Dan said, “I’m sorry, Reverend Solt. I do not wish to offend you or my grandfather’s memory, nor do I wish to be a hypocrite. During these years, my ideas— If you will feel satisfied, praying for me instead of with me, please go ahead.”

The minister’s eyes filled with tears. He bent his forehead against the hard edge of the chair; with one hand he motioned rapidly for Dan to kneel beside him. He began a hasty, full-hearted chant which was wholly honest and passionate, and yet which he must have uttered many times before: “Oh, Lord, our Father, our Heavenly Guardian and Redeemer of all, we come to Thee in a midnight of sorrow and loneliness. We beseech Thee to shew us that our way is not Thy way, that we have not Thy all-seeing wisdom to understand when the pangs of desolation strike at our hearts. Oh, Lord our Heavenly Father, in Thee is our only refuge, in Thee we trust when we come thrice cast down. Oh, Lord—”

After a few minutes Dan felt rather absurd, standing there behind this man with his struggling, hot, clasped hands and his wet bald head. He went down on his knees as quietly as possible; no doubt the Reverend Solt would be happy at last when he turned and knew that Dan, too, had been kneeling.

Bale squinted at the pink-and-tan pattern of the faded carpet. Of course he was thinking of her. It seemed unreal, even to have knowledge of such a woman. For the first time in his life he was aware of the desire, the plan and hope to do willful evil, something without remorse and never to be eradicated.

Chapter 5

5.

They wore white cotton gloves; they were lodge brothers, all much younger than Pentland Bale had been, and two of them were men to whom he had loaned money. They held the tight ropes. The coffin lurched as one of the men near the head let the cord catch in his hands. Then it went down, even and enormous amid the crunch of ropes. A light breeze caught the little Masonic apron tied across the box, and rolled it back, flopping. Dan heard the chaplain, whispering through his asthma once more: “And now, Brother, you dwell in the City Foursquare…”

Reverend Solt put his gaunt arm around Dan’s waist. Somewhere in the breathing crowd Mrs. Wurke could be heard going ah-hloo, ah-h-hloo … there was a gush of sympathetic whispering. The Masons began to file past, middle-aged, lumbering. Each of them dropped a twig of evergreen into the open grave. Meadow larks soared and dipped, whistling across the hill. A horse neighed; the buggy-wheel scraped against a tree.

Ever Green Cemetery was a good place to lie; it seemed that Pentland Bale’s stiff body would feel a flicker of relief, now that all this incantation was done.