want a church service or a graveside service?”
“Why are you asking me? You’re her husband.” Ana held her back erect and looked him in the eye.
“I want what . . . Harriet would want, and I don’t know what that is.” The agonized look in her eyes tore at him. It was a mixture of loneliness, grief and desperation.
“What is customary here?”
“The Jamison’s have always had a service here at the house and a short one at the cemetery.”
“Your marriage to Harriet was legal, wasn’t it?”
“It was.”
“Then Harriet was a Jamison whether your sister considers her one or not.”
“All right. That’s what we’ll do. I’ll tell Esther.”
“Do you need her approval?”
“No. But arrangements will have to be made to accommodate the number of people.”
A huge sigh shook Ana’s entire body. Her hand shook as she picked up her coffee cup. The last twenty-four hours had been the most unbearable of her life. The pain and the pressure seemed endless. She desperately wanted to despise this man that Harriet had loved, but he was trying to be kind. Ana studied his face while he looked toward the open fields. He was sorrowful, but he was not grieving as she was. His was not the gut-wrenching grief of a man who had just lost the woman he loved—his bride of less than a year.
For that she could hate him!
“I’ll have to stay here until it is reasonably safe for the baby to travel. Mrs. Larson seems to have found the right formula to feed him.”
He tensed and stood. “We’ll not speak of that until this is over and things have settled down.”
“I’ve no intention of breaking my promise to Harriet,” Ana said firmly, getting to her feet. She still had to tilt her head back to see his face.
“Nor do I. I promised her that we’d work something out, and we will if you’re reasonable.”
“There is nothing to
work
out except transportation for me and the baby back to Lansing.”
For a long moment, Ana held his gaze with amber eyes as hard as agates. His mouth tightened and an unreadable look came over his face. When it appeared he would say nothing more, Ana stepped off the porch and went down the path toward the outhouse.
* * *
The eulogy was brief. Not much had happened in Harriet’s short life. Reverend Larson had come to the farm the night before and spoken at length with Ana. She stood beside Owen at the gravesite and wept silently while the gathering of the Jamison’s neighbors and relatives sang, “Shall We Gather At The River.” The coffin was lowered while they sang “Nearer My God to Thee.” The faces of the people gathered around the grave were sorrowful, and a few of the women squeezed a tear or two from their eyes; but Ana knew that she was the only true mourner. She felt as if her heart had gone down with the coffin and remained there when the grave was filled in.
After the service, the mourners filed by to shake Owen’s hand and then Ana’s. He had introduced Ana to some of them when, quietly and solemnly, they had arrived at the house in the forenoon. Because there were so many guests, dinner had taken a long time. They ate in the kitchen and on the porch—the men first, then the women and children. After eating, the diners stood and clasped hands while the minister said a prayer. The table was then cleared quickly and set for the next group. Before and after her turn at the table, Ana had sat in the parlor alongside Harriet’s coffin so numb with grief that she neither saw nor heard much that went on around her.
It was early evening by the time they got back to the farm. Ana had ridden in a buggy with Owen to the cemetery behind the wagon carrying Harriet’s coffin. He offered his hand to help her down and she accepted. He looked and acted like a different man from the one who had met her in Lansing. His dark serge suit was old-fashioned, but well cut and fit his large frame perfectly. His black, square-crowned hat was much newer than his
“Why are you asking me? You’re her husband.” Ana held her back erect and looked him in the eye.
“I want what . . . Harriet would want, and I don’t know what that is.” The agonized look in her eyes tore at him. It was a mixture of loneliness, grief and desperation.
“What is customary here?”
“The Jamison’s have always had a service here at the house and a short one at the cemetery.”
“Your marriage to Harriet was legal, wasn’t it?”
“It was.”
“Then Harriet was a Jamison whether your sister considers her one or not.”
“All right. That’s what we’ll do. I’ll tell Esther.”
“Do you need her approval?”
“No. But arrangements will have to be made to accommodate the number of people.”
A huge sigh shook Ana’s entire body. Her hand shook as she picked up her coffee cup. The last twenty-four hours had been the most unbearable of her life. The pain and the pressure seemed endless. She desperately wanted to despise this man that Harriet had loved, but he was trying to be kind. Ana studied his face while he looked toward the open fields. He was sorrowful, but he was not grieving as she was. His was not the gut-wrenching grief of a man who had just lost the woman he loved—his bride of less than a year.
For that she could hate him!
“I’ll have to stay here until it is reasonably safe for the baby to travel. Mrs. Larson seems to have found the right formula to feed him.”
He tensed and stood. “We’ll not speak of that until this is over and things have settled down.”
“I’ve no intention of breaking my promise to Harriet,” Ana said firmly, getting to her feet. She still had to tilt her head back to see his face.
“Nor do I. I promised her that we’d work something out, and we will if you’re reasonable.”
“There is nothing to
work
out except transportation for me and the baby back to Lansing.”
For a long moment, Ana held his gaze with amber eyes as hard as agates. His mouth tightened and an unreadable look came over his face. When it appeared he would say nothing more, Ana stepped off the porch and went down the path toward the outhouse.
* * *
The eulogy was brief. Not much had happened in Harriet’s short life. Reverend Larson had come to the farm the night before and spoken at length with Ana. She stood beside Owen at the gravesite and wept silently while the gathering of the Jamison’s neighbors and relatives sang, “Shall We Gather At The River.” The coffin was lowered while they sang “Nearer My God to Thee.” The faces of the people gathered around the grave were sorrowful, and a few of the women squeezed a tear or two from their eyes; but Ana knew that she was the only true mourner. She felt as if her heart had gone down with the coffin and remained there when the grave was filled in.
After the service, the mourners filed by to shake Owen’s hand and then Ana’s. He had introduced Ana to some of them when, quietly and solemnly, they had arrived at the house in the forenoon. Because there were so many guests, dinner had taken a long time. They ate in the kitchen and on the porch—the men first, then the women and children. After eating, the diners stood and clasped hands while the minister said a prayer. The table was then cleared quickly and set for the next group. Before and after her turn at the table, Ana had sat in the parlor alongside Harriet’s coffin so numb with grief that she neither saw nor heard much that went on around her.
It was early evening by the time they got back to the farm. Ana had ridden in a buggy with Owen to the cemetery behind the wagon carrying Harriet’s coffin. He offered his hand to help her down and she accepted. He looked and acted like a different man from the one who had met her in Lansing. His dark serge suit was old-fashioned, but well cut and fit his large frame perfectly. His black, square-crowned hat was much newer than his
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