how none of these people who belonged to this church belonged to Jake; they were here out of duty, and then to eat.
The parishioners began to sing “We Shall All Be Reunited.” The Chief opened up the songbook and placed it on her lap, but she refused to acknowledge it, and it fell to the floor and made a thump as it landed. It slid beneath Misty’s bench, and Misty kicked at it, and it came to rest between the third and fourth row.
Reverend Foote smiled when the song was over, and began to talk about lives cut short, about how God had a plan for each and every one of them. She could see Bert nodding his head.
Rachel found herself staring at the coffin. In truth, she had suspected that the size of it would gut her, but it wasn’t terribly small. Jake had been a little over five feet tall. He had just seemed so waifish and slight in real life. The coffin was plain, and brown, and didn’t look like expensive wood. It didn’t even seem polished. It didn’t gleam in the lights that shone on the reverend.
Reverend Foote was speaking about the survivors, Krystal and the baby, and Bert, and those in the church who had gotten to know and cherish Jake. At that point, Rachel was ready to start throwing casseroles, but she just pulled her jacket tighter around her.
Reverend Foote talked about lambs in heaven.
Rachel heard the door as it opened behind her. She didn’t turn around.
Then Rachel smelled something familiar. She immediately twisted in her seat.
She would know Athena’s perfume anywhere.
In came Athena, lightly dusted in snow, wearing her usual giant black shift dress, but a scarf in all the colors of the rainbow, tied around her neck.
The parishioners turned in their seats to stare, and the reverend stopped his sermon, as the long line of women marched behind Athena, up the aisle, and Rachel didn’t recognize them until they were upon her.
Each squeezed her shoulder before taking a seat in the pews.
Here was Ginger Fitchett, in an exquisite vintage Chanel suit, black wool, the skirt hitting just at the knees, pillbox hat pinned to her dark hair, and a thin polka-dotted veil.
Shyanne was right behind her, wearing a long silk sheath, the décolletage and the hem framed by fans of delicate black lace. The sheath was split up the side, and one of her long, beautiful legs was revealed with every step. She was wearing opera-length evening gloves and a giant black hat. A small stuffed bird perched along the brim in a nest of feathers. She was wearing turquoise heels.
The Sinclairs came next, in matching dresses, long, ebony silk, flapper style, the hems heavily beaded, fringes hanging and clattering, the strands of beads making a racket as the Sinclairs eased into the pew. Their hair was up in complicated buns and twists. They had enormous amounts of hair, and it had been secured all over with black lacquered combs, sparkling with tiny rhinestones.
Della Dempsey marched behind them, in a cunning little cocktail dress, dark as night, the top formfitting, satiny and scalloped at the bustline. Her skirt was covered in peacock feathers, and she floated past them, and took her seat.
Martha Man Hands followed, and the girl named Misty turned away, in an attempt to hide herself. Martha wore a top that was jet-black and corseted tightly. Her arms and shoulders were bare, and her voluminous skirts were made of piles and piles of dyed dark taffeta. She wore a single ostrich feather in her short hair, clipped in place by several black barrettes.
The procession continued with Diane Savage Connor in a little black dress, the kind Audrey Hepburn made famous, white gloves, long strands of pearls, a black hat with a white satin bow pinned in her long black hair.
Next came Ronda, in a ball gown, black and enormous, skirts turning into a train behind her, wet from the snow. The train was two yards in length. A rhinestoned jacket covered her shoulders. The dress was surrounded by a cloud of black chiffon that began at her waist and followed down to the train. In her dark hair was a giant headband, bejeweled with tiny green amethysts. This was a giant dress for a giant woman, and she had trouble sliding into the aisle.
Tabby had been attempting to hold Ronda’s train, and her breasts threatened to spill out of her dress. She wore a tiny black bustier, made entirely of