Friendship Village Part 30

"So, with that i-dee, I got above the shroud an' I begun on the woman some like she was my kitchen closet in the spring o' the year.

"'What's your name?' s'I.

"''Leven,' s'she.

"'Leaven,' s'I, 'like the Bible?'

"'Huh?' s'she.

"'Why--oh, _'leven'_,' s'I, 'that ain't a name at all. That's a number.'

"'I know it,' s'she, indiffer'nt, 'that was me. I was the 'leventh, an'

they'd run out a'ready.'

"'For the land,' s'I, simple.

"An' that just about summed her up. They seemed to 'a' run out o'

everything, time she come.

"She hadn't been taught a thing but eat an' drink. Them was her only arts. Excep' for one thing: When I ask' her what she could do, if any, she says like she had on the street corner:--

"'I can't do nothin'. I donno no work.'

"'You think it over,' s'I. She had rill capable hands--them odd, undressed-lookin' hands--I donno if you know what I mean?

"'Well,' s'she, sort o' sheepish, 'I can comb hair. Ma was allus sick an' me an' Big Lil--she's the same floor--combed her hair for her. But I could do it nicest.'

"Wan't that a curious happenin'--an' Jennie c.r.a.pwell layin' dead with her hair drawn tight back because none of us could do it up human?

"'Could you when dead?' s'I. 'I mean when them that has the hair is?'

"An' with that the girl turns pallor white.

"'Oh ...' s'she, 'I ain't never touched the dead. But,' s'she, sort o'

defiant at somethin', 'I could do it, I guess, if you want I should.'

"Kind o' like a handle stickin' out from what would 'a' been her character, if she'd hed one, that was, I thought. An', too, I see what it'd mean to her if she knew she was wearin' a shroud, casual as calico.

"But when I told her about Jennie c.r.a.pwell, an' how they had a good picture, City-made, of her side head, she took it quite calm.

"'I'll try it,' she says, bein' as she'd done her ma's hair layin' down, though livin'. 'Big Lil always helps dress 'Em,' she says, 'an' guess I could do Their hair.'

"I got right up from the supper table an' took 'Leven over to c.r.a.pwell's without waitin' for the dishes. But early as I was, the rest was there before me. I guess they was full ten to c.r.a.pwell's when we got there, an' 'Leven an' I, we walked into the sittin'-room right in the midst of 'em--that is, of what wasn't clearin' table or doin' dishes or sweepin'

upstairs. Mis' Timothy Toplady an' Mis' Holcomb-that-was-Mame-Bliss was the group nearest the door--an' the both of 'em reco'nized that shroud the minute they clamped their eyes on it. But me, bein' back o' 'Leven, I laid my front finger on to my shut lips with a motion that must 'a'

been armies with banners. An' they see me an' kep' still, sudden an' all pent up.

"'This,' s'I, 'is a friend o' mine. She's goin' to do up Jennie's hair from her City photograph.'

"Then I hustled 'Leven into the parlour where Jennie was layin' under the soft lavender cloth. n.o.body was in there but a few flowers, sent early. An' it was a west window an' open, an' the sky all sunset--like the End. 'Leven hung back, but I took her by the hand an' we went an'

looked down at Jennie in that nice, gentlin', after-supper light--'Leven in Jennie's shroud an' neither of 'em knew it.

"An' all out o' the air somethin' says to me, Now--_now_--like it will when you get so's you listen. I always think it's like the Lord had pressed His bell somewheres for help in His housekeepin'--oh, because _how_ He needs it!

"So I says, ''Leven, you never see anybody dead before. What's the differ'nce between her an' you?'

"'She can't move,' 'Leven says, starin' down.

"'Yes, sir,' s'I, 'that's it. She's through doin' the things she was born to do, an' you ain't.'

"With that 'Leven looks at me.

"'I _can't_ do nothin',' she says again.

"'Why, then,' says I, brisk, 'you're as good as dead, an' we'd best bury you, too. What do you think the Lord wants you 'round for?'

"An' she didn't say nothin', only stood fingerin' the shroud she wore.

"'Here,' s'I, then, 'is the comb. Here is Jennie's picture. The pins is in her hair. Take it down an' do it over. _There's_ somethin' to do an'

ease her mother about Jennie not lookin' natural.'

"An' with that I marched myself out an' shut the door.

"Mis' Toplady an' Mis' Holcomb was high-eyebrows on the other side of it, an' they come at me like _tick_ lookin' for _tock_.

"'Well,' s'I, 'it _is_ Jennie's shroud she's wearin'. But I guess we'll hev to bury 'Leven in it to get it underground. _I_ won't tell her.'

"I give 'em to understand as much as I wanted they should know,--not includin' exactly how I met 'Leven. An' we consulted, vague an'

emphatic, like women will. There wasn't time to make another one an' do it up an' all. An' anyway, I was bound not to let the poor thing know what she'd done. The others hated to, too--I donno if you'll know how we felt? I donno but mebbe you sense things like that better when you live in a little town.

"'Well said!' Mis' Amanda bursts out after a while, 'I'm reg'lar put to it. I can scare up an excuse, or a meal, or a church entertainment on as short notice as any, but I declare if I ever trumped up a shroud. An'

you know an' I know,' she says, 'poor Jennie'd be the livin' last to want to take it off'n the poor girl.'

"'An',' s'I, 'even if I should give her somethin' else to put on in the mornin', an' sly this into the coffin on Jennie, I donno's I'd want to.

The shroud,' s'I, ''s been wore.'

"Mis' Holcomb sort o' kippered--some like a s.h.i.+ver.

"'I donno what it is about its bein' wore first,' s'she, 'but I guess it ain't so much what it is as what it ain't. Or sim'lar.'

"An' I knew what she meant. I've noticed that, often.

"In the end we done what I'd favoured from the beginnin': We ask' Mis'

c.r.a.pwell if we couldn't bury Jennie in her white mull.

"'A _shroud_,' says Mis' c.r.a.pwell, grievin', 'made by a dressmaker with b.u.t.tons?'

"'It's the part o' Jennie that wore it before that'll wear it now,' I says, reasonable, 'an' her soul never was b.u.t.toned into it anyways. An'

it won't be now.'