Considering the town had never accepted Tripp, even after he was found innocent and had wrongfully served over three years behind bars, the poor guy needed acceptance. He found it amongst the First Riffraff of Magnolia.

This morning Pa was dancing up and down the aisle, and I’d have thought he was the drunk if I didn’t know better. No one seemed to pick up on how ridiculous he was, quoting Scripture one minute and then singing George Harrison’s “My Sweet Lord” the next. And it was a great song and so most everyone joined in, including grouchy ole Peg. It seemed Pa was in a Beatles kinda mood, because the next song was “Here Comes the Sun,” and I couldn’t help but hope my darnedest that he was relaying the message that this dark season of ups and downs was coming to an end.

The closing prayer finally showed up but in a lengthy rambling. As Pa took a breath and launched into the second part of the prayer, an impatient huff came from a few pews in front of me, followed by heavy feet hitting the wood floor.

I peeked open an eye and watched Helena Wisniewska head toward my pew, wearing her usual funeral attire —black wool skirt and jacket —no matter if it was hotter than hades. I sweat just looking at her. Tall and thin, her figure reminiscent of a winter tree stripped down to its spindly branches. Slightly stooped, her posture suggested the inability to hold her six-foot frame upright any longer. Gunmetal hair in a severe bun and dull gray eyes. A hooked nose hovering over thin lips in a permanent grimace. Miss Wise was one woman we all took considerable lengths to stay clear of. She moved to Magnolia from somewhere up North, but her thickly accented words hinted that her roots hadn’t been formed in American soil. No one even knew how to properly pronounce her last name, which was why it was shortened to Wise. She clucked her tongue the first time Pa called her that, but she never corrected anyone for it.

My amen was whispered a good five minutes ago, so I felt no shame in turning my attention to Miss Wise. Human behavior intrigued me to the point of staring, and if something was interesting enough, I’d have Miss Jones at the library help me find books about whatever caught my attention. She always gave me funny looks, like when I asked her to help me find a book about witch doctors and herbal remedies since Foxy was stingy with sharing much about herself, but Miss Jones never refused to help me satisfy my curiosity about something.