Mahogany and White Velvet
She was sitting in a chair in front of the casket. Her daughters were at her side. She was dressed in an inexpensive but tasteful black dress and her dark hair was pulled into a bun on the back of her head. She was crying and her daughters watched her silently.
The display room was dim and there were no windows. There were lamps mounted on the brick walls, but they were spaced too far from one another for the light to be continuous. A man was standing at the back. He was by the door that opened up from the greeting room. He had a black suit that was worn at the elbows, an aquiline nose and thin glasses that clung before his face. The hard light sculpted his vulture-like features so that his soft brown eyes were hidden in the shadows below his brow. Charles Sherwood, like everybody else in the Grass Lake Township, knew that Mr. Vanderburen had been unfaithful and that he had been prosecuted for statutory rape. He pitied Mrs. Vanderburen, so he stayed with her at the open casket.
Outside, Jerry pulled into the gravel parking lot. The funeral home was just outside of town. It was down a road that was lined with oak trees and maples, whose leaves had turned red and gold. The sun was out and the air was brisk. Jerry’s was only the third car in the parking lot. Must be early, he thought. He pulled out an unfiltered Lucky Strike from the inside pocket of his wool jacket. He placed it on his lip and lit it with a match he had gotten from the truck stop where he had eaten that morning. Jerry looked up at the building. Yup, that’s definitely a funeral home. It was an ugly, old brick building with two small windows on either side of the front entrance. There was a green sign that had been bolted on above the door that read “Sherwood’s Funeral Home” in faded, white letters. The gutters were backed up with dead leaves and dirt and the brick was stained and whitened where the snowmelt had managed to leak through. Jerry took one final drag from his cigarette. He dropped it onto the gravel parking lot and ground it out with the toe of his black wing-tipped shoe.
Jerry opened the door to the funeral home and walked in. Inside it was as you would expect; dimly lit and quiet. There was a door on the wall opposite Jerry and a hand-made wooden table with flowers arranged in a crystal vase against the wall next to him. The funeral home director came in through the door opposite Jerry to greet him.
“Are you here for Mr. Vanderburen?” asked Sherwood.
“Yes,” said Jerry.
“Are you family?”
“No, he was my football coach.” Sherwood examined him a moment. He had a confused look on his face. Then he put out his hand.
“Sherwood,” said the mortician.
“Jerry.” The men shook hands and Sherwood showed him into the viewing room. It was dimmer in here than in the front because there were no windows. Sherwood shut the door silently behind them and motioned Jerry forward.
“That’s his wife and girls,” whispered Sherwood. Jerry nodded. Mrs. Vanderburen turned her head and then stood up. Her daughters stayed in their seats. Jerry could see where the tears had gone down her cheeks and her eyes were bloodshot and heavy. Sherwood kept by the door and Jerry approached Mrs. Vanderburen.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Jerry looked Mrs. Vanderburen in her tired green eyes. She was very pretty and her daughters resembled her more than her husband. They had the same brown hair and the same round features that she had. His face had been sharper, harder, more beaten by his days on the football field in Columbus. Mrs. Vanderburen was fighting back her tears now and her face was contorted and red.
“Thank you for coming,” she said. Jerry nodded. “Claudia,” said Mrs. Vanderburen, “I’m his wife.” She struggled to find her words but she was precise with them when she did.
“Jerry,” he said. “He was a good friend.”
“He was a coward,” said Mrs. Vanderburen sharply. And then, “I hope you didn’t have to drive far.” Her tone was softer.
“No, just from Ann Arbor.”
“Do you go to school there?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
“I don’t understand it,” said Claudia. “How could you have been friends?” She smiled a weak smile. Her eyes were not in it.
“Some things are bigger than football,” said Jerry.
“He was coward,” she said it under her breath. “You should see him.” Jerry nodded and gazed over at the casket. He stood still a moment and stared at John’s horizontal profile from a distance. He could hear Sherwood at the front of the room shifting his weight. Claudia was fighting her tears and her daughters were silent. They were silent because they were young and because they didn’t understand.
Jerry was standing over the casket. It was mahogany and lined with white velvet. John Vanderburen was wearing a black suit and a black tie. His blonde hair, which had been receding, was combed back. His beaten features were hollow and fragile and the lines on his face were sunken. You never expected such a big man to look so fragile. But here Jerry was with Claudia and her girls and there he lay. John Vanderburen was a man who broke just about the most important commandment in the Bible. Maybe he was a coward. But you know what he left behind was nothing compared to what he would face now, and that was his choice. In truth, some men just aren’t made for this world. It’s a hell of a thing that could push a man that far. It’s a hell of a choice for a man to make.
Jerry said a prayer, nodded down at John and turned away from the auburn-brown coffin. Claudia had been watching him and seemed embarrassed when he caught her eye.
“He was a good man,” said Jerry, as he approached Claudia.
“He was a coward,” Claudia began.
“No,” said Jerry. He looked Claudia hard in the eye, “Don’t say that, now.” He glanced over at the girls and then at Claudia. “John Vanderburen was a good man and don’t you ever believe otherwise.” Claudia nodded and sat down.
“Thank you,” she said, looking up at him, “Thank you.” Jerry watched her a moment and then turned to leave. He shook hands with Sherwood at the door.
“No one else has come by?” asked Jerry.
“No one but yourself,” said Sherwood. Jerry was silent.
“How did he do it?” asked Jerry. Sherwood’s face seemed to freeze at the question.
“With a 12 gauge,” he began, “to the chest.” He could tell that this bothered Jerry and immediately regretted saying it.
“That’s a choice, isn’t it?” said Jerry. Sherwood watched Jerry’s blue eyes, as they seemed to look past him. “Thank you, Sherwood.” Sherwood nodded.
Jerry stepped out into the gravel parking lot. The sky had turned a gunmetal grey color and the clouds had moved in front of the sun. He headed back towards his car. Across the road a girl was standing and watching him from underneath the golden maple trees. She had a young and beautiful face and dark brown hair. Her cheeks were red from the cold and her eyes were bright, stony and tired. She was dressed warmly with a grey scarf and a black coat and she had her arms crossed over her breast and above her protruding belly. It’s a hell of a thing that could push a man that far, a hell of a thing.
