Ode to Mr. Calvin and Miss Mary

Ode to Mr. Calvin and Miss Mary

I worked for Mr. Calvin Cobb and Miss Mary for nearly twenty years. May they rest in peace. Was with them through the sun and snow and even when the wind was pissing like a drunk. No matter what people said. Even when, sometimes they called Mr. Calvin things.

“Hard thing to bear, grief is.” Miss Mary told me. She must’a said it a thousand times.

Now, it was hard work. Every morning, we’d get up, and make the rounds to sick and the dying. Mr. Calvin would point at the house. I’d pull the reigns on Old Bucket, watch Mr. Cobb or Miss Mary get go to the door, while I’d wait. Old Bucket and me. Standing there. He’s a good one. He is. We done this for nearly going on ten years now, ever since the Blast happened.

If the family wanted us, then we’d get to work, preparing the body. Sometimes there were rashes, sores or blood. Once the corpse was cleaned, we would transfer the body bag out to Old Bucket and the hearse. As the body went back to the Cobbs, I would head to the cemetery. More than a couple of times, I dug through the night, hard work, to be sure. Miss Mary always told me that making sure the plot was dug right was the most important work, though.

Then, Miss Mary got sick. The doctor came out to check on her, but he said there was really nothing more he could do.

About a week after that, I was passing by their kitchen door when Miss Mary called out.

“Jimmie, could you come in here, please.”

I don’t enter anywhere, lest I am invited. But she saw my shyness through the window and smiled one of her smiles. The kind people just loved. As I walked in, she invited me to sit at the table. Miss Mary was wearing her favorite dress, the white one with the pink roses. I could see that she had put on some lipstick. A heart-shaped locket dangled neatly from her neck. The light from the small window over the sink made it shine against the skin of her neck.

She took a cup and saucer and lifted it toward a matching teapot. She poured a cup, and shen placed all of it right in front of me.

“I have coffee, if you would prefer it.” She smiled.

“No, ma’am” I stammered. “This is just fine.”

“Jimmie,” she began. “How long have you and Mr. Cobb worked together?”

“A long time. ‘Spect its been nearly twelve years, fifteen years or so.”

Another few seconds went by.

“You know I’m dying, Jimmie” she said.

I nodded.

“Jimmie, I have always believed that we are put on this earth to help others, don’t you agree?”

“Yes ‘m

“You see, I’m just worried about Mr. Cobb. He doesn’t do good by himself. When I am gone, he’s going to need a lot of help just to get through the days ahead. Oh, he’ll put on a great front like he always does, don’t let that fool you, Jimmie. He will not be okay. I’m goin’ to ask you a favor, and I need you to know how important this is to me.” The lines on her face turned serious. “You are going to need to take care of him.”

“It’s no more than really what you’re doing right now.” She continued. “Mostly, I just want him to have someone to be there with him. Can you do that for me, Jimmie?”

I nodded.

“And I don’t want a word of this mentioned to Mr. Cobb, understand?” She made me promise.

“Now, there is one more thing. I want you to walk with me.” She got up suddenly. So, we rose from the table and walked to the big pine oak towering over the back of the yard. “There” she said. “Right under this majestic tree where it’ll get plenty of shade.”

Then we turned back around and headed back. As we got to the porch, she kissed me on the cheek. That was that. I watched her turn, open the kitchen door and slip inside. Miss Mary died two nights later.

Early on May 21st. I answered the knock at the door of my place. Mr. Calvin was standing there. I opened the screen door and he told me the news. He simply stared out at me and said, “she’s gone.” Then after a couple of times whispering it, he broke down, sobbing. He didn’t cry long, ‘Cause before I knew what we was doing, I was slipping on my boots, and the two of us, were heading back to his house. When we arrived, Miss Mary was lying there all peaceful. As I started to attend to the body. I had barely got the top button of her gown undone before Mr. Calvin was up and leaning over her from the other side of the bed.

“I’ll do it.” He whispered. “Thank you. I just need a few minutes.”

So, I walked out to the pine oak, planted my shovel into the dirt. I cried as I dug. Grief is a hard thing, but burying someone you love, that’s even harder. I think that was the last lesson Miss Mary taught me.

For the next year or so, we stayed busy, burying the dead. I remember the day Lizzie came to us. We were out making rounds like we always did when one of the neighbors waved us down. She whispered a couple of things to Mr. Calvin, and he was dashing toward a little white bungalow around the corner. A few minutes later, Mr. Calvin emerged from the place, carrying the little one. Couldn’t have been more than four or five. Her brown hair curling over her face. Calvin plopped her down in the front seat of the hearse next to me and handed her a can of peaches he’d opened. She started slurping them like she was starving, which I think she might have been.

“Her name is Elizabeth Ann” he told me. “Come on. Bring two bags, please.”

Then he spoke. “Lizzie, I am going inside now. You need to stay RIGHT here.” He waved the neighbor back over and asked her to mind things.

I wasn’t prepared for what I saw. I spied the husband first. He was lying, kind of sprawled out over the kitchen floor in a pool of his own vomit and blood. I almost upchucked myself from the smell of it. The wife was down the hall lying with a bullet hole in the head. I couldn’t move. Soon though, Mr. Calvin joined me, and we got to work. We zipped the bodies up and hauled them to the back of the hearse. As we did, the neighbor distracted Lizzie by getting her to pet Old Bucket on the nose. I had to dig two graves that day.

‘bout a week later, Mr. Calvin looked over at me, while we was rounding, Lizzie asleep on his chest. She was nestled in between us.

“Jimmie, I’m thinking about giving it up.” He said once, as he smiled down at Lizzie. “Maybe doing something different.”

I asked him what he meant.

“I don’t know. I think now that our work isn’t good for Lizzie.” He paused. “What if we decided that instead of burying people, we tried to help them live? We could convert the old hardware store across the way to a sort of community pantry – a general store that helps folks. Where folks could just be safe, looking through stuff. I just think Mary would want us to do more than we are doing is all.”

Sounded like a lot of work, but the truth Is I would have done anything Mr. Calvin wanted me to.

Soon enough, things changed. We started working on the store. We got to sweeping. Cleaning. Throwing junk out of the back of the True Value. I’d hitch up Old Bucket to haul stuff away. The old store had most of the shelving still there, and once everything was polished up, Mr. Calvin brought some stuff from the pantry he and Miss Mary had kept in their home. Even some of her things. We started stocking shelves.

I would get Old Bucket up and go wander through the town looking for stuff. Cans. Pill bottles. Clean clothes. I would walk up to houses and if someone was there, I’d tell them about what Mr. Calvin had said. His dream for a panty where anyone could come. Get what they needed. Free stuff. Then, I’d ask if they wanted to donate something. Sometimes they did. Sometimes not. But most of the town knew me and Mr. Calvin. They knew our word was good. Knew they could trust us both.

As the store shelves filled, the word about what we was doing, got around. People started coming by. They might take a bag. They might not. Lizzie would sit there on the counter next to Mr. Calvin. She never said much, but she was always helpful. He would ask her to get the lady a can of tomatoes and off she’d scurry like it was a treasure hunt. The townsfolk loved it. There wasn’t a one of them that didn’t bend down to thank her, maybe even give her a penny or two for being such a darling. Things got so busy that Mr. Calvin brought on a young man named Thomas. He’d been passing through town and got offered a job. Everybody called him Tom.

One day, I showed up at the store while Tom was busy gabbing with Ms. Perkins. I slipped Lizzie an old jolly rancher I’d found in a drawer. She grabbed it out of my hand quick. I waited for Tom to finish bagging up a few things Ms. Parson wanted. Afterward, I asked about Mr. Calvin.

“He went to bed early last night, Jimmie.” Tom mentioned. “I hadn’t seen him around yet.”

Something just told me to go check on him. I walked over and knocked on the kitchen door. Normally, like I said, I don’t want to disrespect no one by going into their house uninvited. But I guess the months of walking into empty houses searching for things had made me different. I walked to the back bedroom, calling Calvin’s name.

As I opened the bedroom door, I saw his body. I knew in an instant he was dead. I went back and told Thomas and he called Lizzie down from the counter and told her the news in a real soft voice. As he went back to working, I got to digging a plot under the oak tree right next to Miss Mary. I cried so much that day. Wasn’t sure if I could even get the thing done. I had Tom come over. We went to the wood shop to build a casket. Tom helped me with the body, but mostly he watched over Lizzie while I did the work.

It wasn’t until I went up to prepare the body that I noticed the envelope with my name on it. It was scribbled on the front. I opened the envelope. Miss Mary’s locket fell out.

Jimmie,

You have always been there with us, through everything. Whatever is in my house, I want you to have. Do with it what you wish. It is yours now. Give Tom the store.

I do want Lizzie to have Mary’s locket. She needs something of Mary’s to keep.

Calvin

So that is that. They were good people. I want Lizzie to be just like them. I want her to grow up and make it her life to help people. ‘Cause you should always make it your life to help others. That’s what Miss Mary taught me. Mr. Calvin, too. If they said it once, they must’ve said it a thousand times.