All Soul’s Day: a day for commemoration of all the faithful departed…. From antiquity certain days were devoted to intercession for particular groups of the dead. The institution of a day for a general intercession on November 2 is due to Odilo, abbot of Cluny (died 1048). The date, which became practically universal before the end of the 13th century, was chosen to follow All Saints’ Day. Having celebrated the feast of all the members of the church who are believed to be in heaven, the church on earth turns, on the next day, to commemorate those souls believed to be suffering in purgatory.
Date: November 2, 2166
Jed, Max, Sister Jacoba and six sisters gathered around the grave as the hooded men of the burial detail lowered the white-shrouded body into a hole in the frozen ground.
The six sisters chanted rhythmically from a book with the word “Psalms” written on the cover in gold letters: “He that dwelleth in the secret place of the most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty…Thou shalt not be afraid for the terror by night; nor for the arrow that flieth by day…Nor for the pestilence that walketh in darkness; nor for the destruction that wasteth at noonday…”
Sister Jacoba took a handful of dirt from a pile and threw it on the white shroud. She nodded to Jed, and he did the same. Max followed. The burial detail picked up their shovels and began to work, and in seconds the white shroud was covered with brown earth. When the grave was filled and level, the diggers packed the dirt with the blades. Metal on cold-hardened earth clanged dully. One digger put a blank wooden marker at the head of the grave and banged it into place.
The sisters chanted: “Because he hath set his love upon me, therefore will I deliver him: I will set him on high, because he hath known my name. He shall call upon me, and I will answer him: I will be with him in trouble; I will deliver him and honor him. With long life will I satisfy him and show him my salvation.”
The nameless woman was in her final resting place. The funeral was over quickly.
For a few seconds, no one knew what to do or where to look, and they all shuffled and shifted from foot to foot, and looked at and past one another, or at Sister Jacoba for a sign to leave, but she kept her eyes fixed on the newly packed grave. The burial detail men snorted and stamped like draft horses after their exertions in the cold.
From the prairie, a freezing gust of wind slammed into the gathering. They stiffened in unison, knit together by resistance to the wind, and an occult sorrow. A brief spasm of a sob ran through the group, and they grieved for a woman none had known in life.
Not one person at the funeral was a blood relative.
Sister Jacoba said “Thank you” to everyone, individually, clasping their hands in her long, cool palms, and the members of the funeral gathering returned, stunned and stiff, to their public selves, as if coming out of a trance. They sniffed and scratched itchy faces and wiped tears off frozen cheeks.
Sister Jacoba whispered to Jed, “What was her name? We’ll need her name for a headstone.”
“I don’t know,” Jed whispered back. “We’ll find out and tell you.”
The way home went more quickly than the ride to the convent.
Max was at the wheel. He didn’t want to drive. He wanted to sit in the back seat and smoke a pellet. It was all he could do to steer the car.
After a few klicks he said, “Hey. The rattling sound is gone. I think those guys looked over the car while… you know, while we were there and fixed it.” He shivered.
“They’ve got a whole operation going,” said Jed. “I looked around while we were walking to the grave site. A chop shop.” He glanced at the rear seat. It was heaped with perishable food: coolers of cheeses, bottles of cream and milk. “For the children,” a sister had said while the guards loaded the car, “and for your own strength.” Behind the coolers were plastic bins stuffed with bread, biscuits, and dried meats. A crock with a sourdough starter. Even with the two extra mouths, they wouldn’t have to eat porridge and peas for a month.
“When did she die, bro?” Max asked, steering past a rut. His mouth had a sour taste. The thought of facing the children filled him with dread.
“Not long after we left. I didn’t think there was any reason to tell you,” Jed answered, robotically. Max’s words—his words—came from somewhere far away.
“So,” said Max, trying to be cheerful, “Now we have one rebellious young settler girl, a native baby, and two small settler children to look after. Can you think of anything else we’ve forgotten?”
“Not offhand,” said Jed. “I guess we can drive around and look for more people to pick up.”
“How are we gonna tell them?”
“Tell them what?”
“That their mother is dead.”
“With words. I’ll do it.”
“Maybe we can tell them separately—”
“They should be told together. The moment we get back.”
“Right.” Max sighed. “Didn’t that lady talk to you before she died? I thought I heard her say something.”
“Yep,” said Jed, “She said, ‘take care of my children’.”
◈◈◈
The children were sitting at the wooden table in the utility floor kitchen, drinking from mugs. Bird dozed in the highchair Max had rigged from scrap wood. Hannah stood at the stove, stirring the contents of pot. At the sound of Jed and Max entering, she glanced in their direction, said “Hi,” and turned back to the pot.
“Uh,” said Jed.
“Hmmm….” said Max. He cleared his throat although it didn’t need clearing, took a breath, and tried to speak. Nothing came out.
Jed and Max looked at each other, at the children, at Hannah, at their hands, again at each other, at nothing.
Hannah came to the table and sat. “This is Caleb, and this is Claire. Caleb and Claire, please meet Jed and Max. We got to know each other when you were, um, away.” Her eyes met Jed’s briefly. She looked down at the table.
Jed took a deep breath.
“Mama’s dead, isn’t she?” said Claire. She took a sip of hot chocolate and dabbed her mouth with a napkin.
Caleb’s face crumpled. He scraped the sugar off the bottom of his mug with a spoon, stuck the spoon in his mouth and sucked it loudly.
Claire put her napkin down and looked at Jed with a cool, steady, unflinching gaze. Jed’s eyes dropped to the table, and he stared at it so intently he forgot where he was until he realized his nose was dripping. He reached for his handkerchief, but it wasn’t in his pocket. He probably left it in the office to wipe away dust.
“Thoughtful child,” he said, stumbling up the stairs. Max and Hannah could unload the car.
Well written. Pleasant to read.
Thanks.