“Everyone stayed for the burial,” I said. “The churchyard was so packed that Mr. Barlow had to string Day-glo flags around the graves to keep people from falling into them.”
Night had come and the rain had resumed. Bill, the boys, and Willis, Sr., were upstairs and asleep. Although I was dazed by a debilitating bout of jet lag, I couldn’t rest until I’d told Aunt Dimity about the Pym sisters’ funeral. I hadn’t forgotten that they’d been her oldest friends on earth.
I sat in the tall leather armchair before the hearth in the study, with the blue journal propped open on my knees. Reginald, flanked by the pair of adorable kiwis I’d bought in Queenstown for Will and Rob, seemed content to be back in his special niche in the bookshelves, but a dreamy gleam in his eyes told me that a part of him was still roving the Land of the Long White Cloud. I smiled at him, then looked down at the familiar handwriting that had appeared on the journal’s blank page.
Was the luncheon equally well attended?
“Villagers only at the luncheon,” I reported, “and they couldn’t complain about the food, because they’d prepared it. Bree made the most of her resources and served the casseroles and the soups well-wishers had dropped off when her great-grandaunts first fell ill. Horace Malvern’s cheeses went over big.”
The girl has an admirably practical turn of mind. Ruth and Louise would have approved of her economies.
“Will and Rob are positively gaga over Bree,” I said. “They cornered her at the luncheon to ask little-boy questions about her nose ring and she came straight out and told them that the hole was too small to allow for . . . leakage. You should have seen Peggy Taxman’s face when the boys explained it to her. I could feel Ruth and Louise smiling down on their successors.”
What was the general mood at the luncheon?
“Reminiscent,” I replied, after a moment’s thought. “Everyone recalled something the Pyms had done for them, whether it was teaching them to make marmalade or embroidering their child’s christening gown. And there isn’t a gardener within fifty miles of Finch who hasn’t grown plants from cuttings the Pyms passed on to them. Mr. Barlow came out with the gem of the day, though.”
Do tell.
“He said, and I quote: ‘It’s a good thing they packed it in before the ground froze. It’s hard graft, digging up frozen dirt. But they were always considerate that way.’ ”
Truer words were never spoken, both about the difficulty of digging graves in winter and about the Pyms’ unwavering thoughtfulness.
“Nell told me that they passed away peacefully,” I said.
You must take some credit for their tranquility. Bree’s presence was a great comfort to them. As for the rest . . . Ruth and Louise were no strangers to death, Lori. Nearly every young man they knew, including their only brother, died in the Great War. When the Second World War began, still more young men disappeared from the village, never to be seen again. Ruth and Louise buried their parents, attended countless wakes, laid out the bodies of neighbors they’d known since childhood, and held more deathbed vigils than most doctors. When Death came for them, I’m sure they greeted him as an old friend.
“I’d like to think so.” I paused to listen as a gust of rain flung itself against the diamond-paned window above the old oak desk, then said, “Bree’s more upset than she’ll admit.”
Of course she is. She spent just enough time with her great-grandaunts to realize how painful it would be to lose them. You must look after her, Lori. She is, as you were, a stranger in a strange land. You must do for her what Cameron Mackenzie did for you.
I touched my greenstone pendant and smiled.
“I’ll be a good native guide,” I promised. “I learned from a master.”
I believe Ruth and Louise would have enjoyed their funeral.
“The villagers certainly did,” I said. “They were a lot more cheerful than I expected them to be. I thought the funeral would cast a pall over Finch.”
It did, but the shadow is passing. Bree has, of course, sped the recovery process by giving the villagers something new to talk about, and Kit and Nell have done their part by giving them something to look forward to.
“A May wedding,” I said, “to allow a decent interval for mourning.”
After the mourning, life will go on. And what better way is there to celebrate life than with a wedding?
Twenty-one