Odell stuck his head in the door. “Going over to Shoney’s,” he said. “Be back soon.”
By the time I’d made Mr. Johnson look as good as possible, Otis rolled in a mahogany bier with a gunmetal blue casket with blue-gray satin lining on it. With the help of the body lift, we dressed and casketed Mr. Johnson. As we rolled the bier down the hall, Otis told me, “Slumber Room B.” He glanced toward the door to Slumber Room A and said, “We’re putting the little girl in A.”
“Odell said we have three today,” I said. “Is he counting Dr. Melvin?”
“No, I guess it’s four if we count Melvin Dawkins.” Otis smiled. “Seems terribly disrespectful to be glad people are dying, but we need the business.” He made the turn into Slumber Room B, pulling the bier, while I pushed from behind.
“Is the third one here yet?”
“Nope,” Otis said. “We’ll be going out to Taylors Cemetery tomorrow for her.”
“Did someone die at the cemetery? Why would we wait a day to go get the body?”
“Remember asking me if Middleton’s has ever handled an exhumation?”
“Yes,” I said and thought Ugggghhhh. I like my job and enjoy making the deceased look good for their loved ones. So far as I’m concerned, the bodies we work on are shells left after the soul or whatever someone else wants to call it is gone.
For me, personally, though, there’s no interest in learning to embalm, and if Middleton’s is opening an existing grave, I’m glad I won’t have anything to do with it. I don’t want to be involved in those sides of the business.
“Well,” Otis continued, “some woman in Beaufort won pretty big in the state lottery, and she’s having her grandmother moved to a perpetual care cemetery. We’ll be handling it for her.”
“How long has the grandmother been buried?” I asked as we positioned Mr. Johnson’s casket with his left side against the wall in Slumber Room B. I don’t know why, but we always place the body tilted just a tiny bit toward the right in the coffin, and normally the bereaved pass by on the deceased person’s right.
“I’m not quite sure how long the grandmother’s been dead, but this woman wants the best of everything. We’ll be recasketing and installing our best vault. Middleton’s is ordering the marker, too. The lady’s supposed to bring the paperwork and permits by this evening.”
“Will I have to do anything?” I asked.
“Don’t know yet.” Otis headed toward the hall. “If we’re recasketing, we’ll probably be redressing also.” I grimaced. “Come back to the prep room and let me go over what we’re going to do for the little girl,” Otis said.
I hate, positively hate working on children. There’s no way that any makeup can duplicate the beauty and freshness of a child’s complexion, but I don’t think that’s my problem. It’s the sadness of life being cut so short and the extreme grief of the parents and family. Otis and Odell have been in the funeral home business all their lives, spent their own childhood living upstairs over the mortuary, but burying children still gets to them, too.
Saved by the bell. Just as Otis and I stepped into the prep room and I saw the tiny sheet-covered mound on the gurney, my cell phone rang. Miraculously, it was charged and in a dress pocket, so I answered it.
“Callie!” Jane screamed. “Something’s wrong. Something’s wrong.”
Buh-leeve me, I was surprised. Jane is usually a cool, calm customer, while I panic frequently.
“What’s wrong?” I demanded.
“There’s someone going up and down the steps and when I ask who it is, no one answers. They’ve rattled against the door and seem to be trying to get in. What should I do?”
“Call 911. I’m on my way.” I pressed the key to end her call and told Otis, “Something’s happening at Jane’s. I’m going over there. Be back as soon as possible.”
Otis followed me out of the building, asking, “Do you want me to go with
By the time I’d made Mr. Johnson look as good as possible, Otis rolled in a mahogany bier with a gunmetal blue casket with blue-gray satin lining on it. With the help of the body lift, we dressed and casketed Mr. Johnson. As we rolled the bier down the hall, Otis told me, “Slumber Room B.” He glanced toward the door to Slumber Room A and said, “We’re putting the little girl in A.”
“Odell said we have three today,” I said. “Is he counting Dr. Melvin?”
“No, I guess it’s four if we count Melvin Dawkins.” Otis smiled. “Seems terribly disrespectful to be glad people are dying, but we need the business.” He made the turn into Slumber Room B, pulling the bier, while I pushed from behind.
“Is the third one here yet?”
“Nope,” Otis said. “We’ll be going out to Taylors Cemetery tomorrow for her.”
“Did someone die at the cemetery? Why would we wait a day to go get the body?”
“Remember asking me if Middleton’s has ever handled an exhumation?”
“Yes,” I said and thought Ugggghhhh. I like my job and enjoy making the deceased look good for their loved ones. So far as I’m concerned, the bodies we work on are shells left after the soul or whatever someone else wants to call it is gone.
For me, personally, though, there’s no interest in learning to embalm, and if Middleton’s is opening an existing grave, I’m glad I won’t have anything to do with it. I don’t want to be involved in those sides of the business.
“Well,” Otis continued, “some woman in Beaufort won pretty big in the state lottery, and she’s having her grandmother moved to a perpetual care cemetery. We’ll be handling it for her.”
“How long has the grandmother been buried?” I asked as we positioned Mr. Johnson’s casket with his left side against the wall in Slumber Room B. I don’t know why, but we always place the body tilted just a tiny bit toward the right in the coffin, and normally the bereaved pass by on the deceased person’s right.
“I’m not quite sure how long the grandmother’s been dead, but this woman wants the best of everything. We’ll be recasketing and installing our best vault. Middleton’s is ordering the marker, too. The lady’s supposed to bring the paperwork and permits by this evening.”
“Will I have to do anything?” I asked.
“Don’t know yet.” Otis headed toward the hall. “If we’re recasketing, we’ll probably be redressing also.” I grimaced. “Come back to the prep room and let me go over what we’re going to do for the little girl,” Otis said.
I hate, positively hate working on children. There’s no way that any makeup can duplicate the beauty and freshness of a child’s complexion, but I don’t think that’s my problem. It’s the sadness of life being cut so short and the extreme grief of the parents and family. Otis and Odell have been in the funeral home business all their lives, spent their own childhood living upstairs over the mortuary, but burying children still gets to them, too.
Saved by the bell. Just as Otis and I stepped into the prep room and I saw the tiny sheet-covered mound on the gurney, my cell phone rang. Miraculously, it was charged and in a dress pocket, so I answered it.
“Callie!” Jane screamed. “Something’s wrong. Something’s wrong.”
Buh-leeve me, I was surprised. Jane is usually a cool, calm customer, while I panic frequently.
“What’s wrong?” I demanded.
“There’s someone going up and down the steps and when I ask who it is, no one answers. They’ve rattled against the door and seem to be trying to get in. What should I do?”
“Call 911. I’m on my way.” I pressed the key to end her call and told Otis, “Something’s happening at Jane’s. I’m going over there. Be back as soon as possible.”
Otis followed me out of the building, asking, “Do you want me to go with
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