Swain Clatchee Bids Farewell to Two Friends

by Charles C. Cole

Swain Clatchee stepped outside into bright spring sunshine and instantly felt happier than he had in months. Winter had been long and aggressive and dark. Finally, snow was in retreat: pushed back to the shadow-filled north sides of buildings, it was melting and dripping from the stubborn gray mounds on the sides of the driveway.

For too long, the isolated valley had felt undefended, underprepared and under assault. The bitter cold and treacherous roads had claimed two of their own. Ike Noonan, voice of a generation, had apparently slipped and fallen between his car and his porch, unable to get up. Also lost was Luke Doolittle, full-time farmer and part-time snowplow driver, whose truck had gone straight where the road made a sharp turn.

Swain walked the three blocks to the community cemetery, heart heavy and thinking of the best words to say goodbye to two old friends. Though not a cleric by profession, in this tiny hamlet Swain was the go-to lay minister for all things spiritual. Honestly, it wasn’t what he said — he often said very little — but his gentle and reassuring comportment was a soulful salve.

Dolby’s Funeral Home in Lanford had prepared the bodies soon after they were recovered, but Ike and Luke had “lain in state” for many weeks until the ground finally thawed. Such was one of the expectations of rural country life.

Swain, dressed in a dark suit, walked around the stone wall and through the wrought-iron gate, without pause. A black SUV was parked by the open graves. There were no flowers to be seen, not a surprise for two men who had lived their lives in simple dignity. The funeral home director and his brother nodded “professionally” as Swain approached.

The attendance was small but passionate. Luke’s wife was still bedridden, as she had been since the day of the accident. Ike had outlived all of his still-local family and most of his peers. Doc Buckle and his long-time partner Miss Mamie held tight to one another from matching folding chairs. Two chums, Sid Sutter and Burt Walz, looked tired and pale. Farmer Elmer Whitten squatted beside his Australian shepherd, Prince, no doubt whispering reassurances.

Swain shook everyone’s hand, slowly and patiently, looking into their eyes as he did so. Elmer stood to greet him.

Swain stepped before the group, taking in the moment before beginning. “Thank you all for coming. I’m sure Luke and Ike are arguing over who you’re really here for.” There was a chuckle. “I want to apologize for being the last to arrive. That was not by my design. But, as I tied my shoes, the laces broke, both of them. So, either I don’t know my own strength, or some greater force was strongly suggesting I take my time. Maybe our guests of honor didn’t want you to rush off.”

A barking crow flew overhead, and Prince gave it a surprising greeting. Elmer hushed him: “Down.” Obediently, Prince went into a prone position at his master’s feet. “Sorry, Swain. He’s a disciplined dog. Just never liked crows.”

“I’ll be brief,” said Swain. “You can stay after the service with your thoughts if you want or go home and get warm.”

“Or stop by my place for pie and coffee,” announced Miss Mamie. Doc gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “It’s close by, and I’m testing a new recipe.”

Swain cleared his throat. “The truth of the matter is: I’m better one on one. I don’t go for fancy ceremonies. We all know that I don’t have a degree in theology, just a calling, maybe more of a whisper.”

“You’re what we’ve got,” said Burt, “and I’ve never heard one word of complaint from anyone.” There was a general murmur of agreement.

“My toes are getting cold,” said Sid. “No offense, Swain.”

“Another sign,” joked Swain. “More prosaic perhaps.” Swain held his hands together, open palm to open palm. “If everyone could please stand.” They did. “Lord, we gather together this early spring day to wish our friends, Ike Noonan and Luke Doolittle, bon voyage as they travel from this world to the next.

“We don’t ask that they receive any special treatment, just a couple of seats at your bountiful table. Ike and Luke were good people and generous friends. Our neighborhood is measurably smaller without them. They will remain in our hearts and minds for many days and weeks to come.

“Ike and Luke, if it’s not too much trouble, say nice things about those you’ve left behind. We’ll join you eventually, and I, for one, am relieved to know there will be familiar faces to welcome us when we make the final journey. Be well, gentlemen. Amen.”

There was a chorus of well-meaning mumbles.

“Everybody,” finished Swain, “please disperse in an orderly fashion. Sounds like we’ll see one another at Miss Mamie’s.”

“Is Prince invited?” asked Elmer.

“Miss Mamie, is Prince invited?” asked Swain.

“Friends and family,” said Miss Mamie. “That includes Prince.”

After everyone had left and Swain, alone, had said a silent, more formal prayer, Swain turned to the Dolby brothers, Thomas and Henry. “Thanks, fellas, for doing the heavy lifting. I’m sure glad the ground was thawed.”

“Swain,” said Thomas, “I know it was a small event, but I’ve seen a lot bigger with a lot less heart, if anybody’s wondering. You can tell them I said so.”

“The only people who might be concerned are the ones watching over us. And now they know.”

Swain walked to Miss Mamie’s. Pie and coffee with old friends sounded like a perfect diversion.