A Country Funeral and Burial

By Elton Camp (A true story from the rural South of the early 20th Century) Disaster had struck Milas family. Women in the community came to help prepare Miranda and her baby for burial. They dressed them and laid them in a coffin on a table in the front room. A black cloth covered the table. One of the ladies periodically bathed the corpses faces and hands. The rural custom of settin up all night with the body was followed. The family didnt sleep. Friends dropped by to tell good things they recalled about Miranda. Neighbors considerately delivered food for the bereaved family. Because no embalming was done, burial had to take place the next day. The funeral service lasted nearly an hour. Despite being September, the temperature was in the upper eighties. The church was almost unbearably hot due to the blazing sun on its tin roof. The pews were hand-constructed of bare wood. Their seats had no cushions and the backs were angled forward a bit too much. The windows were raised, but no cooling breeze developed. The minister praised her as a faithful wife and mother. He quoted at length from Proverbs, chapter thirty-one, describing the characteristics of an ideal wife. She wuz a fine Christian womn, he said. Even now shes lookin down from heavn. Shes seein us ez we com togither t honor her. Life eternal air herran. Later, the parson offered an incongruous idea, In th comin day of jedgment, our dear departd sister will rise from th grave long wif all th honored dead n Christ. Oh, what a glorious day thatll be. Nobody seemed to notice. Yet, thar air here mong us sinners who has yet t b saved. Yu sit thar smugly thinkin we dont know who yu air, but God knoweth. Yu cannot deceive Him. Yu trod th broad road thet leadeth into destrucun. Damnation n hell, whar th worm dieth not n th far air not quenched, lays afore ye. Repent whil there b still time. The ministers voice became louder and more intense in his zeal to bring sinners to repentance. Veins stood out on his forehead. His face reddened. He mopped sweat from his forehead with a white handkerchief. Cries of Amen rose from the congregation. That the service was a funeral, and not a revival, seemed to be momentarily forgotten. The preacher closed the service with a long prayer. In a final act of tribute, all present filed directly alongside the open casket at the front of the church. Several women paused to weep. Burial took place in a hand-dug grave near the center of the cemetery. To each side of the site were tiny graves that contained Mirandas two other babies, one stillborn

and one who had died at just a few weeks old. The just-born child was buried with her. For many years the site was marked only with a brown fieldstone. Bertha, as the oldest daughter, saw her duty and accepted it. Shed forego marriage to manage the household for her widowed father and his children. She didnt discuss her decision with her father, but quietly moved into the role the next day. Meals must be cooked, clothes must be washed, ironing was required, the house had to be kept clean. Life had to go on. Milas made no comment. If he mourned his departed wife, it remained private. As in the past, he was often absent from home for hours. He wasnt the one dead. He had important work to do. Hows yore tradin comin long, paw? Bertha asked one evening. Shed functioned as housekeeper, cook and caretaker of her siblings for slightly over a year and felt she had a right to be informed. Bout ez usual. Milas was a man of few words. Hed never discussed his business with Miranda, so it was certain that Bertha would learn nothing of it or of an impending change.

The preacher put on a real show