Mysterious Mary

For Mary. May we forever show our love for others.

Mary, the sweet, elderly lady who sat in front of my Mother and Father at church. I vividly remember her, standing a little under five feet tall, weighing a hundred pounds max, wearing huge framed glasses, which she constantly pushed up onto the bridge of her nose. She had a gentle look about her. Her smile, a perfectly straight set of pearly white dentures, brightened a room the moment she approached it. And she always smelled of peppermint, which I always assumed to be the shampoo she used on her short, gray, curly hair. I knew very little about her, except that her husband George had died of cancer several years earlier, and that her wardrobe consisted mostly of jackets and dresses with very large shoulder pads. 

Every Sunday morning, as my mother rushed me to my seat, Mary sat waiting to give us hard, pink candy wrapped in red and green plastic. When the choir sang, Mary would close her eyes, lift her arms up and place her hands above her head. Sometimes my Mother caught me staring at her and would chastise me for it afterwards, claiming it was impolite to stare. I was, after all, nine years old, so I should have known better. I couldn't help myself, though. She was such a mystery to me. 

I can recall asking my Father many times about Mary, which took place mostly during Sunday supper at Jimmy's Chicken. One supper still stands out to me. I had been sitting across from my Father at the table. The waitress had just taken our order of fried chicken, peas, and mashed potatoes. I was fidgeting in my seat, palms sweaty, mouth dry, anticipating asking my Father what I had been rehearsing in my head all afternoon, when suddenly a tidal wave of disappointment rushed over me. My Nanny and Papa were walking across the dining room, heading directly for our table. My opportunity to ask questions about Mary instantly vanished like a popped soap bubble.

"Mama, Daddy sit, sit." Father said as he stood up out of respect for his Mother.

My Papa pulled out my Nanny's chair for her. She sat, slowly tucking her lace dress under her bottom. My father sat, glancing in my direction, signaling with his eyes for me to move down a seat and allow my Papa my chair. I did so quickly and silently. 

"Well, I must say, that was a great sermon this morning. God's grace is something we do not deserve." Papa said as he sat down in what had, moments ago, been my seat. I looked over at my six-year-old sister, Jamie, and made a funny face, as if to let her know that this was going to be another boring conversation among the adults. She giggled and mouthed the words, blah, blah, blah, and then returned to her coloring sheet. 

"Yes, Dad, it was a good sermon. The choir was good as well."

"Yep, yep. Sure was." Papa paused for a moment, as if he was thinking about what to say next. "So, we got stuck in a little traffic as we left church."

"Oh yeah? Where about?" Father asked as he looked at Jamie, who had just dropped her color crayons on the floor. I left my chair to squat under the table to help her pick them up.

"The church parking lot exit. We were right behind the car that got hit. The lady was turning out of church and onto the main road when she was t-boned in the driver's door. Looked like Mary." Just then, I bumped my head hard on the bottom of the table. Quickly, I gathered up the last few crayons from the floor and returned to my seat to focus on the adult conversation that suddenly was not as boring as I had expected.

"You don't say?" Father said, sipping his sweet tea. "Was it a tan Buick?"

"Honey, was it a tan Buick that got hit?" He asked Nanny. My Papa, being color blind, had always depended on Nanny to identify colors for him.

"Yes dear, I believe so." 

"Oh no, that must have been Mary." Mother said with a look of concern on her face.

"When we get home, I'll call Brother Ben and ask him. Don't worry Darling, it may not have been her." Father stated to Mother as he rubbed her hand in his.

Just then, our food arrived. Papa said grace and asked that the Lord bless those and watch over those involved in the car accident. When he finished praying, Nanny and Mother began making plates. Once Papa received his plate, then everyone began eating. Silence fell over the table for several moments as everyone got down their first few bites of food. Jamie took advantage of the silence and perceived it as her turn to speak. 

"Mommy? Is Ms. Mary going to be at church next Sunday? She promised me an extra piece of candy next week. She said I deserved it for singing so good today."It was then that I realized Jamie was unintentionally making a good point. Would Mary be at church the following Sunday? Would we ever see her sweet smile again or hear her singing praises to Jesus? Would I ever hug her again or catch a whiff of her peppermint, shampooed hair? 

"I don't know, sweetie. Eat your peas."

The following Sunday, I hurried to my seat in church, several steps ahead of Mother. The pianist was playing Amazing Grace as the preacher, Brother Ben, took his usual spot in the front pew. My Mother sat down, but I continued standing as I scanned the auditorium for Mary. 

"Sit down." Mother instructed me. I did so, but only after leaning over the pew to see that Mary's Bible and purse were not where they should have been.

"Mama." I whispered with tears in my eyes. Mother looked down at me, a sad expression on her face. "Is she?"

"I'm sorry, baby. She's with Jesus now." 

Brother Ben stood and walked to the stage. The pianist was just finishing the last verse of Amazing Grace as Brother Ben approached the microphone. After the song was over, the pianist quietly closed the fallboard of the piano. Brother Ben gazed steadily at the congregation before speaking. 

"Brothers and sisters in Christ, I have some very sad and devastating news to share with you all today. Our dear, sweet Sister Mary joined the Lord last Sunday following the morning church service. They have asked me to share, with you all, Sister Mary's funeral arrangements. The viewing will take place at five, Tuesday evening, at Schwend Family Funeral Home. You can find the information posted on our informational bulletin boards throughout the Sunday school building and the front halls of the auditorium." Brother Ben cleared his throat, then took a few sips of water from his Zephyrhills bottle.

"Also, we need some volunteers this Saturday morning to pack some of Mary's things, which she donated to the church charity auction following her passing. Some of you know how detailed Mary was about putting her affairs in order. Following the service today, Sister Mable and Sister Cindy have something from Mary to give each of our kiddos, so parents, if you would, please stop and see the ladies before you leave today. Let us pray before we begin our song and worship."

I must have zoned out during the prayer, worship, and sermon, because Mother nudged me several times as I stared off ahead, my expression likely giving away that I was deep in thought. Never once did I open my Bible or join in singing hymns. I felt a little disappointed that God had allowed Mary to die, especially because she had just been worshiping him only minutes before her death. 

The wheels in my mind turned, recalling the wonderful things Mary had done for others. When I was eight, she fitted and made every costume for the children's choir. I played the star, Jonah, and got to sit inside a giant cardboard whale. Mary made me a special ribbon for my costume. She told me none of the other kids had a ribbon on their costume, but I was the star and needed something extra. She always had a way of making people, especially children, feel special.

Every year, when mine and Jamie's birthdays came, she never forgot about either of us. She bought us pop up birthday cards that told a cute fairy tale or played a song. On my seventh birthday, she got me a card that had several full size paper dolls, each with glittery outfits. That card was stored away in my memory box for safekeeping. 

When summer break ended and another school year began, she'd make me a colorful, fabric pencil case. Every year I looked forward to a new, custom-made pencil case. Sometimes the case had my name on it, other times there were stars or animals on it. My favorite one had been the case with the baby pigs on it. The pigs were pink and purple, and though I had never in my life actually seen a purple pig, I was convinced that they existed because they were on my pencil case.

As Christmas approached, Mary would bring my family treats. Father loved banana pudding, especially Mary's, while Mother enjoyed her homemade chocolate bonbons. She always gave Jamie and I candy canes and taffy. 

One Christmas Eve, following the church Christmas play, Father allowed Jamie a piece of that taffy. I watched her as she struggled to unwrap it. She then popped it into her mouth, and immediately spit it out and onto the church parking lot pavement. 

"You don't like the flavor?" I asked her.

"It still has paper on it. I don't wanna eat paper."

"You didn't have to spit it out like that. I could have gotten the paper off for you." I never seen her pick the taffy back up off the pavement, but I heard her scream for Father.

"Daddy!" she wailed at the top of her lungs. "My teeth, my teeth!" 

Father came rushing to her side, only to discover that she had picked the taffy up, peeled the remaining paper from it, and put it back into her mouth, causing her to get sand on her tongue. She panicked when she crunched down on the sand, convinced that she had broken her teeth.

By the time the sermon ended, I had almost forgotten that us kids were going to be given something from Mary. My Father approached Sister Cindy, who handed him two small, pink bags. 

"Say thank you." He instructed me.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome dear. Always remember that you are loved." Sister Cindy replied.

After Father started the car and Mother announced we were all strapped into our seat belts, they gave Jamie her bag. 

"Mommy! Ms. Mary remembered! Oh, I just love her so much!" Jamie squealed. There, in her bag, were several pink candies wrapped in green and red plastic.

When Tuesday arrived, a blanket of dread washed over me. I had chosen my prettiest dress, a white, knee-length with gold trim at the collar, and matching white shoes, for Mary's viewing. I had just laid it on my bed to admire it when I heard a knock at the front door.

"Rebecca. Hi dear, come on in." Mother said. Rebecca had been our babysitter ever since I could remember. She was still in school, but was old enough to drive. She made a great grilled cheese and let us watch The Simpsons, so I really liked her. 

"So bedtime is still the usual time. There's hotdogs in the fridge, if you would like to boil them for the girls. Eat whatever you'd like. I think there's still some frozen wings and pizza rolls in the freezer. Oh, and Jamie has been obsessing over Grimm's Fairy Tales, so please read one to her when you put her to bed." Just then, Mother realized I was in the room. 

"Honey, go take that dress off."

"Why, it's my nicest dress? And I want to look nice for the viewing."

"You're not going to the viewing. Your father won't allow it. Now go." 

I hung my head, my heart breaking with every step as I made my way back to my room. I honestly thought I could have went to pay my final respects to Mary. I supposed Father assumed that viewings of the deceased were only for adults. 

The following Saturday, Father woke me up early and instructed me to get dressed and be ready by eight in order to help Mother sort through and organize Mary's things for donation. I was ready and in the car with Father at five minutes' til eight. Shortly after, Mother and Jamie got in as well. On the drive over to Mary's house, Jamie softly cried because she knew Mary wouldn't be there. Father ended up dropping Mother and me off and returning home with Jamie.

When we entered Mary's home, we were greeted by Sister Cindy and her twelve-year-old Granddaughter Marcy, who sat crossed legged in the kitchen entrance, surrounded by tea cups. I heard Sister Mable laughing in the room at the end of the hall. I removed my shoes at the front door and made my way towards the laughter. There sat Sister Mable, on what I assumed to be Mary's bed, laughing as she went through a small box of Polaroid pictures. 

"Oh, hi dear. Come in, come in." She said, as she motioned with her hand for me to enter the room. "Sit." She said, patting the spot on the bed beside her. "Look at these. These are pictures of our ladies retreat almost ten years ago. That's your Mom with an orange peel in her mouth, and that's Sister Mary laughing at her." 

"Who is this?" I asked, pointing to a very old picture of a beautiful young woman and a very handsome little boy who was perhaps two or three years old. The two were standing outside in tall grass, a now classic Ford truck parked next to a barn in the background. The woman squatting next to the boy, who held a big green ball in his little hands. She was kissing him on the cheek, and he was smiling.

"Oh, that's David, Mary's only child. He died when he was about four or five years old. Ran out into the street to get his ball and was hit by a car." 

"That's so sad. I bet Ms. Mary was so devastated."

"Yes, but she never gave up her faith. She continued attending church and remained brave for George. Shortly after the accident, they moved here. Figured a change of scenery would help them, but the two still grieved the loss of David."

"Man, I feel so bad for her."

"Oh, don't. She wouldn't have wanted pity. She only ever wanted to see the church children smiling. I think aside from her faith, you kids is what kept her going. She took the love she would have been giving David and gave it to you all."

"Hey sweetie, come in here and help me box these blankets." Mother said as she stood in the doorway of the bedroom.

"Yes Mam, Mama."

Laying in bed that evening, the covers pulled up to my chin and my favorite stuffed animal beside me, I thought about what Sister Mable had said about Mary giving her love to other children, including myself. I had viewed Mary as somewhat of a stranger, yet she viewed me and my family as people who she loved. I suppose we loved her too, especially now that she had died. I missed her dearly.

This past Sunday, as I walked into the church that my Husband and I recently joined, I noticed an elderly woman standing outside of one of the nursery doors. A little boy, wearing a blue collared shirt with a yellow duck embroidered on the shirt pocket, stood beside her.

"Come Seth, it's time to paint a new picture." She said softly to the boy. Seth reached up for her hand, but she picked him up instead. Seth giggled. Seth then started running his fingers through her hair as he watched me watching them. This made me think of Mary and the impact she had unknowingly had upon my life. I had been reminded, at that moment, of the love she had given me. Then I wondered if this woman would someday be Seth's Mysterious Mary, a stranger he trusted, yet a person he would love and miss once when she was gone.