Little Wolves - By Thomas Maltman Page 0,55
do we also forgive. We remember Seth Allis Fallon, who was baptized here at this church. As we are forgiven, so do we find the strength to forgive him. We ask that you watch over the family of Will Gunderson, who was your faithful servant in this life. We turn our eyes inward, and there we find you. We ask you for your healing presence. We will not live in fear but instead in your perfect love.” Logan paused. “Please bow your heads with me for a moment in prayer.”
AFTER THE SERVICE, CLARA normally stood with Logan to greet people as they walked out, shaking hands, but the widow had taken their spot, chatting with people heading down into the basement to fuel up on sandwiches, bologna on buttered white bread, with a heaping of potato salad to the side, a comforting meal before heading out to the cemetery for the burial.
The widow wore a black dress short enough to show some leg. She didn’t have on any stockings, and her toenails were a splash of red. Her hair was honey blonde, permed in a frowsy yellow cloud around her face. She looked like a woman who wasn’t ready yet for old age. Widowhood had granted her a passing fame. A circle of well-wishers surrounded her, but they parted to make way for others. The widow greeted Logan, thanked him for his kind words, and then turned immediately to say, “Why, you must be Clara.” Her smile was warm, gracious. “I’m Laura Gunderson, the sheriff’s wife.”
Clara searched herself for words of comfort to offer but came up empty.
Undeterred by her tied tongue, Laura went on. “Well, I’m officially his ex-wife, but as I was just telling these ladies here, we got back together only recently.”
The other women she referred to had melted away, gone downstairs for the luncheon. Cold sandwiches and colder air in the basement. Laura’s two sons stood nearby, Kelan in a blazer two sizes too large for him. His father’s? He looked uncomfortable in all his layers, desperate to be anywhere but here. The younger one kept his arms wrapped around himself, his eyes red from crying, his misery tangible. “You must have had some guardian angel on your shoulder,” Laura continued. “That’s what everyone is saying.” This statement, vapid in some mouths, was disturbing from a woman whose husband evidently didn’t have any such angel.
“Something like that,” Clara said, thinking of the hand on her shoulder that day. She glanced at Kelan, saw the boy studying her. The older boy dry-eyed, maybe not knowing what to make of a world that no longer had his father in it. He smiled slyly when their eyes met. Do you believe in the devil? she remembered him asking. How would she answer that question now? If the devil had passed among them he had worn the shape of a boy, a long coat, dirty tennis shoes. Clara rubbed the ends of her fingers on her left hand, nervous in this family’s presence. The widow’s cheeriness. The sullen older child.
Laura surprised her then by putting her hands on Clara’s belly. Clara’s dress was cotton, thin and stretched, and she felt the shock of those hands right through the fabric. “You’re going to have a boy,” she announced.
“Umm … we don’t really know yet.” Clara felt unsteady on her feet.
“A boy,” she insisted, finally taking her hands away.
Clara wanted to be away from her. The rest of the congregation milled uncertainly behind them, trapped in the hot room. You were only supposed to shake hands and speak a few words and then keep the line moving. She had the feeling that Laura was enjoying being the center of attention, making everyone wait so she could talk to her.
Laura leaned in. “I’m pregnant, too,” she confided in a low whisper. She shook her head. “Will had been visiting me every night before he died. We were planning on getting married all over again.”
“Congratulations,” Clara mumbled. She felt Logan’s impatience next to her, because they needed to keep going. People bunched up behind them, clotting in the heat.
“Laura,” he said, interrupting the conversation. “We’re very sorry for your loss. I want to assure you that you and your boys are in our prayers.”
“Yes,” said Laura. “That’s very kind of you.” With a regal nod, she let them pass.
ASHEN SUNLIGHT WASHED THROUGH the curtains the next morning, and the air in the room smelled crisply of burning leaves. Autumn had arrived at last, all