Oracle

Chapter 1

It was another hot, dry day in a long string of hot, dry days. Mallory struggled to prevent the monotony of the drive to Haven from lulling her into a trance. As she crossed the bridge above the southern fork of the river, she took her foot off the accelerator and looked at the water below. At this point the river was little more than a trickle. To Mallory’s amazement, a tent was set up on a sand bar.

How did that tent get there? There’s no boat. Is the river so shallow that someone could’ve walked across?

When she reached the other side of the river, she resumed the state highway’s legal speed limit and focused on her driving. Mallory had trained herself to be with the moment; to be aware of where she was and what she was doing at all times. But today was different.

Things change. Nothing is permanent. These precepts were part of the beliefs she embraced. But now, she faced an unexpected change that would affect her for the rest of her life.

Her beloved aunt, Cassandra Timmerman, had died earlier in the week. She had not been ill, at least not to anyone’s knowledge. She had been active in the community, in her church, and had an unquenchable love of life. Mallory’s mind knew she was driving to Haven for Cassandra’s funeral, but her heart struggled to accept it.

Six weeks ago Mallory and Cassandra spent the Memorial Day weekend together. Cassandra drove to Prairie Hill to visit her niece. They hiked the bluff in the park, attended an outdoor concert, and baked whole-wheat sugar cookies in Mallory’s simple apartment. Cassandra even helped at Sacred Space, Mallory’s bookstore and gift shop, so the staff could have some time off.

Mallory glanced at her watch and checked the speedometer. There was no need to rush as she had allowed herself adequate time for the ninety-minute drive from Prairie Hill to Haven. She let her mind wander to the last time she saw Cassandra. Mallory thought her aunt had seemed well and vigorous, exceptionally so for a woman nearly eighty. In fact, it was Cassandra who suggested going to Prairie Hill Park and hiking to the overlook. They enjoyed the view of the river, the town, and the surrounding countryside. Cassandra bought several postcards at the hill’s gift shop and gave two to Mallory as a remembrance of their day. Now Mallory was driving to Haven for Cassandra’s funeral.

It was Cassandra who had raised Mallory in her home in Haven. Cassandra was the only mother Mallory had known and her recollection of her father was dim.

A few days ago, Cassandra’s neighbor Karl Kaiser called Mallory to tell her Cass was in the hospital. It was late. Mallory had been in bed and initially thought the call was a dream. Karl explained how he and Temple had returned home quite late and, noticing several lights on in Cassandra’s house, went to see if anything was wrong. When Cass did not respond to their knocking and calling, they entered the house. They discovered her lying unconscious on the kitchen floor and summoned an ambulance. They accompanied her to the hospital and remained with her until Mallory arrived.

At the hospital, Mallory found her aunt in the critical care unit with a head injury, seemingly the result of a fall.

An unusual movement ahead brought Mallory’s attention back to her driving. A pickup truck hauling two large grain wagons approached in the opposite lane of traffic. The rear wagon zigzagged from the shoulder of the road to across the centerline. Mallory took her foot from the accelerator and steered her small car toward the edge of the highway to avoid a potential collision with the wildly swaying wagon.

As her car approached the truck, the rear wagon broke free and shot across the highway in front of Mallory’s car. She slammed her feet onto the brake and clutch pedals just in time to avoid a collision. The wagon plunged into the ditch and hurtled into the cornfield beyond, missing her car by no more than a few feet.

Mallory’s panic braking sent her car spiraling down the road, coming to rest with the rear tires in the shallow ditch and the front tires on the gravel of the shoulder. She looked in the direction from which she had come; the driver of the truck continued down the highway, presumably oblivious to his loss.

As Mallory rested her head on the steering wheel, she was seized with panting and shaking. She broke into a sweat and felt her heart banging painfully. Even if she couldn’t proceed immediately to Haven, she realized she had to move her car. After setting the hand brake, she jerked on the door handle. Her strength ebbing, she used both hands to shove the door open. She swung her feet to the ground and pulled herself out of the car. Immediately she collapsed onto the coarse gravel of the shoulder.

Unable to rise, Mallory lay on the ground taking long, deep breaths and releasing them slowly until her breathing returned to near normal. She struggled to her feet, leaning heavily against the car for support. Breathe. Be calm and focus.

Mallory walked around the car to survey the situation. All four tires were in contact with the ground. She felt she should be able to drive out with little difficulty. Still shaking, she got into the car, fastened her seat belt and started the engine. As she shifted into first gear and gently depressed the accelerator, her car dug in, crept out of the ditch, and Mallory steered it onto the highway.

She made herself be with her driving, but the near collision haunted her. She believed there were no accidents—everything happens for a reason. Why? What am I missing? She realized that had the wagon hit her car, she could have been killed. She smiled, feeling blessed to be alive and unharmed. That feeling, and her smile, stayed with her for the remainder of the drive to Haven.

When Mallory reached the city limits, she pulled into the first mini-mart she saw and went to the rest room. She washed bits of dirt from her hands. The soap burned the abraded skin and she rinsed her hands with cool water. After dabbing her hands dry with a paper towel, she saturated the towel and cleaned the dirt and blood from her knees. She considered buying bandages to protect some of the larger abrasions on her hands, then groaned on realizing that she would be shaking hands a great deal. Bandages would be too hard to explain.

She tossed the paper towel into the waste and glanced in the mirror. She ran her fingers through her hair to dislodge the grass and debris then smoothed her hair with her comb. Satisfied with her appearance, Mallory left the rest room, purchasing a bottle of water before leaving the mini-mart.

Mallory sat in the car and drank the water, allowing herself a few moments to reexamine the incident on the highway. Was it a sign? If so, what did it mean? Analysis was pointless. No one had been injured, property damage would be minimal, but she had been left acutely frightened. The incident had heightened her awareness, but had she become so inattentive that her awareness required so severe an awakening? Why today? The message must be urgent. Perhaps it has something to do with Cass and my stay in Haven.

Guessing frustrated her. She put the incident out of her mind, hoping that before she left Haven, the purpose of her close call would be clear. She resolved to be more mindful during the next week.

She drank more water and shoved the near-empty bottle into a cup holder. Starting the car, Mallory proceeded to Ralston’s Mortuary. The route took her through the center of Haven’s business district where she turned left at the town’s only traffic signal. Maple Street took her to an older part of town, a historic neighborhood of massive maples and elegant homes originally built and occupied by Haven’s upper class, and now occupied by a generation of those who aspired to be.

Ralston’s Mortuary occupied three lots at the intersection of Maple and Fourth Avenue. The building itself looked like the other large, white clapboard houses on the street.

Walking through the shaded parking area, she noticed many large, expensive cars parked between the white stripes. She considered the age of Cassie’s peers. Certainly none of Cassie’s friends could afford to drive any of these, not to mention that they’d be incapable of driving such a big car. She passed a small, lemon yellow car parked close to the door. A wooden sign at the front of the parking space read ORGANIST in block letters. Mallory smiled. This car belonged to Fannie Rouse, a close friend of Cassandra’s and the organist at the Congregational Church. Over 80, Fannie refused to think or act her age, an idiosyncrasy that drew criticism from many of Fannie’s peers, but one Mallory found refreshing. Fannie was not your stereotypical little old lady.

Mallory climbed the steps to the porch, entering the building through the right side of the double doors. The sudden rush of frigid air made her shiver. The room she entered was like a long living room decorated in painfully good taste. Color coordinated sofas, love seats, and chairs surrounded an imposing fireplace in the west wall, the focal point for the left side of the room.

Ahead of her, a short passageway led into the chapel. She could see mourners already seated in the pews.

To her right was another seating area with the same style and color of furniture as that around the fireplace. But this area boasted a sunny alcove, an area in the room that bulged onto the porch. There was also a door with a small sign on it that read PRIVATE and from this door emerged Owen Ralston, a trim, gray-haired man with a neat mustache. He greeted Mallory with a brisk handshake.

Good morning, he said. I’ve said this before, but I’m sorry for your loss. Cassandra was a good friend and a real mover and shaker in Haven. I’ve never known anyone who exemplified the meaning of service the way she did.

Mallory smiled. Thank you. Aunt Cass was special. I learned so much from her. She raised me as if I were her own child.

You were the light of her life, said Ralston. She wanted you to be prepared for whatever came your way.

I remember all the library books she read so she could help me with my schoolwork.

You graduated at the top of your class, he smiling.

I graduated in the top ten. I had a problem with the chemistry teacher.

You weren’t the only one. Briarson refused to help my daughter, too. He was always happy to tutor the boys, especially the athletes. Athletes had eligibility requirements back then. You remember what happened when Debra tried to get into the sessions. He made her leave, and the principal supported him. Then your friend Brenda went to the sessions pointing out that as a cheerleader, she was an athlete too. She even wrote about it for the school paper.

The principal suspended the editors of the paper for printing it, said Mallory. He made it clear that if the cheerleaders had access to tutoring, then anyone who walked around the gym once a day would want to be included in the tutoring sessions. He said the marching band would think they were athletes. She grimaced at the frustration of being a teenager in high school.

That’s when we decided it was time for a private school, said Owen. Granger Academy was pricey, but we couldn’t see putting Debra’s future at risk. She was able to come home most weekends.

I was sorry to see her go, but I’m glad she went, said Mallory. When she came home, she tutored me. Without her help, I wouldn’t have passed chemistry. Deb even coached me on what questions to ask Briarson. I missed her, but I benefited from her going to Granger.

When tenure exists, students are at the mercy of the teaching staff, said Owen.

Did he ever retire?

He resigned and left Haven after you and Debra graduated. There was pressure from a new administrator as well as a vocal group of parents and students. But the cow clinched it.

Cow?

You never heard about the cow? said Owen in disbelief. To the best of my memory, someone, or likely more than one person, stole a cow and led it to the second floor of the Briarsons’ home while they were away. They provided the cow with some hay and filled the bathtub with water. But they also left a pail of water laced with Epsom salts.

Epsom salts? Isn’t that used for soaking sprains?

In small doses, it’s a purgative, said Owen.

So the cow had food, water, and a laxative. The cow was there for how long?

A couple of days.

Mallory could not suppress a smile. Karma…no one escapes it.

One of the double doors opened and Mallory turned her attention to the man who entered. Seth Yarborough was the minister from the Congregational Church who would be officiating at Cassandra’s service. He nodded to Owen and shook hands with Mallory.

I hoped I’ve have a chance to talk with you, Ms. Timmerman, he said.

Perhaps you’d be more comfortable in the alcove, offered Owen. He returned to his office, closing the door behind him.

Mallory and the clergyman moved to the window seat.

I’m so sorry for your loss, he began. The entire community is in shock over your aunt’s death. She was the backbone of our church, a leader by her speech and her actions. Her work in the church and in the community was a shining example of how Christ wants us to live. I wish everyone in our church could be half as active and dedicated as Cassandra. A congregation of Cassies could change the world

His outpouring of emotion surprised Mallory. Thank you, she said awkwardly. When we spoke on the phone, you told me things I didn’t know about Aunt Cass. She never told me she was involved in so many different projects.

Cass never flaunted her service, although she could have, he said. "It was her idea to start the daycare center for the low-income families in Haven. She even staffed it with some of the low-income mothers. Not only did she open the Warm Hands—Warm Hearts circle in our church to include women from all of the churches in town, she expanded the program itself…not just knitting hats, scarves, and mittens, but collecting coats and boots for the children as well. She was a dynamo when it came to service. She was a very special person.

Last Sunday during the moment of concern, spoke about the need in Haven, disclosing various opportunities for service. She was never pushy or adamant, she simply pointed out what could be done if the desire was there. She was inspiring.

I didn’t realize Cass was so active, said Mallory. Sometimes she mentioned how some of the projects were progressing, but she never hinted she’d initiated them. I knew she volunteered in the food pantry and she’s been in Warm Hearts forever. The daycare is new, but she never said it was her idea. She implied it was a group effort.

The pastor laughed. It was a group effort: a large group and a massive effort. Endless regulations. Cass was determined that it would be more than baby-sitting. She wanted the children to learn life skills. The children watch as their lunch is being prepared. The cook explains each step. They know how bread is made and they have homemade bread for lunch regularly. The staff is teaching them how to sew…

Aren’t they a little young to be handling needles? asked Mallory.

The pastor smiled. Cass developed a sewing kit for pre-schoolers. She made needles from toothbrush handles and the buttons are laminated cardboard. They use yarn to stitch the buttons to squares of stiff fabric in which the holes have already been punched. The point isn’t to make chefs or tailors out of them. It’s to create an awareness of some of life’s more mundane tasks. Cassandra even arranged a tour of Haven’s water department. Now all of the four- and five-year-olds can explain, sort of, how water comes from a faucet.

Mallory was astonished. Cass did all of that?

More. She was a model for all Christians to follow.

Mallory suppressed a laugh. She viewed her aunt as more than a Christian. In fact Mallory knew Cassandra attended the Congregational Church over the other twelve churches in Haven because it provided the greatest opportunity for community outreach…but she had never become a member. Aunt Cass would laugh if she heard Pastor Yarborough call her a model Christian. Even though Cass was a spiritual person, she had no use for ritual and dogma. She believed serving her neighbor was serving God. That was her personal creed.

She wrote letters to the trustees of all the churches in Haven suggesting service projects to them, said the pastor. I heard she went to their board meetings with detailed plans of how each church could work toward a particular goal, even down to how they might fit it into their respective budgets.

Cass told other churches what they should be doing? asked Mallory in amazement. That takes a lot of chutzpah. What kind of a project did she propose?

The minister smiled. "She took a different idea to each church. She knew that a Lutheran member had bequeathed her house to the church. Cassandra suggested they convert it to a shelter for battered women. She presented estimates for the conversion and the operation.

"Then there’s the youth center in the heart of Haven. She approached the Presbyterians and the Disciples about buying a vacant building and developing a safe youth hang out. She proposed having tutoring sessions there. She recommended the youth groups collect aluminum cans to raise money to help support the center. She suggested a competition among them to see who could raise the most money. Now it’s more than a youth center. Some of the youth volunteer to teach senior citizens how to operate a computer.

When she proposed this idea, she didn’t just say, ‘why don’t you do this?’ She researched the feasibility of her plan, she quoted costs, and she determined how many persons it would take to make the project work.

Mallory stared at him in speechless skepticism, amazed at Cassandra’s drive and humanitarian spirit.

Owen approached. Would you care to take your seat now? he asked.

Certainly, said Mallory. She followed him through his office and out another door that opened into the right rear corner of the chapel. The lush carpet silenced their footfalls as they walked down the outside aisle. Mallory gasped on seeing the number of mourners crammed into the pews. At the rear of the chapel, three rows of folding chairs had been set up behind the pews and still more chairs lined the wall at the other side of the chapel. Is all of Haven here?

Owen directed her to a seat in the front pew and handed her a leaflet. As he withdrew, she looked at the folded paper, doubting she would have chosen this design had the choice been hers. When she had spoken with Owen over the phone a few days before, he assured her everything was in order; Cassandra had made the decisions and paid for the funeral and the accompanying services in advance. There had been no need for her to make an additional trip to Haven. Ellen and Fannie, Cassie’s closest friends, had given him Cassandra’s firm directions; he assured her he followed them to the letter. They wouldn’t have allowed him to do otherwise.

She looked toward the chancel and saw a photograph of Cass in front of the podium. Mallory was pleased that it was a current photo, not one taken twenty or more years ago. It showed Cassandra outside in the sunshine wearing her ubiquitous smile. Mallory looked more closely. Were those Karl’s climbing roses in the background? Did she ask him to take a photo for this purpose?

She turned her attention to the music. Fannie sat at the organ playing what Mallory thought was Bach. She wore a dusty blue robe, obviously chosen to go with the décor of the chapel. Fannie was a superb organist, her talents worthy of a massive pipe organ in a grand cathedral. Mallory wished Ralston’s Mortuary had a better instrument for a musician of Fannie’s caliber.

Glancing around, Mallory saw more people entering. Cassandra chose to have the service here, but Mallory questioned the wisdom of that decision. The chapel was packed and still people entered. Soon there would be standing room only. Mallory felt someone sit at her side. Turning she saw Ellen Smith, one of Cassie’s closest friends, sitting next to her.

Do you mind if we sit with you? whispered Ellen. Mallory noticed several other elderly women behind Ellen, some of them carrying canes. She recognized Lucille Flynn and Harriet Ainsley in the group.

Please join me, said Mallory rising and indicating to the others that they should sit. I was wondering, whispered Mallory to Ellen, why Aunt Cass chose to have the service here instead of the church. The sanctuary is much larger.

A few years ago, began Ellen, Cassie, Fannie, and I exchanged detailed instructions for our respective funerals. Cassie refused to be affiliated with any particular church. She thought the differences in denominations were ludicrous. She’d attended the Congregational Church for so long that everyone assumed she was a member. But she never joined, never had her photo taken for the church directory, never served as an officer in any of the circles. She was committed to service, but not committed to doctrine. Some people were critical, but I saw her point. She knew the clubbishness and elitist attitudes that exist in some churches only diminish their ability to serve. She found that unacceptable. Ellen turned her head and discreetly scanned the area behind her.

But this was a mistake, she continued. The mourners are standing in the entry and in Owen’s office.

Mallory sneaked a look and gasped. The place is packed, she whispered. Do you know all of these people?

Many of them are members of the Congregational Church. That group in the front of the far section is the Warm Hands-Warm Hearts group. They represent all the churches in Haven, and a few country churches. Behind them is the mayor and most of the town council. But there are a few I don’t know.

Mallory noticed a change in the music. Is Fannie playing Beethoven?

Ellen nodded. Cass loved Beethoven. She felt she could have what she wanted at her own funeral.

Mallory smiled. It’s certainly more uplifting than some of the old, depressing hymns I’ve heard at funerals.

Indeed, said Ellen nodding. She wanted this to be a celebration.

Four men and two women walked down the aisle in pairs and sat in the front row of the middle section of pews. Pastor Yarborough followed and sat with them.

Are they the pallbearers? asked Mallory looking in the leaflet for the names. I don’t recognize any of them.

They’re all pastors from some of the other churches, explained Ellen. They worked closely with Cassie and wanted to honor her, so they volunteered. There’s Jan Patterson, William Rodgers, Father Takada, Charlotte Rossini, Dr. Louderbach, and Derek Wyatt.

They volunteered?

Ellen nodded. All the ministers in Haven volunteered save for Reverend Chambers, but he’s a little…different. The mayor and the council members even volunteered. Owen didn’t know what to do. Fannie told him to draw names from a hat. Nothing like this has ever happened in Haven. Cassie touched a lot of people.

Mallory was astounded. I knew Aunt Cass was active in the church, but I didn’t know she was active in all of them until Pastor Yarborough told me.

All but one, said Ellen.

Owen and his assistant wheeled in the casket and positioned it before the chancel. As they retreated, Fannie finished the Beethoven, then Pastor Yarborough moved to the podium.

"Today we come together to celebrate the life and works of Cassandra Timmerman. I found this funeral meditation to be both a challenge and a joy to prepare. It was challenging because our church, our entire community, has suffered a grievous loss and I feel it personally and intensely. But it was also a joy to write because of all the glorious things there are to say about our Cassandra.

"In her funeral instructions, she left me a note in regard to the message: ‘No gloom and doom, no depressing hymns. Make it a going away party for my next adventure.’

I haven’t known Cassie as long as most of you here, but the influence she had on my life will remain with me forever. I’ve grown as a person. I’ve learned the deeper meaning of service.

He spoke of how Cassandra could have traveled, played golf, or done any number of things retirees do. Instead she dedicated her life to the service of others. She involved her friends in her projects, he said. She expanded the Warm Hands-Warm Hearts program to include a coat giveaway every October. Last year they collected and gave away over 100 coats to the needy.

He described the daycare program for low-income families in Haven. "She wanted it to be more than a baby-sitting service. She wanted the children to have at least one hot meal a day and she provided a balanced breakfast if the need were there. She wanted the children to learn something new everyday and she gave the families of the children hope for their future.

"Cassandra goaded our community to ever-greater service. She drove people to their medical appointments. But she couldn’t do it alone. She developed a network of people who were willing to drive anyone to an appointment in Haven, and another group who could drive people to appointments out of town. She made the network available to all the churches in Haven, the senior center, and even to those with no church affiliation.

"There are eleven other pastors here today who can share with you what she has initiated in their respective churches. In some cases she sowed the seeds of major projects. The youth center was her idea. The adult education program was another. If you look around Haven, there are many services that Cassandra had a voice or a hand in.

"In John 14, the twelfth verse, Jesus says, ‘I tell you, the one who believes in me will do the works I do and will do greater works than these, because I am going to the Father.’ From now on, whenever I read this verse, I will think of Cassandra. She took the story of Jesus feeding the multitudes a few steps farther by clothing them, sheltering them, educating them, and employing them.

Cassandra lived her faith through her service, continued the pastor. But it was more than faith guiding her. Cassandra possessed an inherent vision and that vision was coupled with love. I believe the love was a result of Cassie recognizing the Christ within her and letting it reign her life.

Mallory had her doubts about the pastor’s explanation of Cassandra’s dedication and service. I can’t believe it was so faith driven. Cass believed in doing the right thing. Religion had nothing to do with it.

Speak to any other pastor in Haven, said Seth, and he or she will tell you about the kind of person Cassandra was. She set an example for all of us. She changed my view of ministry and of service. She changed my life. Her light illuminated everyone who knew her.

He’s piling it on a little thick. Sure he’s young, but he’s a professional. Few pastors would admit learning so much from someone in the congregation.

Why did she start these projects? I believe her personal philosophy was ‘love and service—here and now.’ She practiced her beliefs. She lived Christ’s teachings and beyond. She was a modern-day Dorcas with a compelling vision and a mighty faith. We’re all better for having known her, not just for what she accomplished, but also by the example she set.

Cassandra lived the words of Micah 6:8 ‘He has told you what is good, and what does the Lord require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and walk humbly with your God?’

Seth cleared his throat before he continued. Her death is a blow to the community, so we grieve. We begin to heal and we move on, always grateful for her influence and service. We will carry on her work.

He collected his notes, and as he stepped away from the podium, Fannie played a dynamic interpretation of Beethoven’s Ode to Joy. The pallbearers rose and assumed their positions at either side of the casket. They guided the casket out of the sanctuary as the mourners rose to sing.

As the casket rolled by, Mallory wondered what her life would have been like had Cassandra not been a major player in it, and wept at the magnitude of her loss.

Chapter 2

The trip to the cemetery was an arduous trek for many of the mourners. For some, just exiting the chapel was a complicated process. Mallory hoped they would not attend the interment service in the heat. The gravesite was on a hillside, not particularly steep but nonetheless a challenge for the elderly and physically limited.

Mallory watched her aunt’s peers struggle to the gravesite. This wasn’t Cassie’s best idea either. A man with a cane paused, leaning against a tombstone to catch his breath. Surely Cass wouldn’t have wanted her friends to come here on a day like this.

I don’t know why you wanted come here, whined a woman. You didn’t know her.

I want to pay my respects for all she did for my family, said the man, unruffled by the woman’s unpleasant manner.

Mallory watched a woman in her early fifties push a man in a wheelchair up the hill. The woman was small and dumpy with short over-black hair teased into submission. Her mouth was contorted into a scowl and her overall appearance made Mallory think of an evil pixie. She panted as she deposited the man under the shelter of the tent. She trekked down the hill to assist another wheelchair-bound person to the gravesite.

Mallory noticed a bus from the nursing home in Haven. Several persons capable of walking had disembarked. They stood at the bottom of the hill looking up. Mallory descended the hill to help them. She approached two elderly women.

I can help you to the grave site, she said.

That would be so good of you, said the woman with a cane. I’m not as steady as I once was.

Each of you can take an arm and we can go slowly, said Mallory as she stepped between them. They took her arms and they proceeded up the slope.

Another hot day, said the other woman. We’re desperate for rain. Look at the grass.

The weathermen say we’re in a drought, said the cane-bearer. I feel for the farmers.

It’s not just the farmers, said the other woman. Everyone suffers during a drought. People will use more water to irrigate their lawns and gardens. Some wells will go dry. It’s a cycle.

Next year we could have flooding, said the cane-bearer. That’s part of the cycle too.

Mallory led them to two unoccupied seats and looked down the hill. The evil pixie was pushing the last of the wheelchairs up the slope. Her face was red and Mallory could hear her ragged breathing. Mallory resumed her seat in the front row and waited for the service to start. Pastor Yarborough stood before the casket holding his service handbook and read the rite for the interment of the dead.

The service was brief. When it was finished, a dreadful feeling of finality swept over Mallory. The reality of her aunt’s death gripped her and she realized the hard part—living without Cassandra—was just beginning.

She rose and looked around, wondering if it had been worthwhile for the residents of the nursing home to make the trip to the cemetery and trudge to Cassandra’s grave site in the heat. Some of the mourners approached her, shaking her hand and expressing their condolences. As the crowd drifted away, she found the two women she had escorted up the hill and helped them to the bus.

In the spacious fellowship hall of the church, Mallory shook hands and spoke with those coming for the lunch after the service. As large as the room was, it seemed warm and overcrowded, and still more of Cassandra’s friends and acquaintances streamed in via the stairwell and the elevator. Some moved through the food line; others had obtained a plateful of food and sat at the tables. Knots of people stood chatting and drinking coffee or iced tea.

For moment she stood alone, spent by all the persons who had engaged her in conversation, expressing their condolences and singing Cassandra’s praises and, more often than not, sharing an anecdote about Cassandra’s activities. She looked around the room for a way out. She needed time to catch her breath, to meditate.

Before she could move, someone touched her arm. She turned to face Fannie Rouse, the organist.

You’re exhausted, said Fannie. You should eat something and drink some water. You don’t want to get dehydrated. Taking her arm, Fannie dragged her to the end of the hall closest to the kitchen.

The buffet table was laden with food: sandwiches of ham and turkey, potato chips, a variety of vegetable and gelatin salads, and another entire table covered with desserts.

Mallory took a paper plate and choose a turkey sandwich, cole slaw, and some gelatin with fruit. Studying the desserts, she noticed a revolting peach pie in an eight-inch aluminum pie pan. The crust looked doughy and under cooked, the filling was runny from lack of thickening, the fluting burned black where the filling had seeped out. One slice had been placed on a paper dessert plate. Mallory was aghast to see Fannie snatch it up.

I always take the worst looking slop, explained Fannie earnestly. If I take anything that looks appetizing, I eat it all. This way, I don’t eat so much.

Mallory was stunned that Fannie would be so vocal about the food when some of the people who prepared it could be within earshot.

They sat across from each other at a vacant table and Mallory sampled one of the salads. I hadn’t seen Aunt Cass for six weeks, said Mallory. Had she been ill?

Not to my knowledge, said Fannie, although she did mention being tired one evening. But I was tired too. We’d had a long day.

Nothing else?

She seemed fine, said Fannie, as fine as any 79-year-old could be. I was envious of her good health and energy.

An elderly woman approached them, punching the floor with her walker. I don’t know if you remember me, but I’m Blanche Olafson. You were one of my students. Mallory froze. I’ve never seen this woman before.

Blanche, scolded Fannie, Mallory was never one of your students. She was in high school before you moved to Haven.

She was in my English class, insisted Blanche. Excellent penmanship.

Mallory realized the woman had confused her with someone else, but she refused to embarrass her. It’s nice to see you here, she said with what she hoped was a convincing smile.

I wanted you to know how sorry I am about losing Cassie. I don’t know how I’m going to manage without her. She took me to my all doctor appointments. I’m house bound so I can’t get out like I used to. She took me to the funerals of four of our friends. This is the fifth funeral I’ve been to in a month. That’s just too many.

Mallory didn’t know how to respond to her comment, but Fannie prevented an awkward silence. How did you get here, Blanche?

I rode with Myrna. Traffic doesn’t bother her. She went to bring the car around.

Mallory heard Fannie inhale sharply and saw her eyes widen in alarm. Thank you for coming, said Mallory. It must have been a considerable effort for you.

It’s always good to see my old students, said Blanche. She turned to leave, driving her walker into the floor. Mallory shuddered at the sound, which reminded her of the heartbeat in that story by Poe.

Five funerals in a month is too many? snorted Fannie when Blanche was out of earshot. How does she intend to rectify that gross injustice?

She didn’t realize what she was saying, said Mallory. And you’re right—I was never in her English class. I’ve never seen her before.

She wouldn’t be house bound if she’d didn’t take so many pills, said Fannie. Cassie took her to see one of her doctors and Ellen and I each take her to a different doctor. She’s overmedicated. Her prescriptions are making her sick! And she needs to get out more…not just to funerals either. Her hired help comes in every morning before she’s out of bed. She does a little cleaning and before she leaves, she pours a bowl of cereal for Blanche.

Has anyone told her doctors about all of the medications she’s taking?

Cassie did. Two years ago, she took Blanche to the doctor. Cass gathered all her pills and showed them to Blanche’s doctor. He threw most of them away. Blanche was furious with Cass, but she improved in a week. I fear she’s reverted to her old habits. I’ll talk to Ellen. Maybe we can do the same.

You could save her life, said Mallory.

She may have some genuine health problems, said Fannie, but a good diet and a little exercise would help her more than all of those pills, even at her age. Fannie shuddered. She has no business riding with Myrna because Myrna has no business driving!

Mallory was startled when someone placed a hand on her shoulder. She turned to find the cane-bearing woman she had helped up the hill at the cemetery.

I hope you can forgive me, she began. I should’ve recognized you from Cassie’s photos. I’m Evelyn Doucette. Cassie was one of my dearest friends. She was there for me when my grandson disappeared. She either came to my house or called me every day for four months. She convinced me I could go on, that I should face Blake’s disappearance as a challenge, not a punishment. A chance to grow…

There you are! Mallory started at a loud whiny voice and turned to see the evil pixie stomping toward Evelyn. Everyone else is on the bus.

I wanted to talk to Mallory…

We’ve been waiting on you.

Go without her, Lindsey, said Fannie with irritation. I’ll drive her to the nursing home.

It’s against nursing home policy. snapped Lindsey.

There’s no such policy, said Fannie. When my mother was a resident…

How many years ago was that? spat Lindsey. Things have changed.

Have they? said Fannie.

I’m sorry about this, said Evelyn. There’s so much I wanted to tell you, Mallory. Perhaps you could visit me. I’m in room 241.

Can we go now, Evelyn? said Lindsey, grabbing her above the elbow.

Evelyn jerked her arm away. Your grandparents would be ashamed of you. Unassisted, she walked toward the elevator.

Mallory turned to Fannie. That woman works at the nursing home?

She’s the activities director, said Fannie.

How does she keep her job?

She’s doesn’t keep any job very long, replied Fannie. She has a bachelor’s degree in physical education.

Mallory looked toward the elevator for a quick glance before the door closed. She doesn’t look like she could be much of an athlete. She had a hard time pushing the wheelchairs up the hill.

She smokes like a chimney. Last year she quit her teaching job because she was afraid of her students.

She was afraid of them? said Mallory. I’d think they’d be afraid of her. She’s not rational.

It’s obvious, isn’t it? Fannie sighed. Besides her emotional instability, she has a deadbeat husband, two daughters who look like tramps, and multiple axes to grind. Her mother is dying of cancer and refuses to tell her.

Surely there’s at least one drug that would help her, said Mallory.

No doubt, but she’ll never admit she has a problem.

I hope I don’t see her again while I’m in Haven, said Mallory with a shudder. She’s frightening.

I don’t know how you can avoid it, said Fannie. She’s Cassie’s neighbor.

Chapter 3

It was late afternoon when Mallory arrived at Cassandra’s house. As she pulled into the shaded drive, she noticed the house looked exactly the same: a two-story, red brick house with twin dormer windows, mullioned windows on either side of the front door, a two-car garage connected to the house by a breezeway. The evergreen shrubs surrounding the house were perfectly trimmed and the marigolds bordering the drive glowed in rich reds, oranges, and yellows.

She must water those every day. She turned off the car and rolled down the window. Staring at the house, she could not accept that Cassandra would not be there to greet her with a hug and a loving smile. Spent from the day’s events, she rested her head on the steering wheel and closed her eyes. A masculine voice awakened her.

Mallory, are you all right?

She raised her head. A man with a long blond ponytail, a neat beard, and glasses looked at her with concern. She smiled recognizing Cassandra’s neighbor, Karl Kaiser. He looks like an erudite biker, but why shouldn’t he? He is an erudite biker.

Karl…

You’ve been in the car for a long time. Are you all right?

I must’ve dozed off. Today has been surreal.

Temple and I were at the funeral, said Karl opening the car door. Talk about standing room only. Mourners were packed in Owen’s office for the service.

I’m sorry, said Mallory getting out of her car. Aunt Cass wanted her funeral at Ralston’s because she wasn’t a member of a church.

I always assumed she was a member of the Congregational Church, said