the darkness to swallow them up.

A state highway patrolman appeared in the doorway of the waiting room. He inched forward slowly; it seemed as if he was afraid to enter the room. He turned his hat around and around in his hands. My uncle Jim Ed knew him. He had gone to high school with my daddy.

“I was called to the scene of the accident,” he finally said.

Aunt Everleen didn’t make it easy for the state trooper to tell us what had happened. Her body was shaking and drawing up like she was having spasms. Although she held Jim Ed’s big white handkerchief all balled up in her fist, she did not use it. Most likely because he had blown his nose into it before he handed it to her. I guess with all that was going on, poor Jim Ed plumb forgot what he was doing.

So Everleen sat there, working her mouth back and forth to hold it back from screaming out loud. Tears flowed from her eyes too full to hold them any longer. They ran down her face and formed tiny streams around her neck, that was already dripping with sweat.

“Tell us what happened,” she would plead. Then in the next breath, cry out, “No, no, no. I don’t want to hear. I can’t bear knowing.” Thcn she’d turn right around and beg once again for him to tell her what happened.

The state trooper finally refused to listen any longer. With his hat still in his hand, he turned his back and said, “Gaten Hill’s car was struck by a pickup truck when the driver ran a signal light at the intersection of North Main Street and Highway 74. Police at the scene said alcohol is believed to have contributed to the accident which is under investigation.”

He shook his head. “The car was struck on the driver’s side. Gaten was driving. It looks bad,” he said, “real bad.” The state trooper started shaking his head again.

I thought to myself, if the wreck was all that bad, perhaps my daddy needed me. As soon as he left, I sneaked from the waiting room.

It was supper time. I could smell the food. My daddy is always hungry for supper. I’ve always helped get his supper. Something seemed to tell me he needs me. I had to find him. When no one was looking I slipped down the long hall.

When a nurse popped out of a room, I hid behind a tall stack of covered trays. The nurse stopped and faced the blank wall, for a long time, studying the blank wall, looking at it as though it was some kind of picture, as though she was trying to make out a face or something. Wide fancy framed eyeglasses dangled from a chain around her neck.

I peered from behind the trays with little round tins covering plates, like an Easter bonnet pulled down too far on a child’s head.

While the big fat nurse with the bushy curl studied the blank wall, I studied her shoes. White crepe-soled shoes with heels run-over so far, the shoe touched the floor. She didn’t even see me when she took one of the trays from the cart.

A big set of doors swung open. Two doctors dressed in rumpled green started down the hall.

“This is the absolute worst part of it all,” one of them said.

The other doctor loosened the mask that covered everything on his face except his eyes. “I understand there is a child. A little girl.”

“At least she has one of them.”

“I’ll talk with the family now.”

I hope they don’t mean something bad has happened to Sara Kate, I thought. Gaten will be so sad. I waited until they were out of sight and hurried back to the waiting room to hear what they were going to say about Sara Kate.

A nurse led me into a small office. The doctor was speaking in a soft, soft voice, yet it was strong and heavy with sadness. Uncle Jim Ed and Everleen were carrying on like the world was coming to an end. Then I knew something was wrong. Bad wrong. A nurse offered little white pills in thimble-sized plastic cups.

Aunt Everleen buried her face in her hands and covered her ears with her fingers when the doctor tried to explain how Gaten died. For her, it was enough that he was dead.

But Uncle Ed Jim leaned forward in his chair and listened. He listened and cried. Aunt Everleen’s face showed she heard the sad-faced doctor explain that my daddy’s internal injuries were too extensive for them to save him.

The doctor put his hand on my shoulder. “I want to see my daddy,” I said. “I need to see him.” But he wouldn’t take me to see Gaten. His blue eyes filled with tears. He turned away. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “We couldn’t save your father.”

The doctor wouldn’t let me see my daddy, but he took me to Sara Kate’s room to see her. The State trooper sure had been right. Sara Kate was some kind of bad bruised and cut up. Her eyes were closed. Maybe like her lips, they were swollen shut.

The doctor’s voice was soft, like our footsteps had been. Soft like snowflakes falling on the ground. “Mrs. Hill, Mrs. Hill,” he repeated until she had slowly opened her eyes. Maybe she was so slow about it because he hadn’t gotten used to her new name. After all, she had only had it for a few hours.

She smiled a quick weak half smile and closed her eyes again. I guess there wasn’t much for her to keep them open to see. Just a doctor in a rumpled green cotton outfit and me. I still hadn’t gotten my hair fixed, and like always, I had sort of messed up my tee shirt a little scraping the bowl in which Aunt Everleen made the lemon butter creme icing for her fresh coconut lemon layer cake. Plus, I got to lick the ice cream dasher.

Sara Kate bit her swollen lip. And even on a face that messed-up, sadness found itself a place. “Oh, little Clover,” she whispered.

The doctor gave me a ‘say something’ look.

“Hey,” I said, “I’m very pleased to see you, ma’am.” Then I pulled loose from the doctor’s light grip on my hand and backed out of the room.

All I had heard my daddy say about her meant absolutely nothing to me. I still did not know the woman. To me she was a total stranger. How could I know her? It takes time to learn a person.

My aunt wanted to pray for me. With me. I didn’t feel like praying. It seemed like all the praying I’d done hadn’t helped anyway, not one single bit. I had prayed for my daddy not to die. I’d prayed for my grandpa, too. Even prayed for my mama to come back to me. I just can’t pray no more. It won’t do me any good no way.

 

With a silent owl-like swoop, the cars pulled into line and away. Car engines purring like an arrangement of music. Notes written for a sad song.

At the end of a row of rosebushes, a broken rose dangled down on one of the bushes. Broken, because I tried to break it off to pin on my dress but couldn’t. You wear a white rose if your mother is dead. I don’t know what color you wear when your daddy dies. I guess it probably doesn’t matter.

Miss Katie is waving a big white handkerchief. They didn’t tell Sara Kate that Miss Katie was left behind with the food just in case some stranger might come by, hungry and in need of a place to rest awhile. Just by chance it might be the departed soul. They only told Sara Kate it was an old custom, handed down through many generations. They did tell her, though, that the reason the hands on all clocks in the house had been stopped at 6:45 p.m. was because that was when Gaten died. People coming in only had to ask if it was morning or evening.

The only time Sara Kate said anything about the funeral arrangements was when they wanted to bring Gaten’s body home and have the wake there. They said he should spend his last night on earth at home. “Oh no, oh no,” Sara Kate whispered. “I don’t think 1 can handle that.” She did let them bring him by the house in the hearse the day of the funeral.

Sara Kate is sitting next to Uncle Jim Ed, my daddy’s only brother. Her eyes are closed. She is twisting her new wedding band on her finger. Sara Kate is not old, but she is making the sounds with her mouth that old people make when they are beside themselves and don’t know which a way to turn. Quiet, dry-lipped, smacking sounds. Lips slowing opening and closing, smack, smack. Just like Miss Katie.

A group of small barefoot children stand on the side of the blazing hot, hard-surfaced road. So thin, they look like stick figures. Big wide eyes pop out from faces like big white cotton balls on a blackboard. They turn and walk backwards, waving their stick-like arms until the long line of cars is out of sight. I wave back.

 

Sara Kate is standing alone before Gaten’s casket. He husband. My father. The funeral crowd has been held back. She has her own private time. Just a little stretch of time to be alone with Gaten. Small silent moments to say goodbye to someone already lost to her forever. All eyes are upon her. She is a white woman, a stranger to Round Hill.

Sara Kate is looking down at Gaten. Gaten’s necktie is crooked. His necktie was always crooked. There had been that strange connection between them that I could never understand. At least twice that I can remember, there had been a quick look from Sara Kate, and Gaten would give her a slight smile and straighten his necktie. And then smile a smile for her alone. Now Sara Kate looked at Gaten, but Gaten did not straighten his necktie.

I guess that strange and curious connection between them is gone forever.

 

People are still filing past my daddy’s coffin. Sara Kate is wedged between me and Uncle Jim Ed, squeezed in between us on the crowded bench like vanilla cream between dark chocolate cookies. My daddy is dead. Stretched out in a fancy coffin right before my very eyes. And all I can think of is an Oreo cookie. An Oreo cookie.

My stepmother’s body is as straight as a corn stalk. She is not crying. We sit side by side as stiff as painted leaves on a painted tree. Uncle Jim Ed puts his hand on her arm. But me and my stepmother don’t touch. I can count on the fingers of one hand how many times I’ve laid eyes on Sara Kate. She’s been my stepmother for almost four days and all I know for sure about her is, she’s not a Mexican. I can spot a Mexican a mile away. Every summer if there’s a big peach crop the migrant workers flood Round Hill. We have peaches, but not enough to need the Mexicans.

Chase Porter brings them in all the time. He couldn’t get all those peaches picked without them. He’s one of the biggest peach growers in South Carolina. Chase is at the funeral. He looks sad because he is sad. He has known my daddy all his life. Like Gaten he was born and raised in Round Hill.

I pick at a thorn in my finger until it starts to bleed. I watch a drop of blood threaten to fall. I turn my finger into a paint brush. The blood makes a round dot on my white dress. I keep adding to it until it almost becomes a flower. A daisy. The way I’m messing up my white dress, I might as well have held the baby with the stinky diaper. At first there had been just one little drop of blood that a bleeding finger could not leave alone. My dress is a mess. Sara Kate reached for my hand. I put it behind my back.