Abediah Thornton

Chapter 8 - Monday

She opened the fridge. It was full. Mrs Stratton had been busy. Despite only knowing few people in town, the townsfolk had none the less rallied round Abediah. She suspected it would be 'good church women'. Anyway, she was set for food for the next month, although she'd have to freeze three quarters of it. She was grateful at least that Mrs Stratton had just brought the trays of food herself, rather than having deliveries from each of the individual ladies Abediah assumed must have cooked for her. She knew they were being kind. But it was a little hard to know the right thing to do. It didn't feel right accepting so much from people she'd never even met. She closed the fridge door on the offending food. Then opened it again to pull out a tray of lasagne. She cut herself a piece and popped it in the microwave.

Mrs Stratton had asked whether there would be a reception after the funeral. Abediah was quite shocked at the idea. Who would even come? She was fairly certain she was going to be alone with the choir and Pastor John in the church for Frank's funeral. She hadn't sent out any invitations, were they called death notices when it was a funeral? Or put anything in the paper, because who needed to know? She had been surprised by the arrival of Mr Goodman, not even knowing that Frank had enlisted the services of an attorney. Neither of them had grown up around here, so there weren't any school friends to tell. They were both so old that their parents and Frank's older brother were all gone.

She had thought fleetingly about putting a notice in the city newspaper. She supposed that Frank might have some friends left in the city who would want to attend. But she didn't know which was the right paper. She didn't even know where to look to find the names of the papers. Deciding it was all too much she resigned herself to it being a small gathering and left it at that. Mrs Stratton had seemed a little put out that there wouldn't be a reception. -It would be months before it would dawn on Abediah that all that food was probably cooked in anticipation of a big reception to feed.

Today Abediah was preparing for tomorrow. She'd spent the morning making sure she'd done as much as possible on the farm, so there would just be a feed in the morning to do before she had to leave. She'd ridden the 4x4 up to the top paddock again in the afternoon to check the bullocks were doing well. They were eating. They were all walking fine. They were fine.

Now she was sitting on her bed staring at her open wardrobe. Most of her clothes consisted of denim, t-shirts and hard wearing shirts. She was having trouble identifying appropriate funeral attire. She stood up and again riffled through the clothes, thinking that with one more sort she surely would be able to find something. Nothing. She sat back down. After a few more minutes she stood up again.

There was nothing for it. She would have to go into Frank's room. She had been avoiding his room, well, not just this week, she hadn't been in there for years! But she knew, in the fitted wardrobe in his room there were some of her old clothes left from years ago. Perhaps something in there might fit.

She pushed the door open. The smell of Frank rushed to meet her. His underwear drawer was open slightly. The shirt he had changed out of before leaving last week was still left on the bed. The room didn't look much different to the last time she'd been in there. They'd never decorated it since she'd moved into the spare room. She thought now that the frilly flowery curtains were quite inappropriate for a man's bedroom. Frank had never said anything though, and she had been too busy with the farm to think about it. She walked over to the wardrobe and slid the door back. The smell of Frank wafted over her again. It was strange that it would be such a particular smell. She loaded the laundry all in together. Why would his clothes smell of him, rather than the detergent?

She pushed his trousers out of the way. She felt a little guilty. It hadn't been so hard to come in here after all. She had thought it was impossible when, on Friday, the funeral director had asked her for some of Frank's clothes. In the end she'd dug some things out of the ironing basket. It wasn't like it was going to be an open casket. Surely he would be more comfortable in jeans and a shirt than a suit. More comfortable. She paused, staring at the dark blue suit in front of her.

She opened the suit and looked at the lining. Yes, she confirmed. It was the one he'd got married in. She'd got rid of her wedding gown years ago, why did he still have this? It wasn't like he'd fit into it anymore. Although she'd married quite a tall, svelte man, Frank had been growing a paunch over his waist band for years now. She ran her hand down the breast of the suit, remembering what it had felt like under her hand all those years ago. Perhaps the last time they'd been in a church together, she thought.

After a while she shook herself and pulled open another door at the opposite end of the wardrobe. There they were, her old dresses. She riffled through them, landing finally on a dark navy blue one, it was as close to black as she had. She took out the dress. It was over the knee. A curved collar at the neck. Short sleeves. She hoped it would still fit. Although she hadn't put on weight like her husband, the weight had moved over the years. No longer in her bust, it had travelled south.

She closed the wardrobe door, took another long look around the room and then left. There was no way she had the time or energy to set on and do anything about Frank's room today. She closed the door quietly behind her.

Back in her own room she slipped out of her dungarees and pulled the dress on over her head. Then she took it off again and unbuttoned and unzipped the top of the dress. She tried again. The dress fit, although a little snugly here and there, it did the job. She'd need shoes and stockings though. She found some black pumps with a small heel tucked at bottom the of the drawers in the wardrobe. She'd have to go out to find pantyhose.

Satisfied that she had found what needed to be found, Abediah hung the dress back in the centre of her wardrobe and placed the shoes in front of it on the floor. She pulled out a black raincoat and hung that next to the dress. The coat made it a bit more obvious that the dress was navy, if it came to it she'd do up the coat and hide the dress.

She turned and looked in the mirror. Her face looked back at her, her blue eyes now framed by skin lined with age. Her body hunched and smaller than she remembered it. Her shoulder length hair, always a little wild, long turned grey, was tucked behind her ears. It had no particular style, she tended to just take a pair of scissors to it whenever it felt too long. It'd be fine. She rose, put her dungarees back on and headed downstairs. She'd need to venture into town and hunt down some pantyhose.