THE BURIAL OF JULIETTE

It was Sunday afternoon in early autumn. With a series of rattles and bangs, the Model-T-Ford pulled into the yard and stopped.

“Somebody’s coming!” Jenny shouted, in great excitement.

Margaret jumped up and looked. “Oh goody!” It’s Aunt Catherine and Uncle Clarence and Betty Elaine and the baby.”

Daddy and Mother hurried to the door and went outside, welcoming the “company” congenially with, “Well, get on out and come in. Haven’t seen you in a coon’s age.”

“The baby was fussy and we decided to drive around. It sometimes puts him to sleep. and it did today. We need a little rest from the crying. I said to Clarence, ‘Let’s stop in and see Mae and Warren.’ We can’t stay long.’

For a while, everyone talked at once. Margaret grabbed Betty Elaine’s hand and said, “Come on, let’s go play.” Jenny followed, in happy anticipation. Betty Elaine was six, two years older than Jenny and two years younger than Margaret. The three children frolicked around in the yard. Margaret stopped suddenly with the suggestion, “I know what. Let’s go bury Juliette.”

Okay,” said Jenny.

“Who’s Juliette?” Betty Elaine wanted to know.

“Oh, she’s a ole doll and we have funerals for her and bury her,” Margaret explained.

When Jenny was three and Margaret seven, Margaret had received for Christmas, Bobby Ann, wearing a blue organdy dress and Jenny had received Juliette, wearing an orange organdy dress. Bobby Ann received the most careful attention from her cautious “mother,” but alas for Juliette! Jenny had washed her and dropped her and given her so much attention that the poor thing “gave up the ghost” and died. Her legs and arms had come off and most of the “skin” too, so that she looked like cardboard. Margaret thought they should give her a decent burial and it proved to be so much fun that they would dig her up and bury her again and again, choosing various gravesites. Todays burial site was to be in the soft ground between the outdoor toilet and the clothesline.

“I’ll be the preacher an Betty Elaine, you can dig the grave,” commanded Margaret, handing her a large broken spoon.”

“I want to dig too,” said Jenny..

“No, you’re her mother,so you don’t dig. You just stand there and feel bad. Play like you’ve got a hanky up to your face and act like you’re crying.”

Margaret proceeded to read Juliette’s obituary in a mournful tone, and Betty Elaine dug furiously, letting the dirt fly on both preacher and mourner. Sounds of discontent issued forth from Jenny.

“Why can’t I dig? I got to do the digging last time.”

“You get out. I’m digging,” said Betty Elaine and shoved Jenny out of the way and placed Juliette in her grave.

“Ashes to ashes and dust to dust,” Margaret intoned prayerfully. “There was never a woman a man could trust. “

It was Daddy’s version of “Dust thou art----------------,” which Margaret had accepted as being appropriate for the best of funerals.

Jenny was close to tears. “I’m going to tell on you.”

“Tattle tale,” came from Margaret.

“Cry baby,” from Betty Elaine. “has to go tell Mama.”

Jenny went into the house with rivulets of tears streaming down her dirty face.

“They’re burying my doll and they won’t let me dig,” Jenny sobbingly informed the Mothers.

Aunt Catherine went to the door and called, “Now Betty ‘Laine, you just behave yourself or you can come right into the house and sit on a chair. Do you hear me?”

“Aw, we were just playin.’”