Gate.’ Ever heard of it?”
Charles Martin shrugged. “I can ask around.”
“You might try some of the old-timers around here. I’ve read Daddy’s list of instructions three times now, and, aside from that song, he doesn’t have much to say about the service itself. He picks out odd little things that he wants done, and he mentions them as he thought of them, I guess. In no particular order. Take this one here—a scripture cake. Anybody know what a scripture cake is?”
They shook their heads. “We don’t cook,” said Robert Lee.
“Well, maybe one of the—uh—wives will know.” Clayt glanced at Charles Martin as he hesitated over the word “wives,” but Charles Martin had not seemed to notice his awkwardness. “We can ask them tomorrow, I guess. I think they’re all upstairs.”
“What about Dovey, Clayt?” asked Garrett. “Are you two friends again? You said she made the tuna fish. Seems like she knows her way around a kitchen and is willing to put herself out for you.”
Clayt reddened and looked back at the papers in his hand. “Dovey was just being neighborly, that’s all. Let’s get back to the instructions here. Like I said, Daddy isn’t much on choreographing his own funeral, but he’s most particular about the coffin. Listen to this: I have got some seasoned rosewood laid by in the barn loft, and it would suit as the wood for a proper coffin. I want you boys to use the old woodshop in the back of the barn and work together to build me a proper casket. Do it right, boys. I want brass handles, dovetailed joins, and the best woodcraft you can manage among you. I have taught you all the craft of woodworking, and it is not a skill you lose so I expect you can do a fine job if you set your mind to it and take pains with your work. I have a mind to leave this world in a homemade coffin. ” Clayt broke off. “Well, he goes on like that for a bit more. Rambling-like.”
“It would take weeks to build a hand-finished casket of rosewood!” said Robert Lee. “Where does he think we’ll find the time to do that? I don’t know about you boys, but I have a responsible position in Cincinnati. I can’t drop everything while I sit up here on a mountain whittling.”
“What kind of tools are we supposed to use?” asked Charles Martin, looking at his manicured hands. “I don’t know that I want to be around band saws and such. If anything happens to these hands of mine, I lose my whole career. Can’t pick a guitar with your elbow.”
“I think we could do it in a week,” said Garrett. “It’s just a big box. Why don’t we look at the wood tomorrow, and see if it’s any good, and if the tools are still in usable condition. Then we can decide what to do next.”
“We may not even need a coffin,” said Clayt. “He’s a tough old man, Daddy is. He may pull through.”
His brothers frowned at him.
“Well, we will certainly pray that he recovers,” said Robert Lee, “but that eventuality will only postpone the inevitable. Someday we are going to have to come to terms with Daddy’s last requests, be it now or later. There’s something else we have to consider, too. Clayt, what does he say about the farm?”
“What about the farm?”
“Well—who gets it? Or how is it to be divided up among us?”
“There’s nothing in here about that,” said Clayt, handing him the sheaf of papers. “I guess he’s leaving it up to us.”
“He probably didn’t think it was worth much,” said Garrett. “I remember Grandmommy saying once that land up here used to go for fifty dollars an acre. It’s too steep to be much good for farming.”
“It’s worth a lot more than that now,” Robert Lee said. “People don’t buy land anymore. They buy views. And this farm certainly has plenty of scenic vistas. Rich people put vacation homes in high places like this. Why, Highlands, North Carolina, is a veritable nest of millionaires, living on land just as steep as this farm, and they’re
Charles Martin shrugged. “I can ask around.”
“You might try some of the old-timers around here. I’ve read Daddy’s list of instructions three times now, and, aside from that song, he doesn’t have much to say about the service itself. He picks out odd little things that he wants done, and he mentions them as he thought of them, I guess. In no particular order. Take this one here—a scripture cake. Anybody know what a scripture cake is?”
They shook their heads. “We don’t cook,” said Robert Lee.
“Well, maybe one of the—uh—wives will know.” Clayt glanced at Charles Martin as he hesitated over the word “wives,” but Charles Martin had not seemed to notice his awkwardness. “We can ask them tomorrow, I guess. I think they’re all upstairs.”
“What about Dovey, Clayt?” asked Garrett. “Are you two friends again? You said she made the tuna fish. Seems like she knows her way around a kitchen and is willing to put herself out for you.”
Clayt reddened and looked back at the papers in his hand. “Dovey was just being neighborly, that’s all. Let’s get back to the instructions here. Like I said, Daddy isn’t much on choreographing his own funeral, but he’s most particular about the coffin. Listen to this: I have got some seasoned rosewood laid by in the barn loft, and it would suit as the wood for a proper coffin. I want you boys to use the old woodshop in the back of the barn and work together to build me a proper casket. Do it right, boys. I want brass handles, dovetailed joins, and the best woodcraft you can manage among you. I have taught you all the craft of woodworking, and it is not a skill you lose so I expect you can do a fine job if you set your mind to it and take pains with your work. I have a mind to leave this world in a homemade coffin. ” Clayt broke off. “Well, he goes on like that for a bit more. Rambling-like.”
“It would take weeks to build a hand-finished casket of rosewood!” said Robert Lee. “Where does he think we’ll find the time to do that? I don’t know about you boys, but I have a responsible position in Cincinnati. I can’t drop everything while I sit up here on a mountain whittling.”
“What kind of tools are we supposed to use?” asked Charles Martin, looking at his manicured hands. “I don’t know that I want to be around band saws and such. If anything happens to these hands of mine, I lose my whole career. Can’t pick a guitar with your elbow.”
“I think we could do it in a week,” said Garrett. “It’s just a big box. Why don’t we look at the wood tomorrow, and see if it’s any good, and if the tools are still in usable condition. Then we can decide what to do next.”
“We may not even need a coffin,” said Clayt. “He’s a tough old man, Daddy is. He may pull through.”
His brothers frowned at him.
“Well, we will certainly pray that he recovers,” said Robert Lee, “but that eventuality will only postpone the inevitable. Someday we are going to have to come to terms with Daddy’s last requests, be it now or later. There’s something else we have to consider, too. Clayt, what does he say about the farm?”
“What about the farm?”
“Well—who gets it? Or how is it to be divided up among us?”
“There’s nothing in here about that,” said Clayt, handing him the sheaf of papers. “I guess he’s leaving it up to us.”
“He probably didn’t think it was worth much,” said Garrett. “I remember Grandmommy saying once that land up here used to go for fifty dollars an acre. It’s too steep to be much good for farming.”
“It’s worth a lot more than that now,” Robert Lee said. “People don’t buy land anymore. They buy views. And this farm certainly has plenty of scenic vistas. Rich people put vacation homes in high places like this. Why, Highlands, North Carolina, is a veritable nest of millionaires, living on land just as steep as this farm, and they’re
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