A Secret Music by Susan Doherty Hannaford

Author:Susan Doherty Hannaford
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Cormorant Books
Published: 2015-10-15T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

there was no obituary in the The Gazette or the Montreal Star. The private funeral was to be officiated by Father Gavin McMahon at eleven a.m. on Thursday, April 9. The principal from St. Leo’s sent a Mass card for the repose of John’s soul, and Sister Michael was saying a novena on nine successive days imploring a special favour from heaven. Lawrence wondered whom the petition was for. Except for John, all their souls were soiled, including the nearly perfect Aunt Muttney.

Lawrence had insisted, against his mother’s wishes, that his brother be buried in the zipper sweater with the brown suede elbows. His mother drew the line at bare feet. At 10:30 in the morning, right on time, Lawrence and Patricia were in the back seat of the Buick. His mother, swathed in a black velvet shawl, sat in the front seat next to their father, who drove without any of his usual fervour. His mother didn’t notice. Lawrence closed his eyes.

When they pulled up to the front door of St. Anthony’s, the hearse was already parked at the base of the steps, its black curtains drawn. Aunt Muttney and Benoit Lamontagne, the only other mourners, arrived a moment later in a taxi. Patricia whispered to Lawrence that Benoit’s nose was as red as the inside of a Lowney’s Cherry Blossom, John’s favourite candy. Muttney and Benoit walked over to the Buick in order to escort his mother and Patricia up to the front pew where McKenna florists had delivered a wreath of red roses in the shape of a heart.

In the far corner of the church, Mrs. Drummond was waiting quietly at the piano. One of the church deacons stood next to her. The black-suited men from the funeral parlour stood erect, ready to take four of the handles of the small white coffin that had been placed on a folding wooden bier. Lawrence and his father would take the remaining two.

Father McMahon was preparing to lead the way with his bible. He spoke to Francis, whose discomfort was impossible to hide. “I am certain God has welcomed John into his kingdom, but I very much doubt He ever wishes for children to die and for families to suffer.” Francis nodded, looking grim.

No sooner had Father McMahon finished than Lawrence heard the unusual sound of the squeal of tires, followed by slamming doors, shouts, and the stomp of feet rushing the entrance of the church. Four burly, unshaven men in illfitting suits pushed open the double doors and brought with them a giant rectangle of sunshine. Chester Mahoney, flushed, stepped forward with his hand extended. “I’m so sorry, Francis.” Lawrence’s father made no move to welcome his down-at-heel friend from the wrong side of the tracks. From Griffintown. The heavy front doors slid back on their hinges to re-coat the pews in darkness. After a painful length of time, Chester dropped his hand. “Is this what you worked so hard for, Francis Patrick Nolan? A big house,

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