The preacher went ahead with the service, even though Paul’s hand was showing. All Vern could think about while the preacherman read his words was that hand. He thought of all the things that hand had done in its years. The hand had made things from wood, held babies, and paid their way through the world.

Pete’s dog, Stringbean, sat among the small group of people, watching the service. Ruth stood beside the dog with a blank face. Pete stood beside her, looking like a ghost.

When the preacher finished, Vern stepped forward and cleared his throat. He knew it was improper for a man of his color to speak at a white-people church, but Paul was his best friend, his brother, and sort of a father too. He was speaking not just to Paul but for him. He wanted Pete, Ruth, Reese, and Miss Warner to be comforted. It was a job Paul had assumed all his life. To comfort those who were afraid. And now it was Vern’s occupation.

“The Lord, he is nigh to the brokenhearted,” said Vern. “And he saveth those who is crushed in spirit. The righteous man might have a good many troubles, but the Lord shall deliver him outta all of ’em, so that not even a single bone in his body shall be broken.”

“Amen,” said the preacher.

“Amen,” said the rest of those gathered.

Vern took one step backward and rejoined Ruth, Reese, and Pete.

“That was lovely,” whispered Reese, squeezing his arm.

“Thanks,” said Vern. “Ain’t my words. J. Wilbur Chaplain wrote them, I think.”

Then it was time. Vern tossed the first shovelful into the hole. He choked back tears that started. So did Pete, who wiped his eyes with his palm.

Miss Warner did not cry. She only stooped low and sprinkled a handful of dirt on the pine box. Then she took Ruth by the shoulder and said, “Let’s get back to the house before the others. I have a sponge cake in the oven.”

But Ruth did not leave. She knelt beside the mound of dirt beside Paul’s grave. She held her face in her own hands until Pete came to her. She gripped his white shirt and squeezed. Ruth plunged her hands into the mound of dirt and threw the soil into the grave. Then she wiped her face with a filthy hand, leaving a streak of brown across her nose and cheek.

She bent low to scoop more dirt. She used two hands. Then she started kicking the dirt into the hole and making loud grunts. Vern quit digging. He only watched her. Some people needed to get mad. Some people needed to get their hands dirty.

She finally collapsed onto the grass and cried into the earth. Vern lifted her in his arms and carried her home. When they arrived on the porch of the house, he set her onto her feet.