pouring what little money she had left into the business when she was sustaining herself right now and doing a service for the community. “Thank you kindly, gentlemen, for carrying him for me. I appreciate it greatly,” she said politely with a warm smile. Crossing her hands over her stomach, she prayed it would settle. Being squeamish did not help her new role thrust upon her one bit. “Shall we?” she said with firmness, guiding the men out. Pulling the doors closed behind her, she turned to address the new widow and his family. “Mrs. Miller, your husband was a fine gentleman and fought valiantly in the war,” Ava reassured her, pulling the frail, shaking woman into her arms for a sympathetic hug. “Dear, dear! Please, calm yourself. He cannot hear your tears or sense your heartbreak any longer. Be strong and let us discuss his farewell.” Ava handed her a small glass vial and a handkerchief. The vials were something that struck her as personal and she had incorporated them into the funeral home almost immediately. The ladies could delicately save their tears and mourn as was the fashion. The glass vials made them immediately thankful at the gesture while it helped support others. A mere penny spent was well worth it, if they could get down to business. This would enable her to get to the gruesome task ahead of her. Mr. Miller had left for the war and returned with a massive limp. She was guessing from the smell that emitted from his corpse, that infection or gangrene had set in and eventually taken over. It would be a long night between bouts of nausea and fatigue that preparing him would involve. Ava carefully went over details with the distraught widow. She hated the preparations almost as much as discussing the money. However, it was a necessary evil. When Peter had left, there had only been two levels of burial: rich and poor. The rich ones had a flamboyant burial with a glass cart that would parade them down North Main as they circled the city in an effort to allow the townsfolk to say goodbye. The first time she had tried to maintain this style of funeral, the horse bit her as she tethered it. It had been most brutal trying to find someone to help her load the glass cart with the casket because she simply wasn’t strong enough, nor was she surrounded by men in town. Most men were gone off to the war. It had taken eight women to lift the frail man’s body
| GINNY STERLING | into the glass cart. Ava had felt horribly mortified to ask for help. As she drove the glass hearse wagon through the streets, she had seen so much of the town had been almost abandoned. Children came to the street as the bell jingled on the black, glass hearse wagon. Children and women. The looks of sympathy on their faces broke her heart. What was more crushing was the hopelessness she saw in their eyes. There was a good chance that all of their husbands would not return from the war, the death and destruction was so pronounced. They were also starving and working themselves to the bone. No one would be paying for the gaudy, flamboyant funerals and it seemed like such a waste. Instead, she put the cart into storage and changed the funeral packages that very day. “Mrs. Miller, we have two options for your husband. We can bury him quietly with dignity to put you and your family at ease. He would want you to save your money and take care of each other, I’m sure. Or, if you’d like, we can bury him with a bit more pomp and circumstance as his military honors dictate. It’s up to you,” Ava said, taking a second to gather herself. This was where the shock, hurt, desperation and pain all came flying back. The country was torn financially in the south after the war and they were just beginning to recover somewhat. Southern money was no good and the new dollars were simply hard to come by. “If you’d like to do a private burial with just your family, something dignified and simple, the cost is five dollars.” Peter would be so upset to hear of her discounting the funerals. She remembered how he proudly boasted that a decent funeral was almost eighty dollars and “well worth every penny”. “Or, if you would like a notice in the paper and a viewing with all the formalities, I would be happy to accommodate you. We’ll make him look quite regal in his uniform, if you have it.” “How much is it?” Ava steeled herself for the painful, wounded expression that seemed to always come. It wasn’t easy to wash or prepare the body. She hated embalming but the scent of death was much worse. Why couldn’t Peter come home? Why couldn’t they have been millers or blacksmiths? Although, she wasn’t sure she could wield a hammer or shoe Issue 33 | April 2019 |
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