"Now you go to sleep," ordered Millie. "You can tell me the rest some
other time."
That evening as Millie sat on a low rocker by the bedside, the dim
flare of an oil lamp flickering on the faces of the two women, Aunt
Rebecca told more of the things she was so eager to detail while
strength lasted.
"Jonas always thought that if I lived longest half of what I have
should go back to the Miller people, his side of the family. But I tell
you, Millie, none of them ever come to see me except one or two who
come just for the money. They was wishin' long a'ready I'd die and
they'd get it. But Jonas didn't put that in the will. He left me
everything and he did say once I could do with it what I want. So I
made a will and I'm givin' them Millers five thousand dollars in all
and the rest--well, you'll find out what I done with the rest after I'm
gone. I never had much good out my money and I'm havin' a lot of
pleasure lyin' here and thinkin' what some people will do with what I
leave them in my will. I had a lot of good that way a'ready since I'm
sick. People will have something to talk about once when I die."
And so the sick woman rambled on, while Millie thought the fever caused
the strange words and paid little attention to their import. But,
several weeks later, when the querulous old woman closed her eyes in
her long, last sleep, Millie, who had nursed her so faithfully,
remembered each detail of the funeral as Aunt Rebecca had told her and
saw to it that every one was carried out.
According to her wishes, Aunt Rebecca was robed in white for burial.
The cashmere dress was fashioned, of course, after the garb she had
worn so many years, and was complete with apron, pointed cape, all in
white. Her hair was parted and folded under a white cap as it had been
in her lifetime. She looked peaceful and happy as she lay in the parlor
of her little home in Landisville. A smile seemed to have fixed itself
about her lips as though the pleasant thoughts her will had occasioned
lingered with her to the very last.
She had stipulated that short services be held at the house, then the
body taken to the church and a public service held and after interment
in the old Mennonite graveyard at Landisville, a public dinner to be
served in the basement of the meeting-house, as is frequently the
custom in that community.
The service of the burial of the dead is considered by the plain sects
as a sacred obligation to attend whenever possible. Relatives, friends,
and members of the deceased's religious sect, drive many miles to pay
their last respects to departed ones. The innate hospitality of the
Pennsylvania Dutch calls for the serving of a light lunch after the
funeral. Relatives, friends, who have come from a distance or live
close by, and all others who wish to partake of it, are welcomed.
Therefore most meeting-houses of the plain sects have their basements
fitted with long tables and benches, a generous supply of china and
cutlery, a stove big enough for making many quarts of coffee. And after
the burial willing hands prepare the food and many take advantage of
the proffered hospitality and file to the long tables, where bread,
cheese, cold meat, coffee and sometimes beets and pie, await them. This
was an important portion of what Aunt Rebecca called a "nice funeral,"
and it was given to her.