Pa wasn't even there.
Dead drunk down at Shirley's Place, 1 had to
presume, when his last child and his only mother were
buried. Reverend Wayland Wise was there with his
poker-faced wife, Rosalynn, to say the words for an
old woman whom everybody had liked, if not
respected.
Not one of ours would go into the ground
without a proper funeral, with all the right words said
to see this old woman and this stillborn child into
heaven.
"And the Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh
away," intoned the Reverend. He tilted his face
toward the sun. "Lord God, hear my prayer. Accept
this beloved wife, mother, grandmother and true
believer, along with this tiny new soul, into heaven--
ffing WIDE your pearly gates, THROW EM OPEN! Gather in this Christian woman, Lord, this child, Lord, for she was honest, plain, true to her faith, and
the child is innocent, pure, and blameless!"
We trudged home in single file, still crying. The people of the mountains were there to
grieve with us, to suffer the departure of Annie
Brandywine Casteel, one of their own, and with us
they trooped back to the house, and sat with us, and
sang with us, and prayed with us for hours on end.
And when it was done, they brought out the
moonshine, the guitars and banjos and fiddles, and
they struck up a lively tune as the hill women brought
out the treats to serve.
The next day, when the sun was shining, I went
again to the graveyard to stand with Tom and stare
down at Granny's raw grave, and that tiny one barely