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Rachel’s back ached with tension as she guided her grandmother up the scuffed and threadbare carpet towards the front row of the church. Their progress was slow because everyone wanted to greet her grandmother.
“Sorry for your loss,” another stranger said in low tones. Rachel lost count of how many times she’d heard the words.
It had been a week of numbness and tears. Esther had been right. Death can be beautiful. Rachel’s heart was one throbbing bruise, but she would never forget Esther’s peace and joy.
Naomi stopped again as another person leaned forward to kiss her cheek. Rachel’s throat tightened. If she started crying now, could she stop? Her grandmother was loved. Would these people ever love her like that? She was included in the whispered condolences because she was obviousl
