Ranting Cassandra

Gladys Berglund was methodical, quiet, and observant. Florence Gustafson was not. She worked fast and hard but talked even more.

“Did you see Edna’s red dress? New and obviously NOT from Goodwill.”

“You mean Erma’s,” Gladys corrected.

“Right, what was I thinking? Those two look so much alike I always get... or is it got now? Oh Lord, I don’t know. Anyways.”

Florence’s stream-of-consciousness conversation would flow all afternoon. Still, Gladys was happy to have her here. The ham sandwiches would not make themselves, after all.

“I always got them confused, especially since it weren’t the threadbare green or blue I am used to seeing. Well, green mostly. That was the color Virgil’s wife always wore, before, well, before last month. Then it was just black.”

“The same way she always takes her coffee,” Gladys observed.

Erma had only four loves in her life: Christ, Virgil, Edna, and, way back in seventh grade, when she was still one of the Carlson twins, Stanley Nelson. Stan grew up to be quite the cad. Gladys remembered he broke Edna’s heart in their early twenties, calling off their wedding and confessing to really loving Erma.

“A person might have guessed Virgil’s favorite color was green, on account that his wife always wore it, but can you believe how much money he amassed? Did Edna live with them? I wonder why Edna didn’t come to church more often. I know she was a member, because every January I saw her giving envelopes on the table, then Erma ended up bringing them to her. Well, cuz Christmas was past and Easter was still a long way off...”

“Is the coffee done?” Gladys interrupted.

“Yes, and already on the table between the potato salad and the cookies. I know we always have cookies, and many a person seeks solace by indulging their sweet tooth, but don’t you think, on account of Edna being diabetic and all, we should have substituted orange Jell-O with shredded carrots?”

“Erma,” Gladys punctuated.

“What?”

“Erma’s the diabetic.”

“Erma? Edna? Oh, my landlord, I’ll never get it straight. Anywho...” She was off again.

Gladys went upstairs to get an attendee count and was surprised to see the grieving sister, in her new and apparently expensive red dress, still had a surprisingly long receiving line. They would need more sandwiches. She overheard Mildred Swanson, another of the church’s “information sources,” say:

“Oh, Erma, I don’t know how you can be holding up so well. First Virgil. I know you were heartbroken; your color was starting to go. And now your dear sister. You two were as inseparable as you are indistinguishable. If she was half as sweet as you, it’s my loss that I didn’t make more of an effort to get to know her.”

“Thank you... Mildred,” came the reply, a little hesitant, and with more irritation than Gladys remembered Erma ever displaying. “Edna is... er... was a remarkable woman. And she may have known you better than you’d think.”

That was less than polite, and even a little menacing. More Edna than Erma. It must be the grief speaking.

And truth be told, Mildred had likely passed Edna in the narthex every Christmas and Easter for thirty years and never once said more than “Merry Christmas” or “He is risen.” And now she was sorry she hadn’t gotten to know her? Not likely. Well, it would make no difference to the woman in the casket.

Gladys returned to the kitchen.

“...and when I asked why the color red...” Had Florence even noticed she had left and was now returning? Doubtful. “...she said it was on account of it being a color her sister, Edna, came to really love.”

“We are going to need more sandwiches,” Gladys said flatly.

“What’s that, dear? Oh yes, I have already made more. They are in the fridge. So apparently, Edna came to really love the color red, but could never afford to replace...”

It was good her hands moved as fast as her mouth.

Gladys needed to get the lunch line moving or she wouldn’t make it home for Columbo. She returned upstairs to see – would you look at what the cat dragged in – Stanley Nelson, both last and next in line. Gladys decided to hover close by so she could close the conversation if needed.

“Erma. I must say red suits you,” he said, a little freshly. “I’m sorry. That was insensitive of me. You just lost your sister... and your husband, was it last month?”

Was he hitting on her?

“Uh, what I meant to say was that song you chose. It was beautiful, like you.”

“Sorry to interrupt, but the food line is waiting for you to start.”

Gladys was surprised to see Edna – no, Erma – good grief – Florence had her doing it now too – looking longingly at the cookies.

An hour later most of the guests had gone. But not Stanley. That pig had broken Edna’s heart, and now he was hitting on her sister at her funeral! A big fat ugly pig.

Hymnal open, Stanley sidled up to her one more time and actually started singing! “When the roll is called up yonder, I’ll be there.”

The surviving twin exploded. All eyes turned. “You’ll never be there... even if I were to kill you too!”

WHAM! She had torn out the hymn, balled it in her fist, and punched him square in the nose. It bled as red as her dress. Oh, my!

Stanley left in humiliation. Gladys brought a soothing cup of black.

“Well, not too... I am just so mad...” The last Carlson twin trailed off as she calmly added sugar to her coffee with practiced grace.

Returning to the kitchen, Gladys wondered. Too? Her blood ran cold with realization.

“What’s wrong?” Florence asked.

“Erma never took sugar in her coffee.”