The Dry Grass of August(67)

Children came down the aisle carrying flowers, young ones in front, teenagers behind. The last one to pass our pew was Leesum. I put out my hand, pulled it back, spoke his name.

He turned, handed his flower to another boy, and left the procession. The man next to me said, “What’s going on?”

Leesum never stopped looking at me. “She my friend.” “Not enough room here,” said a woman on the other side of Mrs. Coley.

“She my friend.” Leesum wedged himself into the pew beside me.

“Now, this ain’t right,” someone grumbled.Two people got up to find seats less crowded. When the others spread out, Leesum stayed beside me, just as close as before. He took my hand and I wished I didn’t have gloves on.

Mrs. Coley peered around me. “What are you doing, boy? You’re supposed to be up front.”

“Stayin’ with my friend.”

“I can see that.”

Behind us someone said, “Y’all shush.”

Now I could pay attention to Mary, to her service. With Leesum holding my hand and Mrs. Coley on my other side, I would be okay.

The children proceeded to the front of the church and handed out the flowers to the Mothers Board and to Young Mary and Link.

At a signal from Reverend Perkins, one of the deacons stood, walked to the casket, and closed the lid.Were they going to bury Mary’s Bible with her? All that family history.

The preacher raised his arms. “There’s anger amongst us. Some talk of retribution.” He said the last word slowly, emphasizing each syllable.

“Too many has died,” a man called out.

“That’s right,” someone else said. “Too many.”

“Yes, Jesus!”

Reverend Perkins said, “We’re here for one purpose—to honor Mary Constance Culpepper Luther, who lies before us. She who God has called home.”

Someone behind me said, “Lord’s will.”

“But Sister Luther is not lost,” the preacher said.

“Hallelujah,” a man answered. A woman said, “Sister with Jesus.”

“Mary Luther’s path was not easy, but she persevered.” Reverend Perkins looked at Young Mary and Link. He stepped from behind the altar and went to Mary’s coffin, extending his hands, palms up, as if to raise her from the dead.

He spoke again, his voice so low and sad I strained to hear. “The Sister Luther I knew would not listen to words of anger. She’d turn the other cheek to those who would smite her and pray for God to forgive them.”

“She gone to Jesus.”

“Praise the Lord!”

The church was filled with the rustle of shifting bodies, the smell of flowers. Fans stirred the air.

The preacher wiped his head with a handkerchief and walked back to the pulpit. He looked out over the congregation, his eyes fastening first one place, then another, then on me. “Mary Luther was a cleaning woman, helped her people get their house in order, then went home at night, made order in her own.” I felt pinned to the pew. “Might be midnight before she saw her bed. Next day she’d rise up, go back to her labors. But she was blessed with two fine children, told me how proud she was when her boy got to Howard University on a scholarship.” He looked at Young Mary and Link.

“Amen! Praise Jesus!”

“Yes, Lord, yes.”

Reverend Perkins cleared his throat, took a sip of water. “Sister Luther’s kindness touched everybody in this church, but some got her attention more than others.” He looked right at Leesum.

Leesum nodded.

I took a fan from a holder in the pew in front of me, and moved the air with it. The fan had an advertisement for Alexander Funeral Home, where Mary’s visitation had been. I wished I could have been there.

“There is no room for anger at the funeral of Mary Luther.” Reverend Perkins’ voice rose. “She lived for love, she died in love.”

One of the deacons stood and said to the preacher’s back, “She were beaten down by hate.”

“By hate,” someone agreed.

“Killed in the street.”

The preacher turned to look at the man. “That’s the truth, Deacon Hull. Hate killed our sister. But the love she lived will triumph over the sin that took her away.”

“Love conquer sin,” a voice called out.

“I know you’re angry.” Reverend Perkins spoke again to the man, who was still standing. “But this is not the time for words of vengeance.”

The man sat, then stood back up and spoke to the congregation. “Come to the meeting Friday night, brothers and sisters. Gather here to talk about what happened to Mrs. Luther.” He sat down. “That’s it for now, Pastor.”

Reverend Perkins took a Bible from the podium and moved to stand by Mary’s coffin. “Mary Luther—the heart of wisdom—knew her scripture. She’d say turn to it in your anger.” He opened the Bible. “Isaiah five speaks of those who do evil.”



“Therefore, as the tongue of fire devours the stubble, and as dry grass sinks down in the flame, so their root will be as rottenness, and their blossom go up like dust; for they have rejected the law of the LORD of hosts. . . .”





He thumped his finger on the open Bible. “They have rejected the law of the Lord!” He flipped pages. “Same thing, all over the good book. Psalm thirty-seven says it clearly.”