Last Rites for Mr. Merryweather (3)

From STORIES FROM JONES FARM
Copyright December 1986


[Part 3]


"Why are you crying?" asked Nick, who had been sitting quietly in his little rocking chair for a long time. "If Cat's in heaven, we shouldn't be sad at all."

"I know," said Mother, blowing her nose again. "It's just that we will miss our Merryweather so much, and crying is the only way I can get this sad spot out of my chest. I feel sad right here," said Mother, pointing to about where her heart was.

Just then the phone rang. It was Father at work. Alice blasted in from the girls' room; Erin jumped down from the kitchen counter top; but Nick took the short cut under the kitchen table and pushed a chair up in time to get the first turn. The children told Father all about Merryweather's funeral before Mother got an opportunity to speak to Father. Finally, it was Mother's turn.

"I'm glad you took care of the funeral and things," said Father. "It was better to bury Cat today in the good daylight, even though I couldn't be there. I'll go by the Vet's office and pay the bill on my way home tonight."

Alice had a good cry on Father's lap that night when he got home, saying that she was really crying because her eraser wouldn't fit on her school pencil anymore. Later Nick and Erin got into a fight, giving each other little shoves, then both sat down and cried, making little snubbing sounds--looking up occasionally to glare at each other like they were angry--for a good half hour. Mother didn't scold them this time, because she knew it was good that their feelings had burst out.

Their Black Labrador, Wrong-Way Dog (so named on the farm where he was born when he kept running away from prospective owners), loped across the field that night from Grandmother's to meet Father's car. Wrong-Way received an unusual number of hugs as the kids made various trips outside to talk to him. Finally, Wrong-Way got to sleep in the basement, though he sniffed questioningly around the favorite hiding places of Mr. Merryweather, who had often shared the basement with him on nights when the weather dipped below the freezing mark.

The children closed the basement door and went dutifully off to prepare for bed. Alice returned to the living room for the inspection of her freshly brushed teeth.

"I hope you die when I do," Alice said, her mouth still frothy from toothpaste.

"Thank you, Alice," said Mother smiling, "but most parents would rather that their children live longer than they do, so they can carry on, you know." That night Alice and Erin wanted Mother to sleep with them, so Mother stretched herself across the foot of their bed.