The two coffins that rested side by side before the altar were indistinguishable, save for the mounds of flowers that covered them. I had an especially soft spot for the children’s bouquets, if only because there were so many of them. It seemed fitting that the honorary aunts should thus be honored.
The whispering stopped when the vicar ascended the pulpit to read New Testament verses the Pyms had selected. When he invited Miss Aubrey Aroha Pym to say a few words, Bree stood without hesitation and marched over to plant herself boldly between the coffins.
“You don’t know me and I don’t know you,” she began in a strong, clear voice. “I look strange and I sound strange and I come from a faraway place, but you’d better get used to me, because I’m not going anywhere. I promised my great-grandaunts that I’d stand in for them at a wedding in the spring, so you’re stuck with me until then and maybe for a lot longer.
“Auntie Ruth and Auntie Louise weren’t bothered by my looks or by my accent, and they didn’t care where I came from,” she continued. “I didn’t know them for much more than a day, but sometimes that’s all it takes to see into a person’s heart. Their hearts were pure gold. I don’t know whether I believe in God and I don’t have much use for religion—sorry, Vicar—but if heaven exists, I know they’re up there. And if there’s such a thing as a guardian angel, then I have two of the best.
“Oh, and before I forget,” she added, “if you want the jams and the cordials and the calf’s foot jelly and the other things my great-grandaunts put by for you, you’d better come to the house to pick them up because I don’t have a car and I don’t know where any of you live.” She brushed her hands lightly over the coffins’ topmost blossoms and concluded gruffly, “Your turn, Vicar.”
The whispers began again at an elevated volume as Bree returned to her pew but ceased when Theodore Bunting cleared his throat, drew himself up to his full and considerable height, and regarded his flock through narrowed eyes.
“Many people who live to a ripe old age die alone,” he told us, “not through any fault of their own, but because they have outlived their friends and their family. Ruth and Louise Pym, however, never lost the knack of making new friends, and they treated each new friend as member of their family.” His stern gaze came to rest on Peggy Taxman as he stated portentously, “We would do well to follow their example.”
Peggy, who had been scowling disapprovingly at Bree’s choppy haircut, must have felt the vicar’s eyes on her because she looked up at him suddenly, turned beet-red, and buried her face in her hymnal.
The vicar, having made his point, went on. “There are those here among us today who may be angry with God for depriving us of such good and kindly souls. To them Ruth and Louise would undoubtedly say, ‘Don’t be silly. It’s high time the dear Lord took us to His bosom, and we’re quite ready to join Him, thank you very much.’ They lived long and meaningful lives and they left this earth well prepared to meet their Maker. I believe steadfastly that they are at this very moment planting flowers round the gates of Heaven and greeting each new arrival with a cup of tea.”
The vicar paused to spread a sheet of lined paper atop his notes.
“In closing, I will read a message Ruth and Louise asked me to convey to each and every one of you.” He smoothed the sheet of paper, then read aloud, “ ‘Dear friends and neighbors. If you fail to show our great-grandniece the same loving kindness you have always shown us, we will smite you.’ ”
There was a moment of absolute silence followed rapidly by a variety of sounds. Bill and I had to bite our lips to keep from laughing out loud, but Peggy Taxman huffed indignantly, Sally Pyne tittered, and Mr. Barlow burst into a hearty guffaw. While a wave of poorly suppressed laughter rolled through the church, Rob and Will asked what “smite” meant and Bree demonstrated by giving her own knee a resounding smack.
“Let us rise,” intoned the vicar. “Please turn to Hymn 457: ‘For the Fruits of His Creation.’ We will honor Ruth Pym and Louise Pym not merely by singing their favorite hymn, but by inscribing its words on our hearts. Let us learn from the example set by our sisters in Christ to be grateful for God’s gifts, to do His will by helping our neighbors, and to recognize the good in all men.”
Voices filled the church, rang out over the village, and rebounded from the surrounding hillsides as the congregation sang the old harvest hymn, reaching a crescendo in the final verse:
For the wonders that astound us,
For the truths that still confound us,
Most of all, that love has found us,
Thanks be to God.
I closed the hymnal and gazed at Bree, wondering if she’d caught the allusion the Pyms had surely known was there. Love had found them in the nick of time, I thought, filling their hearts for a few shining hours and allowing them to truly rest in peace. Thanks be to God.