Girtha RIsing — Part 6 — The Brotherhood
This story is a narrative reconstruction inspired by family history, place, and imagination.
The boys on the police force were attentive to Girtha after Edgar’s death. Wives brought in frozen casseroles. Patrol cars cruised by during the night to reassure her as she realized she was alone and unprotected without Edgar. The brotherhood took responsibility seriously.
His ready laugh and encouraging support made him a popular figure on the Portland motorcycle police force. Rank and file patrol officers appreciated his steadiness. He was known as a team player. Girtha had only briefly met any of the boys in passing, she felt she knew them from Edgar’s work stories.
It was certainly dangerous work and Girtha was nervous every time he rolled out the driveway on his motorcycle. She recalled the night he came in way after midnight in the dark haunting quiet. His face was solemn and his blue eyes looked dismayed. She sat up and watched him silently as he carefully took off his uniform jacket. His fingers ran through his hair, then he placed his hands over his face, his great frame bowed as he sat in the chair next to their bed.
Girtha scooted over to him, took his hands in hers and leaned in to get some sort of clue as to what could have happened. He just shook his head, pulled the lamp chain to leave them together in the dark.
“I don’t know if I can stay on the force after tonight.”
Marcie brought her the Portland Journal the next day and over the next few months Girtha came to understand what had happened. Edgar had rushed into the wrong house in a botched arrest and was brought to trial for a wrongful arrest. Her proud husband was being publicly humiliated. Edgar never spoke of it at home.
His twinkle was diminished in those times and it was Girtha who started singing when they went driving down 82nd Ave.
He stayed on the force, kept his mouth shut and later received a written commendation from the captain. Girtha kept the newspapers out of sight and maintained a healing sanctuary for her husband. The boys on the force, serving on the front lines, stuck with him the whole way, they knew that it could be one of them on the stand, taking it on the chin while the brass hid behind closed doors.
The men arrived at the service in freshly pressed uniforms, buttons gleaming and shoes impeccably shined, here to honor and show respect to a comrade who had died too young, leaving a young widow behind. She was under their care now. The boys in his brotherhood carried his casket to the waiting hearse.
Captain Pete held his arm out to Girtha to escort her on her last walk with Edgar. She sat in the backseat of the Packard and stared at the doors closing on the beast that had swallowed her husband in front of her. Patrol cars flashing their lights led the sorrowful procession to the Multnomah County Cemetery.
Their final moments together paced forward as they approached Edgar’s last bed. Girtha heard the dirt tucking him in for his final sleep. She stood alone, a dull ache where Edgar should be, while surrounded by family, friends and community.
Edgar had loved to sing hymns with her, but he had never been much for attending services. She attended Sunday School with the girls when they were young. They planned their Easter outfits for months and had never missed that service. Frankie had joined up with the Mormons for a while, but she let it slide when she took up with Jack. Girtha was disturbed by the notion that Edgar had never actually been saved. The preacher’s last words to send Edgar’s spirit home to God echoed in Girtha’s heart.
“I will fear no evil; For Thou art with me, Thy rod and thy staff comfort me. My cup overflows. Goodness and mercy shall surely follow me all the days of my life.”
The bible words sounded so much like Edgar, to see the overflowing cup of mercy and goodness instead of hopelessness and finality of death.
She silently prayed over and over “Dear Lord, he’s as saved as saved could be considering. He’s a good decent man, Lord. Please take him into your mercy. Dear Lord, bring him home to you.”
A peaceful assurance blanketed her. The Lord was merciful and just. A man with love as big as Edgar’s was right at home with Jesus, she felt sure. Couldn’t be any other way.
“Ma’am”
Girtha was startled out of her communion. She glanced up to the solemn captain’s face and nodded for him to continue.
“If you ever need us, you call right up. Ask for Captain Pete. Ma’am, doncha worry none, we’ll take care of it. Just call.”
Series Navigation
← Part 5 — Remembering
→ Part 7 — Picking Up Dreams
