| Little by little, Isle Brevelle was changing and the old ways were disappearing. People did not even die as they used to in any beds with time to receive the sacrament and be pardoned for their sins. They died just anywhere, everywhere killed by trains or the growing number of automobiles that raced by on the big new roads. No wondered the buryings were often poor, hurried affairs without even a singing woman. Henriette and her close friend, fat old Josephine Remon, were the only singing women left on Isle Brevelle. There was a time when a singing woman was as necessary as a priest. No one who amounted to anything would be buried without a professional mourner. Nowadays, people seemed to have lost the fear, the dignity of death. They did not care how they died or were born. They just came into and went out of the world, any old way. All this troubled Henriette. She sat in her corner and mumbled and grumbled to God about it "Look liking ain't nothing right, not what it used to be." It had been nearly ten years no since Henriette had wailed for a funeral. Her friend Josephine had had the last one. That was six years ago, when Madame Rivet died. That made 98 for Josephine and 99 for herself. She was one funeral ahead of her friend. How proud Henriette was of her record! She, Henriette, had sung for more buryings than any singing woman in the parish. Of course, Old Josephine was a mighty close second. |
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