“Sounds like he’s givin’ a fiscal report to a board of directors,” Bennett whispered through a yawn.
“I think it shows poor taste to talk about how much money his mother’s last book made at a memorial service,” Lindy stated in disgust. “For crying out loud! Didn’t she bake him special cookies for his birthday or build magical gingerbread castles at Christmas? He must have one childhood memory when she did something special for him!”
Apparently not, for Chase sat down while the congregation exchanged befuddled glances. Chloe refused to speak, which she made clear by shaking her head and crossing her arms like a willful child, but when the minister focused his querying gaze on Wheezie, she hobbled up the carpeted steps to the pulpit unaided.
“From the moment she entered this world, Patty was a bossy one,” Wheezie said and pointed her finger at the bouquet of flowers that had been positioned where the coffin would have normally been situated. “That girl thought she was smarter than our whole town put together. Even Mama and Daddy were dumb hillbillies in her mind. Every day, she told me and Milla how she prayed to be told she was adopted. She hated us all and that ain’t no lie.”
Chase began to rise to his feet, but Chloe restrained him with both arms as the church audience sat up en masse with sudden interest. The members of the media who had been fortunate enough to find seating before the service began became instantly alert, mini recorders and small pads of paper held at the ready.
“And though she hated her family, the folks Patty hated even more were the mulattos. I know that’s not what you’re supposed to call them now, but that’s what we called them then, and there were plenty of mulattos in Natchez. I loved one of them. A man named Alberto Marcos. I would have married him and been happy for the rest of my days, but Patty ruined it. She made Al out to Mama and Daddy like he was the worst kind of scoundrel, but the only truly wicked person I ever knew was my own sister.”
Several members of the congregation gasped.
“I know it ain’t right to speak ill of the dead, but I’ve been holdin’ this in for too many years, and I want to tell you all that I ended up happy anyhow. Patty went to Paris as some man’s floozy, and then she came back and got famous right quick. Reckon she became a richer man’s kept woman.”
The reporters were scribbling furiously. James noticed Murphy and Lottie sitting side by side, listening with expressions bordering on rapture. James could practically sense Murphy spinning titles and headlines in her mind as Wheezie ruthlessly continued.
“I thought I could marry Al after we buried Mama and Daddy, but his heart turned hard toward our family and he married somebody else. He’s a widower now and I’m still sweet on him, even after all these years. I came to this town to offer Patty a chance to make things right, to tell Al she was wrong to judge him and lie about him, but she laughed in my face at the notion. I hope the good Lord forgives her, or I reckon she’s bakin’ cakes of hot coals for the devil right about now. ’Preciate y’all comin’ out. Thank you.”
Wheezie returned to her seat, her head held high and a grim smile on her face. James closed his gaping mouth and turned to Milla, who was staring at her older sister with horrified astonishment. Jackson covered his fiancée’s hand with his own and stared fixedly at the tops of his shoes.
Reverend Emerson was at a loss. James was certain that the minister had never presided over a eulogy speech such as Wheezie’s. His eyes raked the pew of family members with a searching look until his wife, who was seated near the organist, poked the woman in the side and the first few strains of “Amazing Grace” burst into the still air. The hymn was played in double-time, followed by a rather mechanical recitation of the Lord’s Prayer and a hasty benediction. Before James knew it, he found himself in the fellowship hall passing out slices of eggnog cake.
“Do you need help?” Lucy asked in a soft, concerned voice as she appeared at his side.
James nodded gratefully. “I don’t know what to say to people after a service like that.”
“I’ll chase away anyone from the media, if you’d like.” Lucy fixed a hostile glare in Murphy’s direction.
“That would be a relief, thank you. And I wanted to tell you that I appreciate your coming today. If I didn’t have the four of you behind me in moments like these…”
Lucy brushed his cheek with her fingers. The moment was fleeting, but filled with tenderness. “I’ll always care about you, James. No matter what else happens in our lives, you can depend on my friendship. That’s a promise.”
James placed a piece of cake in her hands. “And you can depend on mine too.”
Tears pooled in Lucy’s blue eyes, but she blinked them away and concentrated on spearing a triangle of cake onto her fork. Slipping the morsel between her lips, she inadvertently groaned, “ This is so good!”
Echoes of similar declarations emitted from mouths across the hall. As coffee cups were refilled and people accepted seconds on cake, Milla unveiled Jackson’s painting of Paulette’s hands to oohhs and ahhhs from the crowd.
James edged others aside in order to view the work of art. Once again, he was amazed by his father’s ability to capture an individual’s complete persona by fashioning a pair of hands through deft brushstrokes and a unique blend of hues. Paulette’s were strong, determined, and graceful as they gripped the handles of a wooden rolling pin. The left-hand side of the canvas portrayed several petits fours decorated with prim and perfectly formed icing rosebuds, showcasing Paulette’s love of precision. Edging off the right side was a bowl of raw eggs with a collection of fractured shells that had been scattered into the deepest corner of the canvas where Jackson’s signature normally appeared. The jagged points and splintered bits of shell reminded the viewer of the Diva’s sharp tongue and harsh words.
And yet, Jackson had also illustrated a fragility in Paulette’s wrists-the blue and green veins traveling beneath the thin skin were a reminder of the woman’s mortality. He had not spared the viewer her wrinkled knuckles or the ugly mole on the back of her palm, but the dough was clearly subservient to Paulette’s will. Yet, the overall feeling James experienced while staring at the picture was that even though Paulette Martine was a woman of determination, her strength and intensity had rendered her unavoidably bitter and lonely.
“How does your daddy do it?” Lindy whispered to James. “It’s so her . A more fitting memorial than any words.”
“He truly has a gift ,” Gillian agreed. “It’s like he paints souls through a pair of hands. And the energy that radiates from every work is different, as unique as the subjects themselves. Spectacular! No wonder Lindy’s mother can’t keep them in stock in her gallery.”
Scott and Francis plucked James on the sleeve and told them they were leaving in order to prepare for their midnight stakeout. After giving Milla sympathetic hugs, the pair headed for the door. However, Francis stopped short when he crossed Willow’s path and the two of them exchanged shy smiles and hushed conversation as if they were the only people in the room. On the other hand, James was sorry to watch Lottie wag an accusatory finger at Scott while adopting a very harpylike snarl. Murphy stood alongside her protégée, glancing at her with maternal pride, and James instantly pushed through the throng in order to show solidarity to his employee, but by the time he got there the Fitzgerald twins had gone.