Bill wheeled the TV out after lunch and listened to the soap operas.
The Nurse came in. 'Mr. Davison,' she said. 'It doesn't look like it'll be too long now. Do you want to be there?'
Anything less would be cowardice.
'Yeah,' he replied, nodding.
This time, led by the Nurse, it was a short walk to the hospital ward. Somewhere a radio was blaring. Voice talking. Music started up, some Christmas song or another, ghostly, echoing. It ended. The voice talked again, radio voice, soothing, phony. They opened the door.
Dorothy looked emerald green, and it seemed there was no breath at all.
'She's real weak,' whispered the Nurse and left them alone.
Down the hall, the music from the radio started up again. Bill had heard the piece before. It was real old and sounded kind of creaky with just a couple of instruments and lots of people singing together.
Bill had time to think: That's it, that's the song she sings all the time. Then Dotty was singing too.
Bill felt his breath go as still as the air in the underheated ward. The voice was clear and strong, pure as a river, though her eyes were closed and tubes were taped into her nostrils.
She sang it over and over.
Bill didn't know much about music, but he knew it was a voice that could have sung opera. Oh, Dotty, thought Bill. How could you sing like that and no one know?
One thin and withered arm was lifted up.
The Nurse came back in. 'What is going on?' she demanded.
'She's singing,' said Bill, helpless. 'She used to sing in church.'
The arm punched the air. Dotty was smiling as if in her sleep The words began to weave back and forth, and Dotty lit on them where she would, like a bird.
'Do you believe in miracles?' asked the Nurse. Her face was hard and she was chewing gum.
'Yes,' said Bill.
'Well, you're seein' one. She shouldn't even be able to breathe hardly.'
The arms folded themselves up like the wings of a scrawny chicken. Dotty kept on singing:
Bill took Carol to the service. There wasn't going to be one, but Bill offered to pay for it, and the local undertaker, inspired by his example, donated his labor. It was not held in the Home, but in the local crematorium. Bill's preacher, Reverend Carey, gave the sermon.
It was overheated to the point of discomfort. The mourners tried to slip discreetly first from out of their winter coats and then their sweaters. Tom Heritage brought some of the Angels with him. They shuffled along the pews looking utterly and completely lost. Heritage saw Bill, smiled, waved and ushered some of the old people to their seats next to Carol. They smelled of medicine and confinement. They saw Carol try to smile at them and saw her draw back, and they stared at her like frightened children, their jaws slack.
The Preacher told the story of Job, of faithfulness in suffering. Reverend Carey had listened to Bill and had understood that the old woman was in some way religious. Bill was trying to attend, but his mind kept wandering.
It had fallen to Bill to sort through Dorothy's possessions. She had two: the old green pioneer dress she was wearing now and another dress. At first Bill had not known what it was. It was tiny and crisp like an old leaf, brown, but made of lace. He had peeled apart its layers to find that it was a child's dress. It had once been covered in sequins. The child's dress was in the coffin with her.
So was the book. Bill had never had a chance to give it to her. Its ashes would now mingle with hers. It was just a kids' book, but Bill had read the first few pages and remembered them. There was so much in them that was like things Dot had told him about her life.
Dorothy lived in the midst of the great Kansas prairies, with Uncle Henry, who was a farmer, and Aunt Em, who was the farmer's wife. Their house was small, for the lumber to build it had to be carried by wagon many miles.
Dot had said they kept pork cool in holes in the ground, sealed in earthenware jars full of lard. They wiped the lard off and fried the meat in heavy skillets that were protected against rust by leaving on the fat. Women wore the same woolen dress all winter and just changed the apron.
