Chapter Seven
I remember always hating church. It was so boring. But now I loved it. I loved everything.
Living my life over. What could be sweeter? Until my lights go out.
“Why are we going to church on Wednesday, Mom?” I asked.
“Funeral.”
“Oh, no. Who died?”
“Mrs. Latchcroft.”
“Aw, I liked Mrs. Latchcroft. She made fried pies.”
“Yes, she did.”
We wore our Sunday clothes and good shoes. Lots of people were there, maybe fifty or more. It was very solemn.
The preacher spoke for a long time, then Mr. William Latchcroft went up to the front and tried to say how much he loved his wife and how he’d miss her, but he couldn’t get many words out without breaking down. Soon, his daughter went up, took him by the arm, and led him back to his seat.
A lady then went to the front and said ho
