Nobody could remember ever hearing Dear Old Clara say a single word. She was like a little humpbacked shadow who got up every morning, got dressed, then came to sit silently on her tall stool in the corner beside the kitchen stove, where she stayed all day long.
She was one of the six old women my Gran and I took care of in the big old rambling white house where I grew up. The others were mostly bedridden, but Clara got around all right, slowly but surely. She just didn't seem to like people very much at all, and if I got too close, or tried to touch her, she'd give out this furious little yelp and pull away. I soon learned to bring her her morning oatmeal and toast and just sit it on the stove beside her without saying a word. When I'd ask Gran why Clara didn't talk, she just said she supposed it was because she didn't have anything to say worth saying.
So we all simply lived around Clara, and left her alone, as she clearly wished us to. The days were very busy with lots of work that needed to be done, because Gran not only took care of six old ladies, five of who wet their beds, she also ran a room and board set up for the "roomers" who live in the upstairs rooms. This meant cleaning cooking for 8 to 10 people every day, doing all the cleaning in that huge house, plus endless loads of laundry done with a wringer washer, two rinse tubs, and drying the clothes outdoors or on lines in the basement. Then, because in Grans world things had to be done right, every piece of linen had to be starched and pressed on the big mangle. I was the only helper Gran had, so by six years of age I was pretty good at helping her with the old ladies and all the rest of the work.
We did worry abut Clara on Sundays, however, because suddenly she became determined to go to church, no matter what shape she was in. Hardly ever did she go to the same church more than two or three times. Word got back to us that she'd sit quietly through services two or three times, then suddenly would get visibly upset, start yelping, and run right out the door, never to be seen there again! But the next Sunday, rain or shine, winter or summer, off she'd go searching again, and there was just no stopping her. Or getting her to tell us what was going on. I remember Gran had to intervene twice, because Clara was giving away all of her money to the churches and keeping none for herself.
It was the middle of a very cold winter when she discovered the Baptist Church, which was a very long walk from our house, and there she stayed. We had no way of knowing that in that particular church, they baptized new members via total immersion. All we knew was one Sunday Clara came home with her hair frozen to her skull, shivering like she would shake into pieces! Took us forever to warm her up.
Within a day or two, she was coughing and running a fever but firmly refusing any attempts made to take her to the doctor, or even allowing the doctor to come to the house to see her. She just wanted to sit on her stool and be left alone, period.
It was lunchtime. My job was to dish up Clara's lunch and bring it to her on her perch on the stool. The first thing I noticed was that her bowl of oatmeal from breakfast was sitting there untouched. The second thing I noticed was that she seemed to be staring off into space without even blinking. The third thing I noticed was that she wasn't breathing anymore.
It was all more than my seven year old self could process, so I just went and sat down at the table to watch in case she fell off her stool. But she was well supported by the stove on one side and the wall of the other. I thought maybe she was just resting, and would start breathing again pretty soon.
Soon, Gran and all the roomers came to the table and began eating lunch. Clara didn't look any different than she ever did, really, so no one seem to notice anything wrong. We had this rule that no one could ever talk about bad things at the table, so I kept my mouth shut, and kept one watchful eye on Clara till lunch was over. By this time, I'd given up on the idea she was just resting, so I told Gran I thought Clara had gone away. I just couldn't understand how a dead person could look so alive.
My Gran, ever so strong and calm in her strong Catholic faith, handled it from there amidst prayers for Clara soul. The undertaker came and took Clara away, and we began planning her funeral. She had no living relatives, we were her only family.
Then we get a call from the undertaker. There was a problem. A big problem. They had no casket roomy enough to accomodate the huge hump on Clara's back, and still allow the lid to close.
Right then and there, my awesomely dignified, calm, devoutly Catholic, always serious and solemn Gran just... lost it! Never before or after that did I ever hear her belly laugh that long and laugh so hard that the tears were streaming down her face.. "I TOLD her..(gasp, choke, laugh)..to stay AWAY FROM THOSE BAPTISTS!" which made everyone else in the room totally lose it too!
I know I must have gone to Clara's real funeral, but I don't remember a thing about that. I just remember that whole room full of laughter in honor of our Dear Old Clara. And how for all of us, she really never left that stool by the kitchen stove.