The Locket

In the spring Miriam died from an evil liver and her family attended the funeral.

Miriam lay in state in the viewing room, her face painted to hide her fragile skin, her hair coiled around her head in silver braids. She wore black, as befitted a dead person. Her eyes were closed. Around her neck lay a great gold locket shaped like a heart. Lucy (Miriam’s longtime friend, companion and roommate) had placed it there.

Lucy did not attend the funeral. Her absence was noted by all who did.

Miriam’s sister Dorrit was also missing; but no one expected Dorrit to attend. She and Miriam had not spoken in many years — it was known the sisters were a plague to each other.

There was not much to do as the family waited for Pastor John to emerge and deliver the eulogy. They were all hoping the speech would be short so they could go to the wake and eat. The food would certainly be excellent, despite the expected absence of Dorrit’s baked goods. The absence of her cupcakes was a greater loss than the woman herself, it was generally agreed.

As the mourners waited, sniffling and coughing and shifting their large behinds about on the hard wooden benches, they talked in undertones about Doritt and Miriam. The animosity between the sisters was legendary. Stories of old hatred were shared amongst the mourners like fine wine, passed from bench to bench. The owner of the finest vintage was Uncle Frederick Monkker. He spoke thus to his sister-in-law Betty. Betty was new to the family, so he tolerated her ignorance with glee, and explained how (according to him) the great split between the sisters had occurred.

“It was a man come between them,” he whispered. “It was a man who come between them, but that was just the beginning. The two of them. . . .” He shook his head to indicate how much more there was to the story.

“Oh,” said Betty, who had only inquired about the matter to be polite. “That’s unfortunate.”

Uncle Frederick Monkker snorted. Those few words were all he was prepared to offer for the time being. He preferred to give his sister-in-law the whole story at the wake. He was hoping the service would end soon, as he was already building in his mind the perfect diatribe for Betty’s benefit. He gave her a look which promised more details to come.

Betty said nothing; she was not looking forward to the wake.

Aunt Maybell Monkker, Uncle Frederick Monkker’s wife, sniffed. She leaned into Betty, who sat uncomfortably between the two of them. Aunt Maybell hissed in Betty’s ear: “It was not a man who come between them. Oh no. That’s just what they wanted everyone to think.”

Betty said nothing.

Uncle Frederick Monkker leaned closer to Betty than seemed possible and whispered in her other ear, his breath hot and wet: “It was a man come between them — ”

“Hesh,” said his wife. Pastor John was coming down the aisle.

Pastor John marched to the open coffin, looking neither right nor left and not allowing the eye of a single mourner to catch his own. He came before the coffin and made the Sign of the Cross over Miriam’s body; he stood still for a moment. Then he bent over the corpse, as if to kiss it — but only traced with his hand the thin gold of the necklace which lay at her throat. He straightened and turned to face the mourners. He took them all in with one powerful glance. His great brown eyes burned hot as they swept over the gathered. Uncle Frederick Monkker looked away before Pastor John’s heavy eyes fell on him.

Pastor John proceeded to give the following eulogy:

“Dearly Beloved — inasmuch as God in His great wisdom and mercy now sees fit to call home His daughter Miriam Melinda Monkker and thus fold her into His grace for all eternity, we rejoice, for she now bathes in His everlasting glory. Amen.”

“Amen,” they all said in one voice.

Pastor John closed his eyes and gathered himself. He spoke again, his voice deep, hollow and steady:

“Miriam, we call to thee and bid thee farewell forever from this mortal plane. We ask that you speak for us in heaven as we speak for you here on earth. We send you our tears for we shall miss you. We send you our love for we shall always think of you. We send you our faith for we have faith that your spirit has come to be with God. May you rest at His feet for all time and may our words help fly you hither. Amen.”

“Amen,” they all said again.

Pastor John lifted his arms to heaven and shook them a little. His face was grave as cold stone. Everyone waited. He cleared his throat and blinked and let his arms fall. He took a paper from his breast pocket, put on his spectacles and read:

“Miriam, our beloved sister in God, is remembered fondly for her beautiful quilts. She was a true artist. She is remembered for her willing charity to those less fortunate. She volunteered at many church functions for the poor. She is remembered for her many friendships. Her longtime friend, companion and roommate Lucy is grateful to have been the recipient of Miriam’s felicity.”

At this last sentence he looked up from his reading. His eyes swept the room looking for Lucy. When he did not make her presence anywhere, he sighed as if relieved and continued.

“Her family remembers her with fondness, her friends remember her with joy, and I myself — ” He stopped and swallowed. A few people coughed politely.

He continued, his voice wavering: “I myself remember Miriam well: A woman of unusual depth, a woman of unusual humor, a woman of unusual grace and piety. I remember her well. And I will miss her, as will all who knew her. Amen.”

“Amen,” the mourners said obediently.

“I will miss her,” he said again, his great brown eyes burning — as will all who knew her.”

Then, softly, Pastor John began the Lord’s Prayer. He told no one to pray with him, but one by one the mourners, as if willed to do so by the heavy timbre of his voice, began to speak the words with him.

Our Father who Art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name; Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done, on Earth as it is in Heaven. Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.

For Thine is the Kingdom,

and the Power, and the Glory forever, Amen.

The prayer ended. Everyone drew a breath and shook themselves a bit. The room was deeply silent.

Pastor John looked out at them as if waiting for something. His eyes swept the room and rested a moment on Uncle Frederick Monkker. And Uncle Frederick Monkker, having awakened from that brief spell bestowed by the prayer, thought to himself that Pastor John looked accusatory. He thought to himself, I didn’t do nothing wrong, why the devil does he glare at me? He leveled a steady, defiant gaze back at the Pastor and glanced around the room with a harrumph. But Pastor John did not see him.

In fact, no one was looking at Pastor John and no one (to Uncle Frederick Monkker’s greatest annoyance) was looking at Uncle Frederick Monkker. They all gazed in astonishment at the newcomer who had entered the room.

From behind the mourners she came down the long aisle. She marched as if to a drum, looking neither right nor left. And though all were looking at her, she would not admit the eyes of a single person. She moved to stand directly before the open coffin, forcing Pastor John to move aside (which he did as if in a dream), and she gazed down at Miriam’s still face. She gazed at Miriam, and Miriam alone, as if there was no one else in the room.

She stood there for a long moment: a tall, steady, firm woman. Her face was free of any dressing, her hair coiled around her head in magnificent white braids. She was dressed in black as befitted a mourner. It was Dorrit.

She looked at Pastor John, who was looking at her. He did not seem surprised; he seemed, finally, to see exactly what he had been waiting for. He gazed at Dorrit in calm terror — as one resigned to execution. She gazed back at him, admitting his eyes as she would no one else’s. The moment that passed between those two lasted for a breath before the Pastor looked away. His face was ashen.

Then Dorrit did an odd thing; she bent over Miriam’s coffin, as if, like the Pastor before, she meant to kiss the corpse. The room murmured; Uncle Frederick Monkker even stood halfway up and leaned forward to get a better view, his large buttocks nearly in Betty’s face. Betty leaned back.

Disregarding the mourners entirely, Dorrit finally straightened up from the coffin and turned. Clasped in her hands for all in the room to see, was the gold locket which had lain at the throat of her sister. Doritt had taken it from the neck of the dead woman.

Uncle Frederick Monkker stood up completely now. He opened and closed his mouth. But he said nothing. Aunt Maybell Monkker gasped a little. Betty looked on in interest. In fact, Betty now gazed at Dorrit in wonderment.

Dorrit put the locket to her own throat and held the gold chain back behind her neck. But she did not fasten the clasp. She waited. Every person in the room, including Betty, felt as if Dorrit was waiting for him or her to stand and fasten the necklace for her. Indeed, Betty almost felt herself rising from her bench to move to Dorrit’s aid. But she did not have to. Pastor John beat her to it. He reached out and carefully fastened the gold chain, and stepped back.

This violation of Miriam’s last accessory on earth and the strange collusion of the Pastor were too much for the mourners. The tension in the room now reached dangerous heights; but still they sat in shocked, frozen silence.

Continuing to ignore the mourners, Dorrit walked back down the aisle past them, her head held high. The locket now lay securely around her neck at her breast, as if it had always been there. She did not stop or turn as she approached the entrance to the viewing room. Dorrit marched out and was gone forever.

Pastor John looked at the empty spot where Dorrit had stood and cleared his throat and blinked like a person just awakening. He looked at the mourners. The mourners looked back and waited. But the Pastor was silent. Whispers and murmurs were all that was left of the moment. Eventually, the shock wore off enough for the mourners to get up and leave.

One by one the mourners at Miriam’s funeral shuffled out. One by one they hurried away, all whispering, hearts pounding, eyes bright with new gossip. And last of all were Uncle Frederick Monkker and Aunt Maybell Monkker with Betty trailing behind them. Uncle Frederick was rewriting the story of Doritt and Miriam in his head. He would now add in the locket, but he was still deciding how. And Aunt Maybell was excited to eat at the wake and whisper with her relatives about the shocking goings-on at the funeral. In the end, Dorrit had contributed something much better than cupcakes.

Betty trailed behind them. But before she exited, she turned to look back at Pastor John.

The Pastor was still standing, alone now, by the coffin. His back was turned, and his shoulders were hunched, and his body was shaking as if he was sobbing. Betty felt the urge to run back and say something profound and comforting to him; but Betty hurried out after her new relations. She was now eager to get to the wake.