Sara had stayed, Eli had gone, not out of rebellion, but because he’d preferred the seat of a saddle to the hard pews at the Creek’s staid Presbyterian church. He’d ridden or gone fishing or skied, depending on the season and, being out in the open, alone or with J.P. and Cord, had seemed like a form of worship in its own right.

Pete Gilford didn’t preach a sermon, and when it came time to extol the virtues of the deceased, he came up dry. He cleared his throat a lot, and shifted his weight from one foot to the other, landing his gaze purposefully on the Lansings several times, only to have it bounce away again.

He was an old hand at conducting funerals, of course, and his performance was usually fairly smooth. Today, though, he couldn’t seem to get it right, no matter how hard he tried.

He had no choice but to stumble his way through, and Eli felt almost as sorry for him as he did for Fred, Sr., and Gretchen.

Pete invited anyone who wished to speak to come to the podium.

No one stepped up.

Eli watched his nephew fidget beside Sara, then lower his head.

The boys in the back nudged each other and smirked, but none of them chose to approach the podium, which was probably a very good thing.

Embarrassed by the lack of response, Gilford swallowed a couple of times and then began his wrap-up. He unfolded a sheet of plain notebook paper, adjusted his glasses, cleared his throat again.

He read a prayer, perhaps provided by the Lansings, though they most likely weren’t the praying kind. By the way Gretchen glared at that wooden cross behind the director, she was no fonder of God than she was of anybody else.

The organist played a recessional.

Fred, Sr., and Gretchen rose and stalked down the aisle, grudgingly taking up their position beside the door.

People rose, shuffled out, shaking their hands, saying they were sorry for their loss, the usual stuff that has to be done at a funeral, even if it doesn’t lessen anyone’s grief.

Dan sighed, pushed back his chair and stood. “Well, I just learned a whole lot of nothing,” he declared.

“Me, too,” Eli agreed glumly.

With that, they left the funeral home the way they’d come in—through the back door.

The hearse was waiting in the broad alley, hatch raised. The ground was hard with frost, but evidently a hole awaited out there in the graveyard.

Eli shivered, raised the collar of his coat, and wondered how long it would be before Brynne texted him to let the groveling begin.

Strange how much he was looking forward to that.

THREE DAYS AFTER Freddie Lansing’s funeral, Brynne’s mom and dad arrived, tooting the horn in their giant RV to announce their return to all and sundry.