<< Go Back

Love Covers

By Julia David

Order Now!

Greenlock, Ohio
L1866AUREN CAMPBELL BLEW out the single flicker of light and darkness enveloped her small upstairs room. Thankfully, death had given her the day off.
Resting her cheek on her cool pillow, she massaged her neck trying to remove the knots and kinks with her dry and cracked hands. She yawned. After working all week on Mrs. Wiggin’s funeral, her hands were paying the price of the harsh embalming solutions.
Today had brought some needed diversion. At least a day without funeral work enabled her to start the sweater for her father. The pattern wasn’t too difficult and knitting relaxed her, removing her mind and nose from the smell and sight of death. She pulled the covers close and rolled to her other side having memorized the late night sounds from Main Street, Greenlock by heart. Even on the second story of her father’s funeral home, she could hear the jangling sounds of poor piano playing coming from the bar down the street. Occasionally, a good argument broke out. Such simple entertainment—listening to people who had had too much to drink.
She flipped to her back and pulled her thick curly hair to the side, as she heard a wagon with two, maybe three horses.
Please just keep rolling by, please, oh please, she thought. “It’s late, and I’m tired,” she moaned softly, flipping to face the wall and pulling the covers tightly under her chin. She closed her tired, eyes and snuggled in.
1
The wagon slowly creaked and rattled closer, but then no one ever rushed to pull up to a funeral home; nothing much ever happened in Greenlock, Ohio. She pulled the covers tighter. I hope they just lost a dog or need the doctor.
The wagon stopped outside. Lauren rose up on one elbow, listening. Men’s voices, maybe two of them, floated up from the street.
They pounded on the front door.
She threw her legs out from under the warm covers, her feet hitting the cold floor. She rose to lean over her night table and pulled the curtain back. “What in the world? We are closed,” she muttered to the window, grinding her teeth.
Her father had started drinking by midafternoon. He’d barely touched his dinner of barley soup. He would be in no condition to take a business call. She peered through the shadowy night and saw what looked like three bodies in the back of the wagon.
“Please go away, please... they’ll still be dead in the morning, then my father can help,” she whined, rubbing her face. The large man at the door took out his pistol and banged its handle against the door.
“Mr. Campbell. It’s Sheriff Dodd. Can you open up?” He rapped on the door again. Another man cupped his hands, peering in their parlor window. Looking up, he unexpectedly saw her. Gasping, she clutched her gown’s collar and pulled back out of sight.
“For heavens sakes, this has to beat all.” She flipped her nightgown up and over her head and threw it on her bed. Finding her corset under the chair, she pulled it on jerking the strings into a bow. “Ouch.” She tried to adjust it, so it didn’t cut off the circulation in her chest. Fingering an opening in her stockings, she fed her toes in then attached her stockings above her knee. Seeing her petticoats rumpled in the corner, she rolled her eyes. Her brown dress and heavy apron would suffice.
“Laurie,” her father’s voice echoed up the short hallway. “Can you come down and help me?”
LOVE COVERS/8

9\Julia David
“I’m coming.” She called, shoving her toes into her shoes. Grabbing her thick, curly hair, she pulled and twisted it up on top of her head, shoving a few clips here and there.
“Laurie!”
“I said I’m coming.” She called, jogging down the stairs, tying the apron on around her waist.
Stopping in a huff at the parlor entrance, she noticed the sheriff, his deputy, and her father all looking at her.
“Miss Campbell.” The sheriff nodded. “Sorry for the late hour.”
Lauren looked down, not making eye contact with any of them.
“I was just telling your father we caught a lucky break tonight. We’ve been tracking this gang for months. These three lowlifes have been involved in selling illegal ammunition after they escaped from prison. They’re deserters from the Union forces.”
“Can you bring the wagon around the back alley?” Lauren motioned to them. Who cares who they were or what they had done, they’re dead now. She turned to go down the basement stairs, and the sheriff kept recalling the night of guns and glory as if her father would remember any of this in the morning.
She lit the lanterns in the morgue area, then jerked the heavy doors open so the wagon could fit down the ramp and unload the bodies. The sheriff and her father came down the basement stairs.
“Let’s put them on the ice table.” So I can try to get back to bed. She signaled to the wagon driver to stop. “Father, can you help me with the ice?” She glared at him waiting for him to acknowledge her, but his bloodshot eyes already conveyed his answer.
He pulled his old brown robe together at his chest. “I haven’t been feeling well.” He glanced at the sheriff.
“Forget it. I can do it.” She pulled the lid off a large thick steel box, letting it thud onto the dirt floor.
“Give me a minute, miss, and I can help ya.” The sheriff had already grabbed one of the men by the boots as the other lawman

carried him under the arms. Lauren grabbed her thick gloves—her hands had seen enough today and now this. She took the pick and stabbed at the large chunk of ice, as chips pecked her in the face. She stopped and grabbed the broken ice and slid it onto the tray under the table. Three stinking outlaws, this would take all night, she bit her bottom lip hard.
The younger deputy took the pick from her. “Here, I can do this.” Without looking at him, she flung the heavy gloves off.
Walking around the ice table, over to the desk, she grabbed her tablet and pencil. Dropping her chin, she shook her head. The sheriff was back telling her father detail by detail of the excitement of the night. Well, for Greenlock, it’s probably the excitement of the year.
“Excuse me—time of death?” She interrupted.
“Can you go ahead and pronounce them, Laurie?” Her father peeked around the animated sheriff’s large bulk.
Lauren pulled the clock up to the lantern light. She moved around the deputy who was helping load the ice chunks under the table. Glancing at the three bodies, she laid two fingers against the first one's neck. “Eleven forty.” Quickly she pressed her fingers against the second one’s blood-caked beard. “Eleven forty-one.” She moved around to the other side of the table and stopped.
She’d seen him before. What two, three months ago? That crazy hair, and fuzzy nest for a beard, how could she forget? Long twisted locks of hair pulled back with a leather strap. Half man, half animal. She could tell he was trouble. Good riddance. “Eleven forty-two.” She refused to touch him. This night, their blood-soaked, bullet-riddled bodies were fast burning away her good graces.
“I need their names to file the death certificate.” Lauren waited, but the sheriff still rambled on.
“I can get them for you.” The other lawman said. “The filing is five cents.” She scribbled on her tablet. “Okay.” He nodded
“Plain pine coffins?” She never looked up. “Those are a dollar.”
LOVE COVERS/10

11\Julia David
“Fine.”
“Gravediggers for three will cost ya about two dollars.”
“The county will pay.”
“Headstone or plain wood cross?”
“I suppose plain.”
Still scribbling notes, “Expect anyone is coming for the deceased? Or just bury them in the pauper cemetery?”
“Ahh...”
“These clothes or new?”
“Ahh... Sheriff? The skinny young deputy frowned.
The Sheriff finally turned and joined the conversation. “Yeah, just bury them in the indigent area behind the Catholic church. The priest can do some last rites or whatever.”
“Those are before you are dead.” Lauren grumbled into her tablet.
“Wait.” The sheriff stepped toward her. “I want them photographed.”
Lauren wilted. “There are two camera boxes in town.” She pointed out. “The Land Improvement Office has one, but I understand it’s always out. And Mr. and Mrs. Waxner have the other one.”
“I know the Waxners.” The sheriff nodded. “I’ll ask them tomorrow.”
“We’ll have the coffins ready, the diggers digging and I will check with the priest. Without new clothes that comes to six dollars.”
“Send the bill to the county.”
“And you will have Mr. Waxner here tomorrow. They need to be in the ground by day two.” Lauren handed the sheriff her tablet. “Please sign here.”
The sheriff signed and gestured to the other man to quit chipping the ice and get the wagon out. He turned and patted her father on the back. “So sorry to hear you are under the weather, Mr. Campbell. Good thing your girl knows this mortuary job.

She’s a rare one.” He nodded to Lauren as they climbed the basement stairs.
Lauren clenched her jaw, pursuing her lips in a line. Rare one? Hardly. More like abnormal one. She came up behind them and opened the parlor door for the sheriff. She knew she should be polite and thank him for protecting the little town of Greenlock. Maybe bid him a restful evening. But no matter how she tried, goodwill would not rise past her anger. It was late, and she was tired. Mrs. Wiggin’s family had insisted on everything under the sky and now this.
The sheriff let himself out and reached up to jump up on the bench of the blood-soaked wagon. She let out a long sigh and closed the door. Her father started up the stairs, shoulders slumped, his robe belt trailing loose behind him.
“Can you catch the lanterns in the basement, Laurie? Oh, and we forgot to ask if they’d already gathered their valuables. That too, huh?” He didn’t turn to see the daggers in her eyes as he closed the door to his room.

Order Now!

<< Go Back