The priest rushed the sacrament, as if he feared we would be seen. Finally, he made the sign of the cross in front of his face.
“You may lay Gina now in the cradle of God’s arms,” he said quietly.
I kissed Gina on the forehead and then made the sign of the cross over her brow before I covered her face with the blanket. I knelt and then laid her on the soft soil.
I removed the crucifix that had been in our family for generations and tucked it in the blanket. Very slowly, I fisted handfuls of dirt and sprinkled it over the small body, gradually covering every inch until she vanished from sight. The child’s loss would forever cast a deep shadow on Mia, whether she now realized it or not.
Standing slowly, I sensed someone in the shadows, watching, but when I turned, I saw no one. “Thank you, Padre.”
“Isabella,” Padre Pietro said softly. “I may need a favor from you.”
God was already calling. “What is it?”
“We will not speak of it now, but soon. Go home to Mia, and tend to her.”
Of course, I could not deny him anything. He had saved the child’s soul.
CHAPTER TWO
ZARA
Present Day
Saturday, June 5, 2:00 p.m.
Zara Mitchell had discovered more about death in her twenty-nine years than most learned in a lifetime.
As she held the small, trembling Chihuahua, Little Sister, close to her body, she leaned against her van warmed by the afternoon sun. Because of Little Sister and her two dogs, she was parked twenty feet away from the grave site, but she had a clear view of the military color guard as they slowly lifted the flag from the cherrywood coffin and folded it into a crisp, precise triangle. The motions of the uniformed soldiers were practiced, almost meditative, and everyone in this crowd watched.
The triangle settled into the white-gloved hands of a soldier barely old enough to shave and certainly not worldly enough to have such a solemn and stoic expression. He walked toward the white-haired woman sitting in the front row of folding chairs and handed the flag to her. There was sadness in her gray eyes but also relief and a sense of gratitude for the well-lived life of her husband, Colonel Harvey Wallace, who had passed at the age of eighty-two three days ago, in his bed, with Little Sister at his side.
Zara was a hospice nurse, and she had been to twelve funerals in the last seven years. Some were like this one, a final chapter, a closing of the hymnbook, so to speak. But others were so ripe with sadness the air curdled with a choking grief, making it impossible for mourners to draw in full breaths or speak without their voices breaking. Those funerals left a somber aftertaste that never really rinsed away.
Riflemen raised their guns toward the blue sky and fired. The pup in her arms looked up at her, whimpering. The dog shook more with the second and then third gun blasts and finally buried her head into the crook of Zara’s arm.
“It’s okay, Little Sister,” she said. “It’s almost over.”
A dog’s deep woof had Zara turning toward her van, where her two dogs, Gus and Billy, watched from their windows. She had left her engine running and the air-conditioning blasting, but the pups were restless.
Gus was a large, wiry terrier-lab mix with a stout body and long legs. Gray covered his dark snout as he looked to her for an explanation regarding the noise and, more importantly, the reason for the delay of their morning walk. Beside him sat Billy, a mutt with a short body and legs.
“It’s okay, fellas,” she whispered. “Like I told Little Sister, it’s just noise. We’re going to the park soon.”
At the mention of park, a staple in their lexicon, the big dogs wagged their tails. Her pups had traveled all over the country in her van. They had explored more parks than she could remember, but they all agreed walks in the woods restored the soul.
Knowing her boys would start making a fuss, she reached in her pocket and pulled out biscuits for both. They gobbled them up. She offered one to Little Sister, but the dog turned her face away.
Zara understood Little Sister was mourning as sharply as the humans dressed in black for her late owner. Likely more so, for now she worried over her uncertain fate.
The colonel’s youngest granddaughter had pledged to take Little Sister