“You comin?”
“I've never been to a funeral before.”
“Not your mother's?”
“No.”
“You didn't go to your mother's funeral?”
“I woke up. She was dead. I left. I don't know if she had a funeral.”
She unwound a clump of curls from Danny's soggy fist and gave him a corner of her shawl to clutch.
“Well, this is different, Gloria. This is Kate, our baby girl.”
“She was your baby girl, John. And like you said, she's safe now. With her mother. She doesn't need me anymore, does she?”
“I'd like you there, Gloria, to be with me.”
He held out his hand. How easily she'd taken it the last time it was offered to her as they left the little cabin that was to be their home. It seemed impossible, now, to think of a life together.
“Nnn-dah! Nnn-dah!” Danny said, reaching both arms for John William. Gloria held him tighter, but his little arms continued to flail. Soon two massive hands were reaching for her son, and before she knew it, John William lifted the boy high above his head, jostling him until the giggles drew the attention from the people across the yard, then drew him close.
“Ah, Danny,” he whispered. Without another word, he turned and began to make his way toward the little crowd gathered at the grave. He left her alone, just as he had that afternoon at the creek's edge, walking away and not looking back. And, just as she had that afternoon, Gloria followed, alone, just steps behind him.
Reverend Fuller's face seemed softer today than it was on those Sunday mornings behind his pulpit. His Bible lay loosely open in his hand, and the same breeze that rustled the pages picked up his words and carried them effortlessly to each person gathered.
“When the child King David fathered with Bathsheba fell ill, David went into a period of mourning,” Reverend Fuller said after a short opening prayer. “He shut himself off from the rest of his household, not eating, not sleeping. He was in such a state of mind that the servants of the house were afraid to tell him when, after seven days, the child did die. They thought the news of the child's death would be too much for him to bear.
“But, in fact, the opposite happened. When they went in to him, he asked, ‘Is the child dead?’ and they answered, ‘He is dead.’ And something amazing happened.” Reverend Fuller turned his full attention to his Bible and read, “Then David arose from the earth, and washed, and anointed himself, and changed his apparel, and came into the house of the Lord, and worshipped: Then he came to his own house; and when he required, they set bread before him, and he did eat.'
“Of course, his servants were amazed. They couldn't understand how he could be so grieved when the child was ill, yet fully composed after the child died. But listen to what David said.”
Gloria was standing on the other side of John William, and she leaned forward, drawn into this story as- she found herself drawn to every story she'd ever heard from this book. She stole a quick look at Maureen, who stood just across from her on the other side of the open grave, and the woman sent over a quick smile.
“David said,” continued the reverend, “'While the child was yet alive, I fasted and wept: for I said, Who can tell whether God will be gracious to me, that the child may live? But now he is dead, wherefore should I fast? Can 1 bring him back again? I shall go to him, but he shall not return to me.'” He kept his finger in the book to mark the page, and looked up. “Children are, indeed, a gift to us by the graciousness of God.”
At this, Gloria once again looked up to catch Maureen's eye, but the older woman's face was bent low to the ground.
“I only saw the child a few times,” Reverend Fuller continued, “but she was, I'm sure, a gift treasured by all who loved her. And though her death was sudden and tragic, let us turn our hearts to the joy she gave while she was alive. What a blessing it was that these parents had no knowledge that the last days they spent with their daughter were to be the last days she would spend on earth. What a tragedy to spend the last days together in mourning rather than simply in loving and caring for the child.”
Gloria sensed John William nodding his head. She glanced over and saw that Danny's head was resting against John William's strong shoulder. She reached out a hand and touched the little boy's soft cheek and was rewarded with a slight lazy smile from his soft parted lips. As she drew her hand away, John William caught it with his own. Her first instinct was to jerk it away, but she allowed his fingers to close around her clenched fist and returned her attention to the reverend, who was speaking directly to her and John William.
“Parents, do not believe that King David's actions meant that he wasn't deeply grieved at the passing of his son. But know that no amount of sadness or gestures of mourning will ever bring your daughter back to you. Rather, rejoice in the fact that you will be reunited with her someday. For, as David said, ‘I shall go to him, but he shall not return to me.’
“Christ tells us in Matthew 6:20 to lay up our treasures in heaven, ‘where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt, and where thieves do not break through nor steal: For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.’ Kate is a treasure now in heaven. She will never be sick. She will never be sad. She will never suffer disappointment or pain.”
All around her, Gloria heard whispers of “Amen” and saw Maureen and Josephine Logan nodding and smiling. Big Phil and his wife exchanged a smile. Their seeming peace nearly drove her mad.
I could have kept her from sadness! I could have kept her from disappointment and pain. Why wasn't I enough?
“But most of all,” Reverend Fuller said, “she is a part of the treasure stored expressly for you in heaven. For it is there that, by the grace of Jesus Christ, you will be reunited with your little girl. In the meantime, you have each other and,” he reached out to lightly stroke Danny's arm, “you are blessed with this little one here. Let him be a comfort to you at this time.
“Finally, the Scripture says that David went to his wife and comforted her. So should you two turn to each other at this time and comfort one another. Let us pray”
Gloria bowed her head and closed her eyes with the others, but she didn't hear a single word of the prayer. Instead her head reeled with the words he'd just spoken. Her stomach churned with the dishonesty and deceit of the family she and John William presented to their community, even more so with the comfort these people offered to her as the mother of this deceased child. She hadn't shed a single tear, a fact that caused Josephine Logan to hold her close and say, “You poor, poor dear. It's such a shock.” In fact, all afternoon as their neighbors arrived, her stony front was met with gushing platitudes by all the women, and a sense of relief by the men who were obviously more comfortable with a silent grieving mother than a hysterical one.
And now everyone thought she was going to take solace in the idea of being reunited with Kate in heaven? She wasn't sure if heaven even existed, and if it did, it was a place where she surely wouldn't be welcome. Besides, what comfort could be there? Suppose she did find her way to heaven only to stumble across the little girl, happily gurgling in the lap of the cold, dismissive woman who gave birth to her. The thought of it was bitterly amusing, so much so that Gloria must have emitted a short laugh or snort, because the next thing she knew John William was squeezing her hand mercilessly hard, and when she opened her eyes to look at him, he was scowling.
When it was time to lower the tiny coffin into the ground, John William handed Danny over to Gloria and joined Big Phil, David Logan, and Reverend Fuller to take an end of one of the ropes looped around the casket. Adele Fuller moved to the foot of the grave and, clasping her hands demurely in front of her, began to sing:
“God is love; his mercy brightens
All the path in which we rove;
Bliss he wakes and woe he lightens:
God is wisdom, God is love.”
Hand over hand the four men lowered the casket into the open grave. One by one, those in attendance picked up a
handful of the moist earth and dropped it in. Gloria heard each grain hit the wood and, unable to bear it, turned her ear to Adele's voice.
“E'en the hour that darkest seemeth
Will his changeless goodness prove;
Thro’ the gloom his brightness streameth:
God is wisdom, God is love.”
As the final note was carried away with the autumn wind, John William cleared his throat and said, “Thank you all for comin'. We'd like to invite you all to stay to dinner.”
“Yes, please,” Maureen said. “You all have been so generous. Please stay.”
The women began to make their way back to the house to set out the food they had brought; the men, including John William and Reverend Fuller, stayed behind to fill the grave and place the marker—a simple wooden cross—at its head. Gloria lagged behind. Perhaps Danny's impending nap time would be an excuse from setting up platters of meat and slicing bread. She could quietly go into her room to nurse him and put him down.
“Katherine Celestia MacGregan.” Big Phil read the inscription with a bit of a chuckle. “That's a big name for a little girl.”
“Yeah," John William said, his voice equally amused, “that's what her mother said.”
Gloria stopped midstep and turned on her heel. “No she didn't,” she said, barely unclenching her teeth.
All four men stopped and stared at her, David Logan holding the shovel aloft.
“Her mother was dead before that child had a name. I was the one who said she had a big name for a little girl. Remember? It was cold and it was raining and she was starving and you came to me?”
“Gloria, please.” John William walked to her and put his hand on her arm, but Gloria shrugged him off violently
“Don't touch me. You have no claim to touch me. You have no claim on me at all.”
Danny was jolted from his dozing reverie and let out a halfhearted wail at Gloria's raised voice.
“Phil, would you take Danny inside?” John William said over his shoulder.
“Sure thing,” Phil said, his voice full of relief. “Why don't you come with me, Logan?”
“Right behind you.” David Logan dropped the shovel and fairly trotted behind Big Phil as the two men made their way back to the house.
Once Danny was out of Glorias arms, John William grasped her elbow and no amount of flinching or twisting on her part could release his grip.
“Shame on you,” he hissed into her ear after pulling her close.
“Let me go!”
He jerked her arm again. “What are you thinkin’ makin’ such noise?”
“I said let me go!” Gloria brought her free hand up, but he easily caught her wrist.
“Woman, if you ever raise your hand to me again I'll—”
The gentle sound of Reverend Fuller, clearing his throat brought them both to an uncomfortable silence, and they turned to face him, their hands still clasped together. Reverend Fuller stood calmly, looking first to one and then the other, and after a time the pounding in Gloria's heart and her head soothed as she looked down and stared hotly at their entwined fingers.
“We was," John William shuffled his feet like a child caught in a lie, “we was goin’ to talk to you on Sunday To see about get-tin’ married. You see, my wife, Kates mother, she died and—”
Reverend Fuller held up his hand, and John William lapsed back into silence.
“This is neither the time nor the place for this discussion.” Reverend Fuller's voice rang with authority, and the Bible he grasped only added to the weight of his words.
“I just didn't want you thinkin'—”
“Please, Mr. MacGregan. Let us remember the reason we are all gathered here today. Let us respect the solemnity of the occasion.”
With that, he brushed past them and walked back to the house. Once alone, John William dropped Gloria's hands and raked his hair off his face in the gesture of frustration and despair Gloria had grown so familiar with.
“John, I'm sorry,” Gloria said. “It just seemed that these past days you've forgotten I'm here. That I was ever here.”
A bitter laugh escaped John Williams lips, a sound chilling to Gloria's heart.
“Forget you?” he said. “I doubt there's a man out there who could ever forget you.”
“Stop it.”
“Do you know why King Davids son died? Ah, look who I'm askin'. Of course you don't.”
“I know a little,” Gloria said.
“David lusted after Bathsheba. Desired her. So much that he forgot the kind of man God wanted him to be.”
A sudden burst of wind brought a smattering of autumn leaves to rest along the hem of Gloria's skirt. She folded her arms tight against her chest and bent her head against the chill.
“God took his child away” John William brought a finger to Gloria's chin and forced her to look up at him. “To punish him. Because he lusted for this woman. Because he murdered her husband.”
“What does that have to do with all of this?” Gloria said, gesturing toward Kate's open grave.
John William turned his back to her, casting her into shadow Gloria felt a tightening in her throat when she saw the defeated stoop of his shoulders; the same man who once frightened her with his physical power now appeared utterly crushed.
“Reverend Fuller talkin’ about our last days with Kate,” he said without turning around. “Her last hours.”
His shoulders convulsed once, twice, and then he turned to face her. Gloria braced herself for the sight of tears on his scarred face, but nothing could prepare her for the twisted expression she encountered, and the bitterness in his next words made her flinch.
“How do I forgive myself for where I was, what 1 was doin’ while my baby girl was…”
“What's to forgive, John? How could you possibly have known?”
“But if I hadn't been there with you—”
“You'd have been out in the field. Or in the barn. Or to Centerville.”
“But I wasn't any of those places, was 1?” John William turned again and took a few steps farther away. He flung his head back to face heaven straight on as he shouted, fist in the air, “I was with her! Lustin’ after this woman after tryin’ so hard—”
“How dare you!” Gloria said, grabbing his upraised arm and forcing it back down to his side. “After all you've told me about God and his forgiveness? Is this God who is supposed to love me the same God that would kill a child? Out of spite? To teach you a lesson?”
“That's not what I'm sayin'.”
“You think this is my fault?”
“If you had been here—”
“What? What could I have done?”
An endless moment passed as she waited for him to answer. She thought about that summer afternoon on the shores of the Umatilla River when she fought off the swarm of bees. Would Kate have died there, on that afternoon, if a bee had found its way through Gloria's defenses? If she had, would Gloria be here now? Would she have been a part of this home?
The late afternoon sun crept behind the small grove of trees, casting shadows across the little white grave marker. The smaller branches waved in the ever-present breeze, creating a pattern of. motion across the little girl's name—Katherine Celestia MacGregan—one moment in sunshine, the next in shadow
Still Gloria held onto his arm, until his coiled muscles relaxed and she was drawn into an embrace, his arms encasing her utterly. “I suppose this changes everything,” she said, her face pressed against the rough texture of his woolen shirt. She felt his cheek come to rest on the top of her head, felt his lips move against her hair.
“Not so. If anythin', Danny's more precious to me than ever.” He dislodged her from their embrace and held her at arm's length, oblivious to the large, cold stone he had just lodged somewhere inside her. “God blessed David with another child. Danny's the blessin’ given to me.”
“What about me, John? What about Sunday and Reverend Fuller?”
“I don't know,” he said. “I'
ve got to finish some threshin'. Get a load of wheat into Centerville. 1 planned to be there and back by Sunday but now…”
“Are you saying not this Sunday? Or ever?”
“I don't know.” He wouldn't look at her.
When they walked into Maureen's parlor, the only sound was Danny's insistent cry Gloria made her way past the curious stares of her new neighbors and collected her son to take him into the bedroom to nurse. Nobody said a single word until she was well out of the room, and then all she heard was Adele Fuller's honey-sweet voice offering John William a piece of her famous chocolate cake.
ohn William worked one finger through the twine and unbound the sheaf, sending hundreds of stalks to fan around his feet. He stood on the canvas tarp, unbinding one after another, until the surface of the tarp was covered with about ten inches of ripe wheat. The afternoon was cool and dry with just enough of a breeze to enable him to sift the grain.
The flail he used was yet another example of Ed's extraordinary handiwork. Two and a half inches in diameter, and honed to perfection, the flail rested easily in his hands, the two sections of it connected with a leather strap. He held the handle in his hand and paced the circumference of the wheat, trying to gauge the direction of the wind and decide just where to begin. A movement caught the corner of his eye. In the distance, Gloria and Maureen were heading out to the old cabin, Maureen pushing her little handcart and Gloria following with a broom. He hadn't seen Gloria since their conversation at Kate's graveside. She'd taken Danny into the bedroom and refused to come out again, even after the guests had departed.
This morning as he awoke from a chilly and uncomfortable sleep on his bedroll in the barn, Maureen was standing over him with a steaming cup of coffee and a plate of breakfast that included slices of the ham David and Josephine Logan had brought.
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