only building in town that could have comfortably accommodated everyone.
Each pew of the church was packed with mourners. Hundreds of folks who couldn’t get seats crowded the outer aisles, leaning against the white plaster walls. Small clusters of people who weren’t able to squeeze inside the church stuck their heads into the opened side doors of the sanctuary, amen-ing Reverend Peterson’s homily and bobbing their heads to the music along with those of us on the inside.
Denise, Jimmy, and Eric sat in the row behind their father and me. Without having to be asked, all three of our kids had arrived that morning to comfort James and to pay their respects to the man who was the only grandfather they’d ever really known, since my father passed when they were still little. They’d traveled to Plainview from their homes in Illinois, California, and Washington to be with us, and I was happy and proud that they’d come.
Although the Calvary Baptist approach to faith was a bit hard-assed for my taste, I was glad the service was there. For my money, that church is the prettiest in town. Calvary is only half the size of First Baptist, but it has a dozen beautiful stained-glass windows, each one portraying the life of an apostle. The windows extend from the floor all the way up to the vaulted ceiling and, when sunlight hits the glass, a rainbow is projected through the sanctuary onto a mural of the Crucifixion on the wall behind the baptismal pool.
The highlight of the mural is the sexiest picture of Jesus you’ve ever seen. He has high cheekbones and curly jet-black hair. His bronzed, outstretched arms bulge with muscles and He has the firm stomach of a Brazilian underwear model. His mouth seems to be blowing kisses to the congregation and His crown of thorns is tilted so He has a Frank Sinatra cool about Him. It all comes together in a way that makes you wonder if Jesus is about to ask you to join the church or to run outside for a game of beach volleyball with Him and a dozen of His hot biblical friends.
At Little Earl’s request, Clarice played two pieces on the piano after Reverend Peterson’s eulogy. One was an arrangement of “His Eye Is on the Sparrow,” and the other was a piece that the program identified as a Brahms intermezzo. Both were lovely, but she had everyone in the church crying their eyes out at the end of the Brahms.
Clarice is one hell of a piano player. Beyond turning on the stereo, music has never been my thing, but even I can hear that something special happens when Clarice sits down at the piano.
When we were kids, we all thought she was going to be famous. She won contests and got to play with the Indianapolis Symphony and the Louisville Symphony while she was still in high school. Conservatories across the country offered her full scholarships, but she stayed in Plainview because of Richmond. He repaid her by breaking her heart. He joined the NFL and left her behind without so much as a goodbye. Then, right after Clarice made plans to move to New York and launch her career, Richmond was back in town with a crushed ankle and no future in football. He swore his never-ending love for her and begged for forgiveness and nursing. The following year she was his wife, and ten months after the wedding she gave birth to their first child. Not long after that, the other children came and Clarice began her career as a local piano teacher.
Staying in Plainview and giving up on the future we’d all expected her to have was Clarice’s choice. It wasn’t some crime committed against her by her husband. And I never once heard her complain that she felt she’d missed out on anything. But as I watched my friend at the piano rocking to an internal beat below steamy Jesus, I couldn’t help but think that we were all getting a peek at a great treasure Richmond Baker had selfishly snatched from the world to keep as his own.
Three of Clarice and Richmond’s four children sat alongside mine. Like my kids, Carolyn, Ricky, and Abe had also come long distances. Only Carl, Carolyn’s twin, didn’t make an appearance, in spite of the fact that his wife, who he had told he would be in Plainview for the week, had called Clarice’s house several times that morning trying to