“So, where do we bury it?” he asked, staring out at the mountainside. I thought fleetingly how rare it was that he asked me to give him instructions, especially these days. He was very used to being in charge as bishop, and it spilled over into our home life. Maybe that was part of the problem for me, that he could never talk to me as Kurt, my husband, but only as Kurt the bishop. If we could figure out a way around that, maybe we could talk out things about the new policy. But not here. Not now.
I glanced back at the main house where Talitha’s room was. “Not too far away, I think.”
“Maybe under those scrub oaks?” Kurt said. He gestured to a group of trees right on the foothill of the mountain itself.
“Looks good to me,” I said.
Kurt started toward the trees, the small quilted package in the crook of one arm, the shovel in his other hand. I felt a chill run through me as I watched him. I knew it was a cat inside the baby blanket, but it was just the size of a human infant.
We made our way to the scrub oaks Kurt had indicated, and he began digging. I felt useless standing next to him, but there was only one shovel and the dirt was clearly difficult to dig into. I didn’t often let myself off of physical labor because I was a woman, but in this case, I let Kurt take over.
I found a seat on one of the large boulders lodged nearby and watched Kurt’s steady rhythm. At least things weren’t so bad that we couldn’t work together to help someone in need, like Talitha. That had to mean something about our marriage, didn’t it?
Kurt stopped for a moment to wipe his face. His eyes must be stinging from dripping sweat, but I didn’t really think my offering to help would do anything other than delay the burial. Sometimes I felt so helpless and I took it out on Kurt. I knew it wasn’t fair, and I tried to think of some way to explain what I was feeling. But I couldn’t.
Finally, Kurt had dug deep enough down that he was satisfied, and he carefully placed the bundle in the hole. I stepped in to take the shovel from his hand.
“Linda, I can manage this.”
“Let me do something,” I said.
At that, Kurt stepped back and let me awkwardly shovel dirt in over the animal’s form. When I was finished, we sat for a few minutes together on the boulder, his dirt-crusted hand in mine, which was bleeding slightly from the reopened cut I’d noticed while making Danishes.
I had a distinct memory of the day that we had buried Georgia. We hadn’t had a full funeral for her, but our bishop at the time had come, and the three older boys, Joseph, Adam, and Zachary. They’d had no idea how to feel, had seemed more confused than sad at the loss of the baby they’d awaited. I had smelled the same dry, slightly piney scent of soil then, though Kurt and I hadn’t dug the grave. I’d held tight to Kurt’s hand and I’d always thought of it as the worst day of my life. But we’d been on the same side then. We’d grieved the same loss. We’d faced the same journey forward. Now it wasn’t nearly as obvious what we had in common. Our children, yes. But they were grown now, and where did that leave us?
“Will you say a prayer over the grave, please?” I asked.
“Linda, I can’t.” His voice sounded strangled. “You know, I can’t. Not for an animal’s grave.”
Fine. I hadn’t meant an official consecration of the plot, just a prayer. It had been a chance for him to move to my side, and he wouldn’t take it. Well, I didn’t need his permission to do what I thought was right.
I knelt on the ground and folded my arms, the simple pose of prayer rather than a formal grave dedication. “God, please give this animal peace. She was well loved in this life. And we ask Thee also to give comfort to the little girl Talitha, who misses her cat friend so much.”
I waited to feel inspiration, something about what I should do to best help Talitha, but I felt nothing. “Amen,” I said at last.
Kurt’s voice rang out with mine, and I was both surprised and gratified by his participation, after all.
Chapter 11
Following a few moments of shared silence, Kurt and I began to walk back to the house with the shovel. Kurt went through the same ritual at the porch steps with his shoes, and then we took the shovel back to the garage.
“Let’s find a bathroom so we can wash up,” Kurt said, holding out his filthy hands. Mine weren’t nearly as bad, but washing up would be good for me, too.
There was no one in the kitchen this time when we let ourselves into the house, though there was a pot of potatoes boiling, and the room smelled deliciously of roasted pork, which I saw was standing to rest by the stove before being carved. We searched for a bathroom on the main floor, washed thoroughly, then ran into Stephen as he was coming down the stairs.
“Ah, there you two are. I’m sorry about that interruption,” he said. He didn’t name Talitha or ask about the cat’s body that he had left us with. “Before we had dinner, I meant to make sure you felt comfortably settled in the room where you’ll be sleeping before we had dinner.”