“‘The Lord is my shepherd,’” she read, slowly. “‘I shall not want.’” By “forever,” he was sleeping soundly.
“Shall I read another?” she asked, not expecting an answer.
Judy read the Twenty-fourth Psalm, the Twenty-
fifth, and the rest of them, to the last “Praise ye the Lord.”
Only then did she set the book on the floor and lie down beside him.
When she woke up, he was gone.
There was no funeral gathering for Cornelius, no spirits or biscuits after his cold burial. Even so, Judy was not alone at the cemetery. Oliver and Polly brought their boys, and Natty and David carried giant pinecones to place on the grave. Easter was there with Louisa Tuttle from the tavern.
Four well-dressed Gloucester ladies arrived in a group, old acquaintances of Martha Cook’s, curious to discover if Judy Rhines was really as brazen as the gossip painted her.
Reverend Hildreth’s appearance caused a ripple of surprise among their ranks.
Judy Rhines had called upon the clergyman to ask for his service at the burial, and discovered that despite his Universalist leanings and abolitionist sermons, he had no desire to be seen anywhere near a real African, not even a
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dead one. There were certain members of his flock who barely tolerated his politics, and given the strong smell of scandal that now clung to Mistress Rhines, the minister had been less than gentle in declining her request.
“It is not my practice to provide the sacraments to those who are not of my congregation,” he had said, expecting her to wilt and scurry away. But she had done no such thing.
“Sir, if you do not bring your Bible and lay Cornelius to rest properly,” she said, “I stand ready to call upon your wife and ask if she is aware of your visits to a particular mansion on High Street and of your ministry to the lady of that house. Or perhaps it would be easier if I simply tell certain people that they need not keep this secret close anymore.”
As he began the service, the pastor raised his chin and put his famously resonant voice to good use, so that even the deafest of the ladies heard every word. “‘As for man, his days are as grass; as a flower of the field so he flourisheth.
For the wind passeth over it, and it is gone; and the place thereof shall know it no more.’”
He paused, turned the page, and began, “‘The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.’”
At that, Judy Rhines doubled over and sobbed with such inconsolable sorrow, Natty and David burst into tears as well. Oliver reached out to comfort his friend and found he had to hold fast to keep her from flinging herself into the grave.
“‘Forever and ever. Amen,’” said Reverend Hildreth crisply, snapped his Bible shut, and began shaking hands with everyone in the little circle. Judy turned away from his outstretched hand and walked off, by herself. When she returned to the house, the tan was gone.
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As the winter deepened, Judy found it harder and harder to fall asleep. She’d lie in bed at night, listening to the wind at the windows. Easter was alarmed by her friend’s lethargy and pallor, and visited every morning with a pail of beer and funny stories from the tavern.
“And what are they saying about randy Judy Rhines?”
she asked.
“They’ll stop talking about it,” said Easter. “You’ll see.
Soon enough, they won’t give it a second thought.”
But Judy knew better. She would always be a