Meadowlarks by Thomas Holladay (novels to improve english TXT) 📗

of strong emotions sat him down, everybody else still standing.

For whatever reason, Carolyn Potter had insisted on paying for everything. She'd come into the store to look through the catalogue from down in Sonora and had picked the best coffins and vaults for both Helfred and Bruce Gilpin, even paid for their plots here in the church cemetery.

Olen felt grateful for that. It had removed the burden of his having to deal with it right now. Not that he needed Potter’s financial help. He didn't. He and Helfred had been richly blessed here. They'd built a solid financial base. But her going through the process of ordering up the undertaker, the delivery of caskets and vaults and even the excavation of the graves.

What a blessing.

What a difference.

Olen had never liked Kidro the way he'd liked Jethro and Mary Lou, but he sure liked these new Potters. J.J. had sure known how to pick 'em.

Thank you God.

Unlike Helfred, Olen had blamed Kidro for what had happened ten years ago. J.J. had blamed him too.

Ten years ago, when Kidro had publicly announced his plan to reopen the mine above his upper meadow, Nason, Phil's dad, and J.J. had both warned against it.

Olen knew it had been Kidro's plan to reopen the mine that had caused the attack on that first night, ten years ago, when the creature had attacked and J.J had chopped off a front paw. To celebrate, Kidro had taken J.J. down to Reno for a visit to the Mustang Ranch. He'd learned later that J.J. had remained in Kidro's truck while Kidro went in to visit with the ladies and get serviced. Kidro had been responsible for their not being home to protect his wife and Ethan. Had they been there, Gus might never have been taken.

Now, after all these years, two more caskets rested up there on the altar, Helfred's and Gilpin's. This time had not been Kidro’s fault.

Gilpin had caused Kidro's death and these new Potters didn't yet understand.

Not their fault.

Willis.

The Gilpins have so little.

Hope Sally’s grateful for these now Potters.

Bruce had never been grateful to anybody for anything. He’d been churlish, as had his father before him.

Much like Kidro.

Give and it shall be given unto you, or so goes the phrase.

Maybe that's why the Gilpins had never prospered here. They'd never given as much as a thought for others.

I don’t know.

It might simply be because they lived outside the valley, up that canyon on the far side of the river.

Who knows?

Kidro had plenty and to spare but he’d been just as stingy and bitter as any Gilpin had ever been. He wouldn’t have paid out one penny for any of this, not like this new Potter woman. She seemed more like Mary Lou.

Mary Lou could never give enough.

Olen and Sally Gilpin both appreciated using the church cemetery. For Olen, it would be easier to visit Helfred here next to Gustov, here behind his store where he could look out at them from the loft.

The loft.

If only Helfred could have lived there. She’d have been locked in there last Friday night. That thing could never have reached her. She'd had strength enough to put up that oak bar and lift it back down by herself.

She’d still be here.

Protected by what Willis had built.

“Amen,” said the entire congregation.

Olen snapped back.

The poll bearers lined up around Bruce Gilpin’s coffin first. Jim Embry, skinny as ever, shoved Nason aside and took his place, referring to Nason’s sprained back and bruised feet with downward glances.

Together, Embry, Stan and Danny Ralston, Bill Whatling, John Crow, and Jake Pendleton lifted the heavy casket, turned toward the front doors of the small church and slowly marched out.

After they passed, Olen shuffled to the altar and ran his hand over the smooth, stainless steel casket of his wife. Hollowness in his chest forced him to lean on her with both hands, barely able to remain on his feet. He breathed deeply, blinked away tears and studied the carved, polished brass corners and handles, beautiful and regal.

She would like this, by golly.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Jacobsen.” Jason Potter stood near the altar, looking up at Olen, a true sadness etched into his young face.

His mother, Carolyn, stood next to him. She wiped tears from her eyes with a white handkerchief and tried to smile.

Unable to find words, not knowing why she and the boy had so connected with his loss, Olen simply nodded.

“I’ll never do it again,” said the boy.

Why do you say that? 

The precession of bearers returned from outside without John Crow. Helfred never liked him and had always made sure everybody knew it. Olen had always liked John Crow, even now showing his respect for Helfred's feelings. The bearers surrounded the coffin, Olen took a grip and they all lifter her together.

Heavy as can be.

The walk out to the cemetery seemed too short, already setting her down on the canvas straps above that deep hole in the ground, that open vault.

The State of California required a waterproof vault covering the inside of the hole to protect the departed. Olen hated that. To Olen and his ways, ashes to ashes and dust to dust had meaning. Here, in this modern world where the state can intrude anywhere and everywhere, the old ways were now deemed unfit. Her remains could never find the natural dust of God’s good earth.

She won’t like it. 

Gustov’s wooden coffin touched the earth around him. The earth would consume him and turn him back to dust.

She'd be apart from that, apart from their Gustov forever. Their ashes and dust could never mingle.

Apart from me when my time comes.

Vicar tossed ashes onto both coffins. He looked at Olen. “At times like these, we must surely remind ourselves that God created the heavens and the good earth. That He created all things that walk and crawl upon the earth, all things that fly and everything that swims in the seas and waters. He created angels and He created demons. Yes, that He even