“I will.”
“And, Jamie, I’d want you to say something, too. Because she loved you so much, my dear,” Melanie said, and put her hand over his.
“I’ll go see Andy, and then I’ll run over to the church.”
“Thank you,” Melanie said, patting his hand. “Jamie, why do you think she did this?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did your daughter ever mention anythin’ about her usin’ drugs?”
“Scarlett?”
“Yes. Did Lissuh ever say she was usin’ drugs?”
“No, never.”
“Theah’s so much I didn’t know about her,” Melanie said, and shook her head. “I have the feelin’ sometimes, Jamie, that we raised a generation of strangers. But I guess there’s no lookin’ back on what we did or didn’t do, is there? It’s just... your daughter kills herself on a lonely road in the woods, you’ve got to wunduh...” She shook her head again. “I guess I’ll always try to imagine that last moment when she made her final decision, Jamie, when she put the barrel of that gun in her mouth and decided none of it was wuth a damn anymore. An’ pulled the trigger. I’ll always wonduh whut went through her mind in that very last second. But I guess theah’s no lookin’ back, is there? I guess things just happen, an’we deal with ’em, an’... an’ try t’manage. That’s it, isn’t it, Jamie? We look ahead an’... an’ try to rescue the future.”
“Yes,” Jamie said. “I guess so.”
“But it’ll seem so forlorn without her,” Melanie said, and shook her head again, but did not weep.
The minister’s name was Llewelyn Harris, and he had been leading the congregation of the town’s nondenominational church for the last six years. His wife, Bridget, had caused a minor scandal only last year by accepting the role of Blanche Dubois in the Rutledge Players’ production of A Streetcar Named Desire, appearing on stage in a half-slip and bra that revealed (among other things) her unshaven armpits. It had been the opinion of the congregation that she’d brought rather too much ardor to the scene in which she was raped by the brute Stanley, and Harris had been living since in constant terror of being transferred to some grubby little mining town in Pennsylvania. When Jamie came to him that Sunday afternoon, he had already heard about the suicide on the old logging road and frankly wanted no part of it. But he said nothing as yet, and simply listened as Jamie told him he was there to arrange a memorial service for young Scarlett Kreuger.
Harris cleared his throat. “But this was,” he said, and cleared his throat again, “a suicide, am I correct?”
“Yes,” Jamie said.
“Mm,” Harris said. “That may be difficult.”
“What may be difficult?” Jamie asked.
“The various aspects,” Harris said.
“What aspects?” Jamie insisted.
“Well... primarily, the suicide.”
“I’m afraid that’s one aspect we can’t ignore.”
“Precisely what I’m saying. The church, as you know, does not condone the taking of one’s own...”
“No one’s asking for condonement.”
“You’re asking for God’s blessing, are you not? You’re asking me to conduct a memorial service for the dead...”
“No, I’m not asking for God’s blessing,” Jamie said. “The girl wouldn’t have wanted God’s blessing, she wasn’t a religious person. Her parents are both devout, but...”
“Yes, but the victim was not. Moreover...”
“You’ve hit on the exact word,” Jamie said.
“Pardon?”
“Victim.”
“Of herself, yes.”
“No. Of something quite outside herself. Reverend Harris, I came here to ask only one thing, but now it seems I have to deal with two.”
“Shall we take them in order then?” Harris asked, and smiled thinly.
“First... a service that doesn’t overly stress doctrine.”
“By doctrine...”
“Church doctrine.”
“Do you mean a service that doesn’t stress our belief in the Lord Jesus Christ?”
“The dead girl didn’t believe in the Lord Jesus Christ.”
“Then perhaps you’ve come to the wrong church. Perhaps you should find a religious group that...”
“The Kreugers are part of your congregation,” Jamie said flatly. Harris blinked, and then cleared his throat again. “What is your second request?” he asked.
“I don’t expect you to ignore the fact that young Scarlett killed herself...”
“I could not ignore it, no.”
“Nor can anyone else who’ll be at that service tomorrow. I think to ignore it would be to ignore the horror of what she did to herself. But I don’t want you to condemn it, either, Reverend Harris.”
“I cannot give God’s blessing to a suicide,” Harris said.
“Then we’re back to square one,” Jamie said, rising. “I’ll try the church in Talmadge. Thank you for your time, Rever—”
“Mr. Croft, you’re placing me in an impossible position. How can I with any conscience deliver a memorial service that ignores any mention of God, and further ignores...”
“No one’s asking you to ignore your beliefs, Reverend. I’m asking only that you don’t pretend they were Scarlett’s.”
“Well... maybe that can be managed. But how can I give blessing in a house of worship to an act specifically...”
“You won’t be in a house of worship.”
“Pardon?”
“The family doesn’t want it in a church.”
“Then what... I’m afraid I don’t... why are you here if...?”
“I’ve already talked to Andy Wilkins, and he’s letting us use the Town Hall tomorrow, after the funeral. The parents are religious people, Reverend Harris. Your presence would be a comfort to them. I don’t think anyone would be truly served — not the Kreugers, not Scarlett, not anyone — if we pretend she didn’t kill herself. We’ll all be sitting there tomorrow with the knowledge of how she died, the terrible knowledge that she couldn’t find another way out. Don’t ignore it, Reverend Harris. Don’t condone it or bless it, but for God’s sake don’t add to her parents’ misery by condemning it as a violation of God’s law.”
The rectory fell silent. Outside in the church parking lot, Jamie could hear the minister’s two young daughters jumping rope in the bright October sunshine, chanting “Double-ee-Dutch, double-ee-Dutch.” A trapped fly buzzed against the leaded windowpane. Harris shook his head.
“I would have to say it was wrong,” he said.
“That would be condemning it.”
“Mr. Croft, please, can’t you see...?”
“Reverend Harris, Scarlett Kreuger was out there alone in those woods with the barrel of a shotgun in her mouth. Something was wrong, yes, but it wasn’t her putting that gun in her mouth and pulling the trigger. It was whatever caused her to go out there in the first place, whatever caused her to even consider such a thing. That’s what was wrong. That’s what was so horribly, shockingly wrong.”
Harris was silent for what seemed a very long time. Outside, one of his daughters laughed. The fly kept buzzing in the sunlight, trapped. Harris nodded. He sighed. “Yes,” he said, “of course.”
“Thank you,” Jamie said, and let out his breath.
“The waste,” Harris said, “the utter wastefulness of it,” and nodded again.