I put William in charge of the memorial service, which was held on the grassy area at the beach where the homeless congregate most days when the weather’s good. There was no sign of Ethan, but Anna was in attendance, as were Ellen and her young family, who’d driven down from Bakersfield. The children had never seen the ocean, and they ran barefoot and shrieking to the water’s edge under Hank’s watchful eye. William was amused by their enthusiasm, smiling to himself as they danced in the surf.

Henry had adapted and copied portions of Dace’s botanical folios to create a program commemorating the farewell. Pearl and Dandy were there, along with their new friend, Plato the preacher man. Ken and Belva and other volunteers from Harbor House made an appearance, along with assorted staff members. There was no drinking, of course, and I’m happy to report Pearl only excused herself once for a quick smoke behind a tree.

The day was sunny, the temperature in the midsixties. William wore his best three-piece suit as was fitting for the occasion. His white hair was riffled by the breeze coming off the ocean, and his voice, powdery with age, rang clearly in the open air—in consequence, he later pointed out, of his early mastery of elocution.

William selected and arranged for the music, saying no send-off would be complete without hymns. He’d hired a solo trumpeter (on my dime, of course), who opened the service by playing “Amazing Grace.” Strangers passing along the beach path recognized the solemnity of the gathering and paused, looking on respectfully. Cyclists, walkers, joggers, and mothers pushing strollers lingered at the periphery until the crowd numbered close to sixty by my count.

When the trumpeter finished, William welcomed everyone and thanked them for coming. He recited the Lord’s Prayer and those who knew it chimed in. He read the Twenty-third Psalm. There was no proselytizing and none of the formalities rested too heavily on the Christian side of the equation. As he said, his purpose was not to convert, but to express the optimism of faith in all its forms. He and Henry then joined in a duet, singing an a cappella rendition of the spiritual “Going Home.” Their two strong tenor voices blended in a harmony that was both simple and sublime. I’d never heard Henry sing and certainly not in concert with his brother.