The Escort (1710 words)

The Escort

        I didn't know that I believed in ghosts until the day I attended my grandfather's funeral.  I stood in the crowded funeral home at the visitation the night before the funeral of my grandfather.  My mother saw an elderly man and touched his shoulder to get his attention.  She introduced me to him and I shook his hand.

        "This is Uncle Erskine" she told me and she told him how much her father was fond of him and talked of him when she was growing up.  He shook my hand and my mother's and then listened more as mother talked with him.  When we parted, I asked her about Uncle Erskine and how, exactly, he was related.  I had been to every yearly family reunion since I was a baby and I didn't recognize him.
 
        Uncle Erskine was a few years younger than his sister, Beatrice.  Bea was my great grandmother, the one we just left grieving over her the death of her first child out of eight children.  Even in her late 80's, she told me that losing a child had to be one of the worst experiences she had ever had, even worse than losing her own siblings and father in an influenza epidemic when she was young.  Bea, her brother Erskine, her youngest brother Henry and their mother were the only ones to survive the flu epidemic.   

          My great grandmother gave my grandfather the name Erskine for a middle name because of her close bond with her little brother.  As the years passed, Erskine and his little namesake had a close relationship and my grandfather visited often when he wasn't living with them.       

    When Lewis, my grandfather, was about 8 years old, he was sent to live with Erskine and his wife, Ida. He was the fourth child of eight and the third out of four boys.  The others siblings were either old enough to do the back breaking work on the farm or young enough to still need their mother's constant supervision.

        After the cotton mill closed down in Gadsden, Alabama, Uncle Erskine and some other relatives came to live in Chicago.  Being on his own having left his wife, brother and mother on the home place in Alabama, Uncle Erskine came to stay with his favorite nephew and his family just for a few months until he could find another job back home.  My mother had never met him before that day, or at least she didn't remember him.  All she knew was that her baby sister had just been born and everyone was giving her little sister the attention.

        This man introduced himself to his six year old neice and said he was her Uncle Erskine.  He understood what it was like to have a baby sibling who took a lot of attention.  He told her about having to take care of his little brother even though he was a grown man.  He explained that his little brother, Henry, suffered from seizures and was dependent on his brother and sister-in-law and his mother.  Uncle Erskine missed his family in Alabama and delighted in spoiling my mother with candies, trips to the theater and just spending time with her while her parents were busy with the baby.

        Several months later, he got word from his wife that his momma was sick and someone needed to get back to Alabama to take care of the farm and to make arrangements if his momma were to die.  There was also Henry to consider.  Erskine packed up his one little suitcase and her parents spent almost a month's wages on a bus ticket to get him home.  He had been wiring money home when he could and was a bit short of cash at that late notice. 

        My mother wiped a tear from her eye and told me how she missed him back then.  Just a few short years later,  when her sister was about two years old, her family moved back to Gadsden, Alabama.  She was so excited to see her great uncle when the returned home. 

        My mother later learned that he had sold the farm and, along with his wife, mother and little brother, he moved to Tennessee where his wife had people.  He heard there was work in the coal mines near her family home.  He was gone but there were many other relatives who were starting to come back to Alabama.  The crisis was over, the economy was improving, and things were looking up for her family. 

        The next day at the funeral, I did not see Uncle Erskine.  I tried to look at each face in the chapel, but I could not see the man.  I could see my mother try to steal glances around the room while trying also to be discreet about it.  This was her father's funeral so others would be looking at her during the funeral. 

        When we were leaving the chapel, the weather that had been getting worse during the service was at that point getting quite nasty.  The wind was blowing rain sideways and everyone was struggling to find their umbrellas.  It had been pretty that morning and no one expected this until we were all in the chapel.  The clouds were dark and somber, although it was only early afternoon. 


        With all the seats taken, and with the preacher opening with a prayer, my mother and I huddled under the small umbrella we found in her trunk.  It was that moment when I noticed a form on the opposite side of the crowded mourners.  He was standing under a tree a good bit behind the mourners.  He was wearing a brown tweed jacket and dark brown slacks and held a black umbrella over his head.  He just stood there and looked down at the crowd.  Then he met my eyes and nodded his head once to acknowledge our eye contact. 

        The preacher finished his final prayer and the adult children all gathered under the tarp to gather their elderly parents and get them to the car.  The sun was starting to peak through the dark clouds. Distant relatives meandered to other grave stones to visit graves of other loved ones, finally able to fold up their umbrellas. 

        I excused myself and told my mother I would be right back.  I tried to keep my eye on the old man with the umbrella but had several relatives hug me on the way and say how sorry they were about my grandfather.  I hugged each and gave them a moment's attention but tried to make my way to the end of the line. 

        Finally, I broke free and walked up the hill, puzzled that I could not see him in the spot where he was standing just a moment earlier.  As I reached the top of the hill, I found his umbrella upside down in the grass.  The rain had stopped before the final prayer but there was not a drop of rain collected in the umbrella.  In fact, it was dry.  I scanned the cemetery for a brown tweed jacket and the shock of grey hair saw nothing of him.  I was standing on the edge of a memory garden that needed a little more care from the groundskeeper. 

        As I turned to find my mother, I nearly tripped over something. When I looked down to see what had tripped me, my eyes caught sight of a flat grave marker in the overgrown grass.  On it was etched: 

L. Erskine Pullen 1909-1971
Beloved husband of Ida.

        I rubbed my eyes and thought I was seeing the grave of another relative with the same name, after all, the name did pass down.  I was born in 1971 so I had no need to write down the date.  I walked back to where my mother was standing, puzzled at where I had gone and waiting on me.  I didn't even know where to start so I said nothing at that point. 

        We all drove to my great grandmother's house nearby to visit with relatives and eat what friends and family had brought for after the funeral.  It was a southern tradition to bring food after a funeral and nothing would be spared.

        My mother and I walked up the front stairs and past the crowd gathered on the front porch of the little duplex where my great grandmother had lived since I was small. We walked up to my great grandmother who was sitting at the dining room table, wadding up a paper napkin and dabbing her eyes with it.  To her left sat Aunt Ida and a man I didn't recognize.  My mother reminded her who we were and she introduced us to her boyfriend.

        My mother looked at me then did the polite thing, making small talk until she could get away and find her own mother.  My maternal grandmother had always been welcomed in my grandfather's family even though they divorced when I was a toddler.  She knew everyone and we knew she would straighten this out for us.  We asked her to come out to the car with us. 

        As we walked to the car, my mother asked her what was going on with Aunt Ida and this boyfriend.  My grandmother looked at my mother oddly and then addressed me when she said "Why, your Uncle Erskine died the year you were born, honey.  Why do you two want to know?"

        Knowing what a gossip Southern women in a small town could be and having a professional image to uphold, my mother winked at me and said, "Oh, nothing, mother.  I just thought she was too old to have a boyfriend."  I chimed in with my own comment, "Gee mom, just because you are old doesn't mean you can't have fun." 

        We carried on with our charade until my grandmother was all the way inside with the door closed and then turned to face each other.  A look passed between us and we knew this was a secret we would share for the rest of our lives.  We had seen a miracle, and she finally knew her daddy was in good hands.  His Uncle Erskine had been his final escort.

By SWPoet                           
(1710 wds)                                                                     
The prompt is in bold print- Picture #1 of umbrella used for contest).