Flight of the Wounded Falcon

Mahrree had never known time to move so strangely, or for her thoughts to be so unfocused. She couldn’t get a grip, couldn’t fully comprehend anything around her.

  While Calla slept next to her, Mahrree spent most of the early morning hours staring at Perrin lying stiffly on the board across his desk.

  It couldn’t be real. It shouldn’t be real. Nothing was real.

  There were grandchildren who came in and talked to her, and she knew she responded, but she didn’t know who it was or what she said.

  She wanted to hold on to the next little while, when nothing was different. Everything was mostly still the same. He was still in his office, still in their beloved home, her dream home. She could still see him, and touch him. Just for now everything was still fine, and she clung to that.

  But he was so still.

  She didn’t notice when the men came to the office, or when people shifted around her. She kept staring at him, wondering when his hair turned so white, wondering if the two of them ever did get to argue about who ate the last piece of pie. They were supposed to be like Hogal and Tabbit—

  But they didn’t even make it to fifty years of marriage. It was only forty-four years, just a few weeks ago. Such short weeks.

  Such short years.

  They were supposed to be like Hogal and Tabbit. He even said it himself, yesterday. It was almost a promise.

  Just like Hogal and Tabbit—

  “Mahrree?” Someone kneeled in front of her and took her face in his hands.

  Shem.

  “Mahrree, I’m sorry to say it, but it’s time.”

  “No.”

  Tears flowed down Shem’s face as he slowly nodded. “He’s coming back, remember?”

  “But he’s not coming back here,” she whispered. “I’m not ready for this. I can’t let him go. I can never be ready for this.”

  “I understand,” he said gently. “How could you ever be prepared?”

  She felt two more people sit down next to her. Calla was on one side, Jaytsy on the other. Lilla stood behind Shem, her handkerchief drenched and clenched in her fist.

  She knew it didn’t matter that she wasn’t ready. Since when did life—or death—ever care about its victims’ readiness?

  The office was filling with family, all of them watching her with the most miserable expressions. They were going to take him, if she wanted them to or not.

  Mahrree exhaled, stood up, and stepped over to her motionless husband. Not caring what anyone thought, she kissed him on the lips again.

  It was very different than yesterday’s kiss. He wasn’t there.

  That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you, Mahrree. Let that go. I’m still here.

  Mahrree smiled dimly at the words that filled her, head to toe.

  I’m rather curious to see if there’s as many at this service as there were in Idumea when I was “lost” to the forest. There aren’t many men who can say they had two memorial services, twenty-five years apart.

  Mahrree almost laughed. She certainly smiled.

  Peto watched her, worriedly. Everyone watched her closely, perplexed at her swinging emotions.

  “I’m guessing he’ll be watching to see who shows up today,” she told them softly. “He missed his service in Idumea twenty-five years ago, after all.”

  “Caraka’s coming,” Shem told her. “He saw the people going to his service at the biggest stadium when he left the Administrative offices in Idumea back then. Maybe he can give us a comparison.”

  Mahrree nodded and sighed, then patted Perrin’s cold hand.

  Stop it, Mahrree. That’s creepy.

  You be quiet, she thought back with a smirk.

  Go ahead and make me. I dare you.

  Mahrree snorted a laugh, which startled her. It certainly startled everyone in the room who stared at her uncertainly.

  She covered her mouth. “I’m sorry. I’m not sure I know why I did that,” she said, still smirking.

  Liar.

  Deck nodded to her, with a meaningful look in his eyes. “I think I know why you did.”

  Shem tenderly took her arm and whispered in her ear. “He’s been doing it to me, too. He keeps telling me that he knows things now that I don’t. Death doesn’t change our personalities, does it? He’s still such a tease.” Shem was smiling, despite his tears, which made Mahrree start to weep yet again.

  “He doesn’t like that, you know,” Shem said, wiping her face.

  “Well, it’s his fault!”

  “He knows that, too.”

  He was there, in the room. More than just his body. She could feel him, and even smell him, earthy sweet. Whenever she buried her face into his neck at night and inhaled deeply, that was the singular scent of his comfort, of his strength, of his love, of him.

  With every thought she could generate she sent him the message, Come back to me, Perrin. Like Hogal and Tabbit. You said that, remember? Like Hogal and Tabbit—

  Nothing happened, but her family continuing to stare at her in pity.

  Unable to bear their sympathetic gazes any longer, and knowing she had to face the inevitable, Mahrree turned to Peto and Deck, dressed in their lightest colored clothing. That was the tradition in Salem. The deceased wore all white, and everyone else wore a light color as well. Paradise was a place of light, not darkness.

  She stepped over and patted each of them. “You look wonderful.” Seeing their sons behind them, trailing out to the gathering room, she called, “All of you. Thank you. It’s a long way. Are you sure you don’t want to use the wagon and horses?”

  Peto shook his head. “No, Mother; we’ll all take turns carrying him. It’s only a few miles. We can do this for him, and for you.”

  “Thank you,” Mahrree whispered.

  Reverently, Deck and Cambo went to the front of Perrin, while Peto and Relf went to the back. Together they squatted, then hefted the board carrying his body up onto their shoulders, then slowly carried Perrin out of the office.

  For the very last time.

  Mahrree blubbered.

  In the gathering room stood the rest of the Shin, Briter, and Zenos men and teenage boys in a profound silence. They followed Perrin, ready for their turns to carry him to the arena in the heart of Salem.

  Shem signaled for Mahrree to follow, but she couldn’t. Suddenly her heart was so heavy again, her muscles didn’t have the strength to move it. She’d felt Perrin follow his body out, most likely to whisper warnings to the boys about not tripping.

  Only because Jaytsy and Lilla took either side of her did Mahrree find her feet moving, and they led her out to follow her husband.

  ---

  Shem was sure that at any moment he’d lose it. Already during the night he’d wept to sheer exhaustion twice alone in his bedroom, because his wife was sitting next to her best friend in this office. He’d thought about joining them but first he needed to find his own strength to share, which he found in short supply.

  He only had to hold it all together until the end of the service. Then, he could collapse into his wife’s arms and sob like a little boy who’d lost his best friend and big brother.

  He should stay near Mahrree, he decided, to help her in case Lilla and Jaytsy no longer could. Shem was just about to follow her when Calla caught his arm and nodded for him to wait. They watched as the boys in the gathering room stepped aside to let Mahrree and her escorts follow behind Perrin. The grandsons shuffled in line to follow.

  “Calla,” Shem whispered to her as the room rapidly emptied, “I need to be with them—”

  “I know,” she whispered, “We’ll catch up to them. But first there’s something I need to know. Wait for just a moment.”

  They watched as the rest of the families silently fell in behind the boys and Mahrree, and peered out the window to see them making their way somberly down the dirt road. Lek drove a wagon behind them, in case anyone needed a ride.

  Growing anxious, Shem raised his eyebrows in questioning to his wife, b
ut her gaze had shifted inexplicably to the empty sofa where she’d sat all night long.

  She nodded once to it and smiled before turning to Shem. “Tell me about Tabbit and Hogal Densal.”

  Shem blinked at her. “The Densals?” he asked as they made their way out of the house to bring up the end of the procession. “Perrin’s great aunt and uncle? Why?”

  “Because Tabbit Densal sat with Mahrree and me last night for quite some time,” Calla explained.

  Shem was hardly surprised. Paradise frequently dropped by and communicated with Calla as if she were an old friend.

  “Was she . . . on the sofa?” Shem asked. “As we left?”

  “Yes,” Calla said easily. “She said you could explain a few things better than she could. During the night Tabbit told me that Mahrree doesn’t understand, that she’s going to need some help later. Apparently Mahrree was expecting something to happen before now, as it happened with Tabbit and Hogal, but I couldn’t quite understand it all. I suppose my own grief kept getting in the way of my ability to listen. So tell me about the day the Densals passed to Paradise.”

  “All I know is from what Mahrree told me, but . . . oh. Oh, now I see,” Shem said as they left the front garden and walked behind Lek’s wagon. “In fact, today is their anniversary, of sorts. You see, Tabbit Densal was Perrin’s great aunt, but the Densals were more like his grandparents. She and Hogal were very close . . .”

  ---

  Young Pere sat almost at the rear of the arena, leaning forward with his head down on the back of the bench in front of him. The rest of the family were in chairs and benches set up near Puggah’s body at the large center stage, talking quietly with those who came to say goodbye. The great-grandchildren wandered around the empty stage, not quite sure what was going on, but feeling the heaviness of the day and behaving surprisingly well.

  Young Pere glanced up occasionally and sighed. The line to see his grandfather wove all the way to the back and out the doors. The memorial service would never start on time at this rate, and the arena was filling with those who already passed his body. People had lined the road as their procession made its way into the heart of Salem, then all of them fell in line behind the family so that thousands arrived at the arena together. This could take all afternoon.

  He put his head back down, exhausted. Maybe he didn’t sleep so well last night. Maybe Boskos was right—he wasn’t completely recovered from his fall off the school. Digging this morning didn’t help, either. Whatever it was, Young Pere felt a dark brooding that made him want to lie down on the floor and go back to sleep. In an attempt to stay awake, he listened to the conversations that drifted past him.

  “I can’t believe he’s gone.”

  “It was so fast.”

  “Mrs. Shin certainly seems to be struggling, doesn’t she? Poor woman. She’s smiling one moment, then weeping the next.”

  “What are we going to do for a general now?”

  “I don’t know. I heard some suggesting that Rector Shin should be given the position.”

  A couple of bodies sat down in a vacant bench a few rows behind Young Pere.

  “Certainly he should have the position. Peto Shin has done as much to secure Salem as his father has, but what about the title?” The voice sounded as if it came from a younger man.

  “I don’t know that he needs the title of general,” said a man who sounded older. “I think Gleace gave Perrin the rank of general just because that’s what he was used to. True, he was also in charge of the militia, but I think Guide Zenos should probably take that position now. Not as if he needs to do much more than retrain the trainers every year.”

  The younger man sighed. “I just don’t understand something . . . what about Pax’s prophecy?”

  Young Pere held his breath, hoping to hear the response. He’d been wondering that himself.

  “Ah,” the older man said. “I thought about that too. I pulled out The Writings last night and . . . Wait, here’s someone who undoubtedly can help. Assistant Holl, do you have a moment?”

  Young Pere heard a third man, who was walking past his bench, stop behind where his hunched form remained.

  “Gentlemen,” said Assistant Holl, one of Shem’s chosen twelve men, “I always have a moment. Quite a day, isn’t it? So unexpected. What can I do for you?”

  “Pax’s prophecy,” the younger man said, “what he saw in vision when he first saw the valley that would become Salem. I thought, that is, I’d always been told that . . . General Shin might have been the Deliverer.”

  Young Pere heard the assistant sigh. “Many people have read more into that than they should. Look, I’ve got it right here.”

  Young Pere rolled his eyes. Of course the assistant would have The Writings and the verses at hand. He could almost see the dark script as Holl reverently read the words Guide Pax had recorded when he first laid eyes upon the empty valley.

  “The inhabitants of this new city will live in peace until the end comes, when the enemy will threaten to annihilate them.

  “But before that time the Creator will send one to prepare them. From the highest ranks of the enemy will He call one to mark the path of escape for the valiant.

  “The Deliverer will ensure the safety of the Creator’s people, until the coming Destruction. Look, there’s a distinct separation.” Holl must have been pointing to the text. “The lines about one from the highest ranks stands alone. Pax would have reviewed the text before it was printed, making sure the lines stood where they should.”

  The older man said, “That’s what I noticed last night. It’s another sentence that talks about the Deliverer before the Destruction. We connect all of them in our minds, but I don’t think we should.”

  “I agree,” said Assistant Holl. “No one ever said Shin was the Deliverer. Hifadhi knew he was the one from the ranks of the enemy that Pax spoke of; that’s why Gleace made sure he came here. But neither guide ever said that Shin was the Deliverer, nor have I ever heard Guide Zenos claim such a thing. But Shin certainly did mark the paths, didn’t he?”

  “Indeed,” agreed the men. “Excellent job.”

  “I saw them a couple of years ago coming out of the mountains after one of their trips,” the older man said. “Perrin was in the lead, looking as strong and healthy as a twenty-year-old. He had one of the smaller children on his shoulders. The boy was sound asleep, flopped awkwardly over Perrin’s head. Sweetest thing I ever saw. Not that I was about to tell General Shin that he looked sweet.”

  The three men chuckled softly.

  “I saw him less than two weeks ago,” the younger man said. “He was helping to carry home that unconscious grandson of theirs—”

  Young Pere bristled at the tone of his voice, and clenched a fist when he heard the other two men scoff quietly.

  “—and I thought he probably could have carried that troublesome boy all by himself. That’s why I can’t believe he went so quickly,” the man’s voice became quieter. “He was so strong.”

  “But he was seventy-two,” Assistant Holl reminded.

  “I thought he could have lasted another ten, or even twenty years. I really was hoping to see him lead our people to the temple ruin. I used to imagine it when I was a boy,” the younger man said, sounding wistful. “I used to think it must be getting closer to the day, the older he became. I was expecting the last day to be within the next few years, but now? I know what you mean, Assistant Holl, that we misread The Writings to mean what we hope they mean. It’s just that, well I can’t help but wonder, why have we been preparing so much for so many years? Nothing has happened. I’m wondering if anything ever will happen.”

  Young Pere was tempted to stand up and shout his agreement. What was the point of all of this!? They’d been preparing for famines and disasters and invasions since before he was born, and now it killed his Puggah—

  The assistant’s voice cut into his thoughts. “A few things to consider. How much more do we know about the mountains, about
our ability to move people? I know of many families who take trips along the routes and come back with a greater sense of understanding about the Creator and His will for us. Their faith is increased, and any effort that increases faith is never wasted.”

  “True, true,” the younger man conceded. “We took a trip like that when I was young. I loved looking at the marks on the trees, deciphering them, knowing why they were there and who put them there.”

  Something in Young Pere’s chest burned. He did his best to extinguish it.

  The assistant spoke again. “What we do and learn along the way to our destinations is just as important as the destination itself. Now consider this: does it matter when the Last Day is?”

  “What do you mean?” asked the young man.

  The older man spoke up. “No, it doesn’t, Assistant. The Last Day for Perrin Shin was yesterday. The Last Day for me may be tomorrow. None of us know when our Last Day is.”

  Young Pere squeezed his eyes shut.

  “That’s right,” Assistant Holl said. “You mentioned you expected to see the Last Day,” he addressed the younger man. “And you will.”

  “Are you sure?” the younger man said eagerly. “What do you know of Gleace’s prophecy at the temple site, after the Shins first arrived? I remember hearing that he said something to Zenos and Rector Shin at the time, something about them being there. So it will be coming, right?”

  “Not too soon, I hope,” the older man said with a soft chuckle. “I think I’d rather not be here when it happens. I hope I’m on the other side. I imagine the view over there will be much better.”

  Assistant Holl chuckled as well. “Yes, it’ll be coming, and I’ve heard Guide Zenos discuss that prophecy. He did say that Guide Gleace told him and Peto that they would see the day, but honestly, it still may be a hundred years away. They may be watching it from the other side with us.”

  “So we keep preparing,” the older man told his younger companion. “It doesn’t matter if I ever head up those trails before the army, or if I personally benefit from our family’s restocking the emergency caves, or if I never draw from the long-term reserves I help fill. What I do, I do for others, for some future residents of Salem. I don’t need to eat those rations or use those blankets. I’m satisfied knowing that I’ve done my part.”

  “We’re blessed for obeying,” Assistant Holl said, “and that’s the real test: are we obedient even when we can’t see why we should be?”

  Young Pere wished he knew how to slip out without drawing attention to himself. He’d sat near the back thinking no one would be there, but the entire arena would fill up, and he was stuck listening to the conversations around him. More praises of General Shin. More memories about him. More sympathy for the family. And he couldn’t get away from any of it.

  He was trapped, like a wounded falcon, in an immense barn.

  ---

  When Guide Zenos stood up before the congregation filling the enormous arena, he smiled in awe. This must have been better than the memorial in Idumea, he thought.

  The many conversations, which had been quiet and reverent, fell to silence as the audience saw their guide.

  Shem had dreaded this moment. He knew the program would be moving, as all memorial services in Salem were. He was looking forward to the young grandchildren and great grandchildren singing the “buzzing butterflies” song, complete with Perrin’s modifications, and the older grandchildren singing one of the family’s favorite hymns, led by Lilla.

  But Mahrree had asked Shem to give the tribute, and he couldn’t imagine anything more difficult, or more important to him. He never really expected to do this. He always thought that the Last Day would come first . . .

  “Just a few days ago my best friend and brother said that getting me not to cry was the real challenge,” Shem began in a loud voice as he addressed the tens of thousands of people in attendance.

  The crowd smiled. Guide Zenos’s weepy tendencies were legendary. Children throughout Salem looked forward to his annual visits to their congregations. It was their hobby to guess how long it would take before he’d began to cry, and which word would get him going. Shem didn’t mind—he knew at least that way the youth of Salem were paying attention.

  “Then he said a few things to me, and I demonstrated why one of his nicknames for me was Sergeant Sniffles.”

  The audience grinned.

  You’re losing it already, Shem. You haven’t even said my name, and already you’re about to weep. I can see it in your eyes. You’re just so . . . sweet.

  Shem began to chuckle. “But I supposed I earned that. Forty years ago, when he was nearing his thirty-second birthday, and I was a spry twenty-two-year-old, I gave him the nickname of Grandpy.”

  The audience chuckled softly.

  Oh that’s not fair, Shem!

  Shem grinned. “Obviously it didn’t stick once we came to Salem. Here he earned the much more respectable nickname of . . . Puggah.”

  Now everyone in the congregation was laughing.

  It is too fair, Perrin, Shem thought. You forced me to do this. I have no doubt that if our positions were reversed, you’d be telling everyone about my first kiss coming from Sareen on our first Strongest Soldier Race.

  Shem heard a familiar chuckle.

  “But the name I loved best for him was brother. And the names he loved were husband, son, father, uncle, Papa Pere, General of Salem, and of course, Puggah. Colonel was somewhere down next to Grandpy. High General of Idumea didn’t even make the list. Perrin Shin was the best friend a man could ever have. Even when he was yelling in my face when I was only twenty-two, demanding to know if I was a spy, and trying to extract a confession. He didn’t know for years how close to the truth he was. He was my best friend even when I chased him down on a mad ride to Idumea when he was slightly crazed, and he thanked me by pulling a sword on me. So I beat him up.”

  The congregation wasn’t shocked. Most of them had been through Mahrree’s History of the World class, or had a relative who did. Everyone knew the story of when Shem chased down Perrin to keep him from killing the administrators after his parents’ murders.

  Shem paused and smiled. “I’ve always been a little vainly proud about that, I must confess. It was the only time I bested him.”

  The congregation chuckled in understanding.

  I was a bit at a disadvantage at the time, being overcome with grief. But I notice you’re not mentioning that.

  My tribute, my version of the story, Shem thought to the voice in his head. You can clarify the details when we all get to your side of the woods.

  “I always loved him. Especially when he saw how homesick I was as a young soldier, and took me into his home and let me call him Perrin. But not in front of the other soldiers. Especially when he stayed at my home here in Salem for days sustaining me and taking care of my family and duties when my father died and my second son was born just hours after his burial. Especially when he sat up with me half the night after I was called to be guide seven years ago. He listened to me describe all the reasons why I was unfit for the responsibility, then reminded me that the Creator qualifies whom He chooses. It was times like those that make me believe that Perrin Shin’s favorite name was Son of the Creator. He knew his Creator and His will. He didn’t always, though. Not until he was eighteen did he begin to understand what the Creator expected from him. He became one of the greatest men ever to have lived in the world, or to live in Salem.”

  Shem felt something change. He looked down at Mahrree in the front row and noticed Perrin in white and sitting next to her, his arm around her. He nodded and winked. Shem fought the urge to wink back. Mahrree might get the wrong impression.

  “Perrin Shin was born in the village of Pools, on the 51st Day of Harvest, 291, the only child of Relf and Joriana Shin. He was named a version of his grandfather’s name, Pere Shin . . .”

  Shem was rather impressed with himself. He didn’t start sniffling until the third story, but it was
n’t the story that got to him. It happened when he looked down again at Mahrree and saw Perrin whispering in her ear, trying to comfort her as she alternated between laughing and crying. He wasn’t there alone. The rows of the family were far more crowded than anyone else could see. Shem stumbled a bit on his words as he realized that every worthy Shin, Peto, and Briter ancestor was sitting next to his or her namesake.

  Except for Young Pere. As Shem continued to address the crowd he couldn’t see him anywhere with the family.

  Shem glanced down again at Mahrree, or rather, at the spot next to her that was filled by more than just Peto.

  Perrin nodded in understanding that someone was missing, gave Shem a complicated look, then vanished.

  Shem’s voice trembled again as he started the next story. Perrin was going to be busier than ever.

  ---

  As the last song was being sung—mercifully without him; Young Pere wasn’t much for singing, unlike his mother—Young Pere finally stood up at the back of the arena, startling the dozen or so people around him who hadn’t realized the hunched-over body among them was a Shin. Without looking at anyone, he made his way to the side aisle and tried to subtly walk up it, in order to be in position by the end of the prayer. Soon he was in place with the other grandsons at the stage waiting his turn to carry his grandfather back home.

  As the prayer ended, they all regarded him with the same expression: Where have you been?!

  He merely looked past them, and noticed Uncle Shem smiling oddly at him, as if welcoming him back. Young Pere looked away without acknowledging him, and followed his brother and cousins over to the plank.

  Young Pere took his position at Perrin’s head, opposite of his brother Nool, while Bubba and Holling Briter took the other end. As the audience rose, together the four young men hoisted their grandfather to their shoulders and slowly left the stage, taking the wide front stairs cautiously, guided by Peto and Deck on either side. They walked down the center aisle of the arena toward the back doors, and, for the first time, Young Pere looked to see who had come.

  Everyone. From all over Salem. But what caught his attention were the number of blue uniforms scattered in the congregation. They stood out in contrast to the light-colored clothing everyone else wore. There must have been more than fifty men in the army jackets, each standing at attention, saluting the fallen general as he passed.

  Young Pere found his vision blurring and was grateful for it. He could no longer see their faces, but still he could make out their dark shapes and their salutes. His jaw trembled as he tried to focus on the doors, not on the people lining the aisle.

  A woman’s whisper, however, surprised him. “Chin up, Lieutenant. That’s better.”

  He glanced over and saw Mrs. Yordin standing proudly. She didn’t look up at General Shin, but kept her eyes on Young Pere. He nodded briefly to her and cleared his throat.

  Just a little further to go and it’d be all over.

  ---

  Mahrree had never felt so weak as she made her way out of the arena, following her husband. Although the pace was slow, she stumbled over her feet, even with Jaytsy and Lilla holding her up on either side. When they reached the warm sunshine outside, she knew she couldn’t walk the rest of the way home.

  Calla came over to her. “Mahrree, come ride in the wagon.” Lek was already there to help her up on to the seat. Calla sat next to her and nodded to Jaytsy and Lilla that she would take care of their mother so they could walk with their children. Shem, following the men, smiled encouragingly at his wife.

  Calla put her arm around Mahrree and she leaned heavily against her best friend. “How are you holding up?” she asked as the wagon started.

  “I’m not, Calla. To be honest, I really didn’t expect to be here.”

  “What did you expect?”

  “That he would find a way to . . . to . . .”

  “To come get you?”

  “Yes!” Mahrree sobbed. “I sat on the sofa waiting for him, but he never came except to tell me he loved me, to tease me as they took his body, but he was supposed to . . .”

  “Like Hogal came for Tabbit after he passed?”

  Startled, Mahrree sat up and looked at her. “How do you know about that?”

  Calla smiled sympathetically. “Tabbit Densal told me last night. She tried to reach you, but understandably you were a little out of reach. Mahrree, she wants you to know that you still have more to do here. Tabbit didn’t. The Creator still needs you here, but He needed Tabbit there. The Creator has provided you with a large family that will care for you. Tabbit left very little family.”

  Mahrree slumped in discouragement. “What more can I do here? What good am I? I teach world history at the university, but anyone can do that. Just read out of my book. And I help teach the little ones at home, but their mothers can do that just as well. I help around the houses with chores, but there’s always another child who needs to learn the work. I just take up space, Calla, that someone else could use better than me. If I were gone, Hycy and Wes could have our section as their new home. My purpose was to take care of him,” she gestured feebly to her husband far ahead. “Now that he’s gone, why am I still here?”

  No one in Salem had more experience with widows than the guide’s wife. Calla undoubtedly had heard this all before. “Mahrree, Mahrree—no one else can be Muggah. Look at how devastated this family is to lose Perrin. I promise you they’d feel the same way about you. As much as he was their rock, you’re their soft pillow. They can’t bear to lose you both at the same time.”

  “But he did something for them, Calla,” Mahrree tried to explain. “For the entire community! They miss him because he gave them so much. They won’t miss me. I don’t do much more than help a little here and there. I could leave now, be with Perrin, and everyone would continue fine without me. Calla,” she whispered, her voice lowering in despair, “I don’t want to be here anymore. Why didn’t he come for me? What have I done wrong? Why doesn’t the Creator want me?” She collapsed against Calla, who patted her shoulder.

  “Mahrree, you’ve done nothing wrong. The Creator is pleased with you, I’m sure of it. He still needs you here. This family needs you. You can’t see things clearly right now, but someday you will. You’re more than just Perrin’s wife, more than just someone’s mother and grandmother and great-grandmother. You are Mahrree Peto Shin, a daughter of the Creator, and you still have something to accomplish before you can go. Tabbit told me you still have a great work to do, and someday you’ll understand.”

  Mahrree sighed. “Well, Auntie Tabbit, wherever you are, I don’t understand! I don’t know if I want to. I can’t bear to keep living and feeling this pain, Calla.”

  “I know you can’t believe it right now, but this pain will become bearable.” Calla wrapped both arms around Mahrree to help hold her up. “Remember how your mother was? After your father passed? In time she learned how to work with his loss. She carved a new life for herself. If I remember the stories correctly, she took to decorating, and later wanted to decorate the fort? She did your bedroom years later, in something called plaid. You know, Shem still has the occasional nightmare about her supervising his building efforts.”

  Mahrree snorted softly at the memory of her red and blue plaid bedroom. How did her mother move past the pain? Mahrree was only a teenager when Cephas died. She was too lost in her own grief to look at her mother’s.

  Why was it only many years later that she seemed to understand her own mother?

  If only Hycymum had written down how she felt, what she did. Mahrree did remember the entire house being redecorated, but that really wasn’t something that was done in Salem. There were no trends or fashions to dictate what color the curtains should be this year. Mahrree didn’t know how to grieve Salem-style—

  She wept, for a long time.

  Mahrree sighed as she felt her father come back to her again, as he still occasionally did.

  She looked at you each day, and wond
ered how she could help you through the grief. You became her reason for going on. Helping you move on was what helped her move on. How can you imagine no one needs you? You have children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren who desperately need you to help them through this. What could be a greater calling than providing comfort to the grieving? Isn’t that part of the Creator’s work?

  Mahrree watched the procession in front of her as it stopped to switch carriers. Young Pere seemed pale as he held the board for Con Cadby to take his place. His eyes met hers, and the darkness in them surprised her. He let the procession carry on without him and watched Mahrree’s wagon slowly go past.

  She beckoned for Young Pere to hop on to the wagon. He began to shake his head, then climbed on to the back and lay down in the bed, his arm covering his eyes.

  You have plenty of work to still do, Mahrree.

  I see that. Thank you, Father. Somewhere in my heart I know you’re right. But I’m going to need some time to find that spot.

  Of course you will. You have time. All of you do, for now. By the way, it’s been wonderful getting to know my son-in-law. I always knew that I would like him.

  ---

  The sun was baking them by the time they reached the Eztates. But large thick clouds building over the eastern mountains threatened rain by the evening. While thousands of people had lined the road again, they respected the family’s wishes and no one was left at the gravesite except for the Shins, Briters, and Zenoses. The family stood or sat around the open grave while Perrin’s body changed hands one last time. The last to move Perrin were Deck, Peto, and Shem. The three of them carried him to the coffin that was waiting, gently placed him in, and watched tearfully as Mahrree gave him one last kiss.

  Without a word they closed up the coffin. Then all of the men took hold of the ropes to lower the box into the grave. Every last flower from the gardens of the three large houses in the area, as well as from the gardens of the smaller houses of the married grandchildren, had been picked clean, and the granddaughters tossed the flowers in after the coffin.

  Sitting on a chair, and supported on either side by her daughter and daughter-in-law, Mahrree watched as the men filled up the hole. So recently her life was absolutely, wonderfully perfect. Now it was a black pit, deeper than the grave that was filling up.

  The shovels were set aside after the last bit of dirt was placed, and Peto kneeled at the base of the grave. Everyone bowed their heads.

  “Dear Creator, today we bury our beloved Perrin Shin. We ask that You will watch over this site, keep it safe and sacred, until the Last Day. We also ask that You will help all of us who remain to understand Your will, to feel of Your comfort, and to live as well as this, Your son, lived.”

  Chapter 16--“Discover anything thought-provoking?”