Hearts at Home by Lori Copeland Page B

toward the western horizon. A special boat would bring Olympia’s casket (a nice oak model, lined with white satin) from Ogunquit, then a team of pallbearers would guide the casket onto a trolley and roll it to Frenchman’s Fairest. Olympia would lie in her own parlor while the townsfolk paid their respects, then she’d ride to the church for the funeral service. After the service, when everyone in town had had another chance to say their farewells, the pallbearers would wheel her back down to the dock for another trip to Ogunquit.
    Annie knew Olympia had probably wanted to ride to church in her horse-drawn carriage, but Blaze, the old horse, had died right after Thanksgiving. Even if they’d had a horse, the carriage was a two-seater and couldn’t handle a casket.
    â€œI can just hear Olympia complaining about us putting too many miles on her coffin,” Edith had whispered, the corners of her eyes crinkling with gentle humor. “Truth is, I think she’d like the idea of riding in a procession around town. As long as it doesn’t get tacky, we’ll be fine.”
    A conversation with the director of the funeral home had convinced Annie that Olympia would have to travel back to Ogunquit Tuesday evening. Though she had a space reserved by Edmund’s side in the cemetery behind the Heavenly Daze Community Church, nothing short of an early spring thaw would permit the men to dig in the frozen earth. “Backhoes aren’t all that expensive to rent, but transporting one to Heavenly Daze might be costly with the ferry not running,” the funeral director had told Annie. “And I don’t think you want Mrs. de Cuvier lying in your parlor until April. So we’ll bring her back here until warmer weather permits a proper burial.”
    After a quick glance at Olympia’s checkbook, Annie had decided that the more dignified option was also the more economical one. Neither she nor Olympia had money enough to transport and rent a backhoe, and the mortician assured her he wouldn’t charge extra to hold the body until springtime. “We do it all the time,” he told Annie. “We just add a discreet line to the funeral program to let folks know that internment will occur in the spring.”
    And so the last details were finalized. After the funeral, Olympia’s pallbearers—Floyd Lansdown, Abner Smith, Charles Graham, Buddy Franklin, Russell Higgs, and Zuriel Smith—would wheel her back down to the dock, return the casket to the funeral home boat, and send her back to the mainland. Edith had thought it would be nice if the women carried flowers to toss into the sea as the boat sped away, so Annie had ordered three dozen red roses from the Ogunquit florist. They would arrive on the same boat bringing Olympia this afternoon.
    â€œRed roses in February,” Annie murmured, thinking of her depleted checkbook. “They cost a fortune this close to Valentine’s Day.”
    But she’d paid for the flowers in advance, counting them as a necessary part of the funeral expenses. She’d tried to book the Wells Episcopal Boys’ Choir to sing at the service, but their director flatly told her that no parent in his or her right mind would pull a boy out of school, place him on Crazy Odell Butcher’s boat, and send him out to sea in February to sing at a stranger’s funeral. “I don’t care if the lady was descended from George Washington,” he snapped. “We’re not coming.”
    So Annie had borrowed a CD of the Vienna Boys’ Choir music from Micah. Perhaps the simple purity of their voices would make up for the missing musicians . . . because they were the best Annie could do. She just hoped she’d done enough.
    She couldn’t shake the feeling that even now Olympia was looking down from heaven and judging her efforts.
    Olympia walked across a shimmering gold-green meadow with her spirit-hand in her