An acolyte held an umbrella over Father Hunnings’ head, and when everyone was assembled, Father Hunnings began, “In the midst of life we are in death.”

And fifteen minutes later, he ended, “In sure and certain hope of the resurrection to eternal life through Our Lord Jesus Christ, we commend to Almighty God our sister Ethel; and we commit her body to its resting place; earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust…”

Susan, I, Edward, Carolyn, and Harriet threw our roses on the coffin. “Rest in peace.”

Harriet walked with Edward and Carolyn, and as we moved from the grave, Susan took my hand and said, “Do you remember, at George’s funeral, we promised that we’d come to each other’s funeral, even if we were divorced?”

“I remember that.” Or something like that. “Why do you ask?”

“Because… those three years you were at sea… I kept thinking… what if he’s lost at sea? How can I…?” Then she broke down and started crying.

I put my arm around her, and we walked with the somber, black-clad mourners with our black umbrellas through the rain past the black limousines.

We all gathered in the basement fellowship room of St. Mark’s Church, and I could see that there were more people here than had been at the cemetery. The cemetery no-shows, however, seemed to consist mostly of the elderly and the very young, plus the church ladies who’d set up the punch bowls and the food, so these people got a pass on the burial in the rain.

The punch seemed to be alcohol-free, but I was hoping that someone had spiked at least one punch bowl, and all I had to do was find it.

I’m not a big fan of Episcopal cake and cookies, and my stomach was growling for a liverwurst sandwich on rye with deli mustard. But I settled for some potato salad that had little specks of mystery meat in it.

These post-burial gatherings are sort of awkward – I’m just not sure if we’re supposed to continue the mourning, or yuck it up with the family and friends of the deceased. I asked Susan about this – Emily Post had been a little sarcastic the last few times – and Susan said that we’re just supposed to exchange good memories of the deceased, and prop up the bereaved family for a little while longer. I guess I knew this, but having been gone for ten years, I felt like a foreigner sometimes, and I had been noticing that I’d missed or misunderstood some of the subtle changes that had occurred here in the last decade. Or maybe I’d changed more than the culture had.

Harriet seemed to be more popular than I’d realized, which was surprising, but good. Also good was that her car was here, and I didn’t need to drive her home.

I spotted William and Charlotte standing by themselves, sipping the awful punch. I watched carefully to see if William sneezed or coughed, but he seemed more bored than terminally ill. Damn it. Also, I was annoyed that Susan hadn’t dragged Edward and Carolyn over to keep them company and suck up to them. There weren’t that many opportunities left, and Susan was letting one get by. I looked around for the kids, but I didn’t see them, though I did see the Corbet kids.

Maybe I should give up my matchmaking and also my attempt to get the kids to hang around with their grandparents. Susan was no help in either case, so why should I worry about it? Love? To hell with it. Money? Who cares? Leave it to Fate.

I love to mingle in a crowd of people I don’t know, especially if most of them are elderly; you can really get into some interesting conversations. The punch helps, of course. I did see Tom Corbet and Laurence, so the three of us stood in the outcast corner and chatted.

I spotted the Reverend James Hunnings, and his wife had joined him, so I went over to say hello to her – and him – and I noticed that Mrs. Hunnings had aged in the last ten years. This was a big disappointment; I hate it when my fantasy women get old. Nevertheless, she still had a sparkle in her eye and she was charming. Her name, I recalled now, was Rebecca, and she said to me, “Jim tells me that you’re back, and that you and Susan have reunited.”

Who’s Jim? Oh, James Hunnings. Her husband. I replied, “God works in mysterious ways.”

Hunnings butted in, as I’m sure he does often, and said, “Indeed, He does. And wondrous ways.”

Right. Take, for example, your wife not leaving you. I said, “That was a beautiful church service and a touching eulogy.”

“Thank you, John. It’s not difficult to eulogize Ethel Allard. She was a lady of great faith and spirit.”

Rebecca Hunnings smiled at me, then excused herself, leaving me alone with Jim, who said to me, “I hope you’ve given some thought to what we discussed.”

“I’ve spoken to Susan, and she agrees with me that we would not benefit from premarital counseling.”

“Well, with your permission, John, I’d like to speak to her about that.”

“You don’t need my permission.”

“Fine.” He informed me, “I just spoke to William and Charlotte, and we have an appointment in my office this afternoon to discuss… well, their concerns.”

“Good. But keep in mind that they hate me.”

That took him aback, but he recovered and said, “Their concern is for their daughter’s happiness.”

“Mine, too.”

“I know that, which is why this is so troubling.”

“Right.” I asked him, “Did William seem under the weather?”

“I don’t think so. Why do you ask?”

“Oh, he looked a bit unwell at graveside, and I was concerned.”

“He looked fine.”

“No cough or anything?”

“Uh… no. Oh, by the way, I did take the liberty of speaking to Elizabeth about that letter, and she informs me that it’s in her possession and she has not yet given it to you.”

“That’s correct.”

“Well, I must be frank with you, John – I’ve advised her to examine the contents herself, then discuss it with me before she delivers it to you.”

“Really? And why did you do that, if I may ask?”

“Well, as I said, Ethel discussed with me – in general terms – the contents of the letter, and Ethel herself was unsure if you should see it.”

“Well, the last I heard from Elizabeth, her mother had instructed her to give it to me after her death.”

“I see… well, there seems to be some confusion then.”

“Not in my mind. But I’ll take it up with Elizabeth.”

He seemed to be struggling with something, then he said, “This letter… may contain what could be construed as gossip… or scandal.” He looked at me and continued, “Not the sort of thing a Christian lady such as Ethel Allard should concern herself with, or perpetuate.”

Why not? I love gossip and scandal. Where’s my letter? I pointed out, “Ethel is dead.”

He explained, “Neither Elizabeth nor I want her mother’s memory to be… let’s say, sullied, in any way. So, of course, Elizabeth wants to see the letter first.”

I wonder who put that idea in her head? Well, if Father Hunnings wasn’t blowing smoke, then the letter wasn’t about money. I like gossip better. Scandal is good, too. It was time to go, so I asked him, “Will I see you – and Mrs. Hunnings – tonight at Elizabeth’s house?”

“Rebecca and I will try to be there.”

“Good.” I moved off and found Susan, but I didn’t tell her what Father Hunnings and I had just discussed. Instead, I asked her, “Were the kids sucking up to their grandparents?”

“John, that’s awful.”

“I meant to say, are Edward and Carolyn interacting in a loving way with Grandma and Grandpa?”

She replied, “They spoke briefly, but Mom and Dad have left.”

“Already? Are they feeling all right?”

“Yes, but… this is not really their crowd.”

“Ah. So, Lord and Lady Stanhope just popped in to say hello to the peasants.”

“Please.” She added, “It was good of them to come.”

“I think they actually came to see Father Hunnings for a moment.” I informed her, “Your parents have an appointment with him this afternoon.”