No Love Lost

It was, preacher was overheard to say after the service, a most disagreeable day for a funeral.

Nana had it on the very best authority that he and his wife had been forced to find paid mourners - fortunately the scallop fleet was still casting their nets and the disreputable scroungers were always ready and willing to make a quick buck so James and Lily hadn't had to look very far - and Nana insisted on attending despite her swollen ankles and arthritic joints.  


Even a woman like Odessa deserves to be seen off, my grandmother said a little resentfully, mebbe especially a woman like Odessa on account of who knows which direction she'll be aheadin'.

So she eased into her black dress and forced her feet into her best black shoes, added a single strand of pearls and a pair of clip on pearl earrings, set her tasteful little black veiled hat on her silver hair, and handed me the keys to the old Lincoln.  I'd never driven except under the strictest supervision and even then only to the post office and back and was taken aback at the thought of this particular errand but Nana was decided and grim.


It's to the church and back again, she said briskly, ain't no hill for a climber and I reckon you kin stay in the car for the service. I 'spect parkin' won't be a problem.

The day was overcast with a residue of fog clinging to the edges of the island and nothing but cold dampness in the forecast, as if even the weather felt no loss.  The old Lincoln warmed up quickly, sending a blast of hot air into the front seat with a roar.  Nana frowned, adjusted the vents, winced with the effort, and then gave me an encouraging nod.  I took a deep breath and eased the old car backwards and then slowly up the gravel drive to the dirt road.

It's a straight shot, my grandmother reminded me, Just keep'er between the ditches and you'll do fine.

The service was brief and the small church near to empty.  James had slipped each of the hired mourners a five dollar bill - graveside would've been extra and Lily had respectfully but firmly quashed that idea with a single glance - so only my grandmother and my aunts Pearl and Vi and Miss Clara who tended the graves were left to see Odessa lowered into the ground.  James read a short prayer just before it began to rain and it was over.  It was a funny little group, I thought as I watched from the car, four women all in black and James, standing in the rain and looking like silhouettes against the pale sky, doing what they saw as their duty.  I was thinking of the stories I'd heard about Dorothea Odessa Mills - how she'd raised her daughter with a Bible in one hand and a hefty switch in the other - Child was always a mess o' bruises and broken bones, Aunt Pearl had said.  Aunt Vi remembered her being caught stealing from the church collection plate and Clara reminded everyone about the cattle poisonings up island - 'Course they never proved it was Odessa, she admitted, but we all knew.  Then there'd been the fire at the post office, the break in at McIntyre's, the vandalism at the school.  Someone had tried to kill a half dozen dogs one particularly violently hit and run summer and the old timers still talked about the morning that the lobster boats in the cove had been cut free of their moorings and been found washed up on Peter's Island with their traps slashed to ribbons.  Like to cost them lobstermen a whole season of feedin' theys young uns, Sparrow said bitterly, Done outta pure meanness that were, like when she poured gasoline on the flower beds in the Memory Garden.  Killed ever'thin' that did and contaminated the ground for years.

On the whole, the village thought, the death wasn't much to be mourned.  There'd been no word from the family but a week or so later, James received a letter with a new hundred dollar bill enclosed and a harsh note.

Reimbursement for the funeral and burial of Dorothea Odessa Mills, it read, She didn't deserve your kindness.

It was postmarked from Dartmouth, the last place anyone knew Odessa's daughter, a practical nurse so it was thought, had lived but there was no signature and no return address.  James and Lily put the money toward the church's long term renovation fund, labeling it an anonymous gift from a former member and in time - unlike Odessa who lived on through gossip and mean spirited but mostly true stories - it was put to good use and forgotten.

Reckon if even a little good comes from bad, we ought to be grateful, James said.

The village, not wanting to disagree with their preacher, said absolutely nothing.

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