Glass Coffins

Glass Coffins
by Velda Brotherton

“The children are getting wet.” Mama’s breath formed a mist
on the inside of the rain-drenched window pane. 
I wanted to scream at her to quit staring at the graves, but
it would do no good. This had been building since we’d buried my
babies, and it was finally in the open. All I could manage was a
soft plea that she stop.
Assured that grief was her private domain, she droned on.
“Like I’ve been telling you, we could put them over there where
they’d be safe and dry.” She turned from the window and gestured
with a pale hand toward the far wall of the parlor, papered in
cabbage roses.
Though arguing with Mama was pointless, I did it anyway. “We
are not digging up those precious girls and bringing them into
the parlor for everyone to stare at, and that is that.”
Hanky clutched to her mouth, she squared her shoulders and
glared at me with eyes the color of ripe poke berries.
Dread rose from the bottom of my soul. I could well lose
this argument. Accustomed as she was to having her way with me
and Papa, she considered the deed done. If only Papa would stand
with me just once, but there was little hope of that. It was
easier for him to give in to her, and I could understand that.
She picked at a thing till it ruptured like a boil.
And she proceeded to do just that. “It wouldn’t cost much
for glass covers so we could see our girls at rest. We could talk
to them. I want to fix Rosie’s hair, put a fresh ribbon in it.
You know how she is about her hair ribbons. And little Annie
always likes to be read a bedtime story.”
“My God, Mama.” A knot of anger gathered in my stomach like
a hot rock. For a properly raised lady she could certainly be
insensitive. “You aren’t putting my dear children out on display
for everyone to see. Fuss over them as if they’re alive. I will
not abide it. You are not their grandmother.”
That was the worst thing I could’ve said, and the words were
barely out of my mouth before I realized my mistake.
Thunder rolled and the windows rattled, emphasizing Mama’s
reaction. 
Eyes flashing, she placed both hands on her hips, choking
the fabric of her black voile dress. “How dare you, child? We
took you in when you had no one. Brought you up in a Christian
home, educated you. I’m as much their grandmother as you are
their mother. You will not speak to me that way. If you cared
even the least bit about those babies, you’d at least cry.” A
fresh round of tears poured down her cheeks. A lock of graying
hair wiggled loose from the tight bun and clung to her wet cheek.
Even when crying, Mama was a sight to behold. She would have
her way or I would pay. As for me, I had no tears left. Since my
sweet little daughters’ tragic deaths from influenza the previous
winter, my body had shriveled into a dried-up husk. Nothing was
left to care about.
After the girls passed, their father, who had put up with
Mama and her weird ways longer than I’d expected, hopped a train
north to Kansas City. There were times when I wished with every
breath that I’d gone with him. But in 1920 good girls remained at
home to care for their aging parents. And heaven knows Papa
couldn’t be expected to handle this woman’s idiotic notions
alone, could he?
Had it not been for that, I’d have left when Anson and I
married. Before she sunk her possessive claws in everything that
was mine. Everyone in town thought she was crazy, and it was only
because they felt sorry for Papa and me that the mercantile
continued to thrive. Folks in a remote Ozark settlement like
Cedar Springs would put up with plenty of shenanigans from their
prominent citizens. After all, Papa had donated land and supplied
lumber to build a school and the First Methodist Church.
The front door slammed. We both came to attention. Papa was
home. Mama took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. A fresh
target. 
Unaware of what awaited, he came into the room holding a
newspaper and the day’s mail in one hand. Raindrops glistened on
strands of his white hair.
“What a downpour. Like to drowned getting home. Good thing I
took my raincoat.” One look at my expression and his eyes lost
their sparkle, his voice lowered an octave. “So, what’s up with
my favorite girls tonight?”
She moved between us, drew herself up ramrod straight. “I
was just saying to Laura how we need to bring the babies in out
of the rain. You talk to her, Ralph, she won’t listen to me.
You’d think she’d care more about her own flesh and blood than to
let them lie in the cold and rain, under all that dreadful mud.
They belong in here with us. You tell her.”
In case he might have something else in mind, she took
advantage of her height to stare down at him.
A gentle man, Papa never could abide arguing, and she knew
it. It wasn’t long after I came to live with them when I was
twelve, that I recognized her tricks to get her way.
If nothing else worked, she’d withdraw to her room, locking
Papa out and refusing to perform any of her wifely duties.
Cooking, cleaning, and of course that unspeakable duty as well.
Though I had my suspicions she never let him touch her in that
way.
His eyes sent an apology toward me over the top of her head,
and he rubbed at a temple, likely dredging up some obscure facts.
The leather bound books filling shelves around the walls of his
den were not just there for display. He’d read them all, and
seldom forgot one single fact.
“Well, now, many well known people have chosen to put their
departed loved ones on permanent display. Heads of state, for
instance.” He smiled that ingenuous smile he saved for just such
occasions as this. “Of course, there is the story of the
notorious outlaw Jack Slade, whose wife pickled him and carried
his body around with her when she traveled. Kept him under her
bed the remainder of the time, I seem to recall.”
Even Mama shuddered, but she managed to slant a wicked
winner’s gaze toward me.
My heart sank to the soles of my feet. I had lost the
battle. Next thing I knew my dear sweet angels would lie in this
very room on public display. I wanted to curl up and die of grief
and shame.
Two weeks later, the glass coffin covers arrived on the
eight o’clock northbound train from Fort Smith. Since prevailing
over me, Mama had been the picture of happiness, while Papa spent
all his time at the store or in his private den at home reading.
Coming up with more little known facts to solve the next
household dispute, no doubt.
As for me, I couldn’t sleep or eat for thinking of my babies
lying in full view in the parlor, Mama fussing over them. I
wanted to crawl in a deep, dark hole. If I weren’t such a coward,
I’d move downtown into the rooms over the store and never go home
again. But Mama would be livid and Papa would take the brunt of
her anger, so I didn’t.
As it happened, the town’s new medical doctor arrived on the
same train as my babies’ glass coffins. From the door of the
store, where I worked as often as I could get away, I watched
Mose Kelly shove a huge wheeled dolly carrying the fragile glass
across the depot’s wooden dock toward his freight wagon. Soon he
would head up the hill toward our house with the macabre
delivery. Keeping those rambunctious team of mules under tight
rein to prevent breakage on the rough road.
Before my imagination could go to work on that dreadful
scene, steam hissed a great cloud from under the train wheels and
out of it a man emerged. He carried a small black medical bag, so
he must be the new doctor. He was quite handsome in his cocky
black cap and a neat pinstripe suit, vest buttoned over a boiled
white shirt. The dark hair at his temples was salted white.
Surely he was married, a fine catch such as he. Though what
possible difference that could make, I didn’t know. I was a
divorcee approaching thirty. Worse than being an old maid.
As if that weren’t bad enough in itself, Mama’s strange ways
posed a detriment to any hope I might have of finding a husband.
All the same, I couldn’t help but return his kind smile. He even
tipped his hat to me before heading down the street toward old
Doc Smithers’ office.
My, oh my, what a fine looking gentleman. Nearly as fine as
my Anson, who had been quite a handsome rounder himself. And how
I’d loved him. I’d heard that such feelings came along only once
in a lifetime. But right now, I’d settle for a gentle man who
would care for me, feelings or no.
Shaking off such nonsense, I carried the broom back inside
the store. No man would even consider for a moment stepping out
with a woman whose crazy mother was about to put her dead
grandchildren on display in her parlor.
The very next day Mama hired Gootch Anderson and his
brother Leonard to dig up the girls’ graves, and word soon flew
around town how that crazy Rose Ann Cochran was going to set up a
mausoleum for her grand babies right in her parlor. All too soon
the handsome doctor would hear about it as well, and it wouldn’t
take long for him to connect her to me. So no use in my
responding to the wild longings of my heart and body.
As if nothing were amiss, I continued to work each day
stocking shelves in the general store and hoped no one would ask
about what Mama was up to.
In our store, Papa had a good stock of patent medicines,
ordered from the list old Doc Smithers had provided. And it was
there I encountered our new doctor. It was bound to happen, and
despite my fantasizing, I didn’t believe he’d take a second look
at me. Well, I was soon proved wrong. When he entered the store,
setting the little bell to tinkling, I was standing on a step
stool arranging stock on a high shelf. No doubt exposing more
than a bit of leg when I reached to align tins of Doctor Bruce
salve. I climbed down, dusted my hands, and turned to find his
bright eyes assessing me with a boldness that set me to blushing.
He tilted the sporty cap. “Afternoon, Ma’am.” His melodious
voice embraced me like a beautiful song.
Of course, I stuttered something dumb. “M-m-may I help you,
sir?” I might well have been an insipid high school girl, the way
my tongue stumbled and my skin flushed.
Gentleman that he was, he pretended to ignore my silliness.
Without taking his gaze from my face, he introduced himself.
“Leo Mackie.” He smiled. “I’m taking over Herman Smithers’
practice.”
Afraid to open my mouth again and add to my foolishness, I
simply smiled back at him. One of my better features was my
mouth, but only if I kept it shut.
When I didn’t say anything, he prodded. “And you’re . . . ?”
“Oh, yes, of course, Doctor Mackie, I’m Laura . . . um . . .
Cochran.” With held breath I waited for him to recognize the name
and go all cold on me, but he didn’t. Probably hadn’t heard the
stories yet.
“And are you related to Ralph Cochran who owns this fine
establishment?”
“I am. I’m his daughter.” I might only be a foster child,
but Papa was Papa in my mind and my heart. Rose Ann was another
story. I could barely call her Mama, and deep down never thought
of her in that way.
“Yes, certainly. I’ve heard good things from Doctor Smithers
about your father’s store. And his lovely daughter, too, I might
add.”
My legs fairly wobbled at the compliment. I managed a slight
grin and nod. He must have thought me daft.
He held out a folded slip of paper. “Might I leave a list
here of some additional medications I may need in my practice?”
The way he studied me, he could do just about anything he
pleased. Perhaps Anson had been gone too long, or maybe I needed
something to distract me. At any rate, this man captured my
interest more than any had since losing my beloved family. No
matter that I lectured myself about such tomfoolery, I was
smitten to the point I temporarily forgot about Mama’s plans for
my babies.
I took the list, but couldn’t stop staring at him. Nor he at
me, it seemed, for we stood there gazing deep into each other’s
eyes until the bell rang over the door.
“Well, I — ” I said, holding the slip of paper.
“Shall we — ?” he said at the same time.
We paused, stared at each other some more. I guess we’d be
standing there yet, had the door not slammed behind old Mrs.
Granger.
“Laura, that you?”
“Yes, Ma’am. What do you need?”
“Pa wants a pound of that horehound candy, and I broke my
last needle while mending his britches. I’ll swan, that man does
go through overhauls fast.”
The bell over the door signaled Doctor Mackie’s departure
while I fetched Mrs. Granger’s purchases. It was all I could do
not to drop everything and run after him.
Her curt question stopped me. “Was that our new doctor? My,
if he isn’t a nice looking fellow, though I’m not too sure how us
ladies of maturity will feel baring a limb to him.”
A giggle threatened to choke me, and I could barely reply.
“Yes, ma’am.” All control was lost with a vision of Mrs. Granger
baring any part of herself to any man, even Mr. Granger, and I
fell into gales of laughter.
“I dare say your mama won’t find it funny, young lady,” she
snapped, grabbed her parcel and stalked out.
Practically hysterical, I leaned on the counter. My belly
hurt, my shoulders shook and tears flowed. Every time I
straightened, wiped my eyes and tried to sober up, I’d think of
old Mrs. Granger and her bare limbs and off I’d go again. If
someone had walked in they’d have thought me fast going round the
bend. And perhaps I was.
After a while laughter turned to tears and I slid to the
floor behind the counter, sobbing into my hands. My life was
over. My husband gone. my babies dead. My Mama crazy as a loon
and my poor Papa helpless. How could I possibly hope to begin a
romance with anyone? Yet the new doctor’s gaze had awakened
feelings long gone cold.
But it would only be a matter of time before Doctor Mackie
found out about Mama and the glass coffins that would soon grace
our parlor. That twinkle in his eye would go out like coals
drenched in water, and he wouldn’t be able to run away fast
enough.
Reaching into my pocket for a tissue, my fingers closed over
the note the good doctor had given me. I’d better get his order
in. Drying my eyes, I stood at the counter and smoothed out the
paper. Written across the bottom were these strange words: Call
the County Health Department, and the telephone number.
Hmm. Could it be that Mama was breaking the law? Why else
would Doctor Mackie write that on this note? Did I dare call
them?
That evening, still of two minds about what to do, I walked
home through dusk’s long dark shadows. Dread held my heart in its
grip and I could scarcely breathe as I crept across the porch and
into the house. I would not, could not look at the babies in
their glass coffins, nor have Mama’s strange friends doing so
either. Once inside, I averted my eyes from the parlor, where a
dim light burned. Skirts rustled and I headed for the stairs.
“Laura? Is that you? You missed supper. I put a plate on the
warming shelf for you.”
Hand on the newel post, one foot on the stair, I barely
hawked out a reply. “I’m not hungry.”
“Nonsense.” She paused and I took another step. “Laura,
aren’t you going to come in and say hello to the children?”
Oh, God help me. A sob strangling me, I stumbled upstairs,
her voice chasing me into the darkness. Words I could not
understand for the ringing in my ears. Down the hallway to my
room, fumbling with the door; panting, slamming it behind me. I
would not do this. I could not.
The next morning, before the sun came over the mountains, I
packed a valise. While the town slumbered, I trudged down the
road to town and climbed the outside stairs to the apartment
above the store. Poor Papa had watched me from the doorway of the
house, his gaze boring into my back until I went out of sight.
That afternoon, with trembling fingers, I picked up the
telephone and asked the operator to connect me with the telephone
number Doctor Mackie had left.
The days passed and a weight of guilt rode me. I had
abandoned Papa and squealed on Mama. She would not be allowed to
continue this cruel and illegal action. A hundred times I wanted
to pick up the telephone and tell the kind lady at the health
department that I had made a mistake. But I didn’t.
Poor Papa came to the store each day and we worked together
but he never said a word about my leaving or about Mama and the
terrible situation. That only strengthened my guilt. What would
he do when he found out what I’d done? Worse, what would Mama do?
Doctor Mackie hadn’t been in once since that day we’d
connected so deeply. Of course, he wouldn’t. He knew about Mama,
so why would he want to see me? It was all over town about the
glass coffins in our parlor. I could see it in the eyes of our
customers, though no one approached me. It was not exactly a
subject to speak of.
Early one sunny morning about a week after I moved out of
the only home I’d known since childhood, I swept the boardwalk
out front while waiting for the day’s first customers. From the
store I could see the railroad station. The 8:30 train had pulled
in earlier and sat huffing steam while passengers climbed off and
others boarded. Old Mose dragged a bag of mail to the depot, and
behind him a well-dressed gentleman of some girth crossed toward
Lem Rooker’s surrey that waited to carry visitors to their
destination.
We in Cedar Springs were accustomed to strangers. The town
was a popular summer retreat for well-to-do city people, and the
hotels did a thriving business when temperatures climbed in the
Arkansas River Valley down south. Yet somehow I knew that this
man had come in reply to my telephone call. It wasn’t long before
my suspicions were confirmed.
Nosy old Mrs. Granger couldn’t wait to rush into the store
and tell me all about it.
“A visitor from the county health board. He’s from
Fayetteville. I hear he’s come about what your Mama has done.”
She nodded with a knowing frown. “And it isn’t any wonder. I hope
you don’t mind my saying so, child, but it’d do you well to do
something about your poor mother. The very idea. I’ve heard she
brushes their hair and puts bow ribbons in. Those are your
children.”
This old busybody ought to know that no one could do
anything about Rose Anne Cochran’s strange ways. I played it dumb
and let her continue.
She did so, leaning closer, lowering her voice. “They can’t
allow folks to keep the dead in their house. I wonder what your
mother must have been thinking.”
Oh, poor Papa. How embarrassing for him. What would he think
of me for doing such a terrible thing to Mama?
“He’s up to the new doc’s office now.”
My mind had flown awry. “Who? Papa?”
“Goodness no, child. The Health Inspector. They’re plotting
how to get those children out of your house and back in the
ground where the dead belong. How could you let her do that to
your very own babies, Laura?”
She wagged her head so hard her bun of silver hair fairly
danced loose.
A scream boiled into my throat. To keep it from escaping, I
clenched both fists against my thighs and bit my lip. Hard.
Wonder I didn’t draw blood.
After she glared at me some more, she shook herself like a
wet dog, turned and headed for the door, heels rapping on the
wood floor.
“Guess you didn’t want anything, then?” I muttered at her
back.
Miserable, I removed my work apron, marched to the front of
the store and hung the closed sign in the window before rushing
out. My skirts stirred dust as I trudged up the hill to the
house. More than time I confronted Mama, brought everything out
in the open.
Much as I’d hoped to arrive ahead of the doctor and health
inspector, they were standing on the porch when I stepped through
the gate and started up the path. Chin high, I spoke to Doctor
Mackie, then nodded toward the stranger with him. That coward,
Papa, was nowhere to be seen.
“Grant Sturgis,” he said. “County Health Department.”
“Laura?” Mackie said. “Is your mother home?”
His use of my first name in front of this man surprised but
pleased me. So did his kindly expression.
“She should be.” Heart knocking against my ribs I opened the
screen door.
My hand no more than touched the brass knob when Mama pulled
the door open from the other side. Brow furrowed, lips pursed
tight, she did not acknowledge me at all, but stared at Mr.
Sturgis and Leo with disdain. We were in for it now, but I’d had
more than enough and so waded into the fray before it ever really
got started.
“You might as well let these gentlemen in, Mama. This is Mr.
Sturgis from the health department and you know Doctor Mackie.
They are here about the coffins in the parlor.”
“And if I don’t?” She blocked the door with her generous
frame.
“Mama, it’s against the law. You have to let them put the
babies back in the ground.” The darkness of grief washed over me.
I swayed and reached out, for what I wasn’t sure, but it was Leo
Mackie who supported me with an arm about my waist.
He leaned close and whispered in my ear. “Steady there,
Laura. Everything will be all right. Leave this to us, won’t
you?”
Sturgis pushed his way past Mama. “Where are they?”
“You leave my house, now.” She hurried after Sturgis, and I
started to follow.
Leo caught up. “Laura, won’t you trust me to take care of
this for you and your mother? I’ll see neither of you get hurt.”
His words were like a balm to my soul, yet I protested. “But
I . . . it’s my responsibility. They’re my children.”
“Yes, and for that very reason you shouldn’t have to handle
it. I’m so sorry for what has happened to you.” He led me to a
settee in the entryway and guided me to sit.
For a moment I attempted one final protest. Then he lifted
my hand and kissed it, his lips soft and warm against my skin.
“Let me do this. Then perhaps you’ll do me the honor of stepping
out with me. I hear there’s a full moon tonight and the weather
promises to be balmy.”
He acted as if my half-crazy mother wasn’t inside arguing
her right to keep my children in the parlor in glass coffins. As
if I were a young, beautiful woman, and our life together was
just beginning. 
And indeed, perhaps it was.