| The next morning they came in to help her. When she was dressed and ready to go, they brought her the funeral book. "Now, Mammy, look! Mark it down 100 funerals. You have sung for more buryings than anyone in the parish." But Henriette brushed them away. "Don't interfere," she cackled. "You wait till I come home from Josephine's burial." She was unsteady on her feet as they started out. She was so little, so little and thin. In the mourning veil she looked like a little black bride. She hobbled painfully, slowly along the road. There was not much strength left in her. A loneliness passed over her, a loneliness and heartache "Josie," she called "Josie, I'm coming." She reached the turn of the road where the willows grew and had to stop. She could go no further. She became dizzy, weaker, sick with fear. She turned her face toward Josephine's house and whispered "Josie." Everything around her seemed less clear. A darkness took hold of her "Josie, Josie, I believe, my friend that after all you and me will quit even." |
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