by JT Pearson
The Service of Robert Fulcher
By JT Pearson
copyright 2013 Joseph Pearson
CONTENTS
The Service of Robert Fulcher
About the author
Other short stories by JT Pearson
Novels
Contact
The Service of Robert Fulcher
“Hey, Doc? You about ready?”
“I’ll be out there in just a few minutes, Samuel.” Dr. Drysdale adjusted the vestment he’d chosen for the ceremony. It was a beautiful rose-colored affair with gold lacing. Even more extravagant than the royal purple he’d worn the Friday before. “What’s the crowd out there look like?”
Samuel shrugged. When he realized that Doctor Drysdale hadn’t seen him gesture he stepped into the vestibule and said, “a little smaller than last week.” BAM! A small briefcase sitting just inside the door had fallen over. Samuel leapt back and then returned the case to a standing position. “Sorry, Doc.”
The doctor ignored the accident with the case. “Smaller crowd again. That’s a shame,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s going that way. Not much we can do about it.”
Samuel nodded and went back out into the church where the people were waiting. Dr. Drysdale finished dressing, took a deep breath, grabbed the small case and took the podium.
“Robert was a good man,” Dr. Drysdale began uncomfortably. “A man full of compassion. A man that was quick to lend a hand when others in the community were in need.” The doctor took a moment to collect himself before continuing with the eulogy. He wiped the corners of his eyes. One tear managed to escape and landed on the Bible that was laid out in front of him. It used to belong to the parish priest that would’ve been performing this service if he hadn’t already passed. The dead man, Robert Fulcher, had been a good friend to the doctor just as he had been to the priest and that made this service unusually difficult. The doctor took a deep breath and cleared his throat. “I remember when the mill closed and Danny Larson lost his job and the Larson family had no way of making their mortgages and Robert Fulcher,” he swallowed the lump that was fighting to fill his throat and destroy his last chance to honor his friend. “Robert Fulcher refused to let that family lose their house. He made the payments. He kept that family in their home.
“Amen, Brother!” Daryl Obrien shouted from the crowd. “He helped my family too.” Daryl was seated with his wife and three children, an entire pew to themselves. Our Lady of Eternal Hope and Devotion Catholic church used to be filled beyond capacity with every service, so much so that the ushers had to pull out foldable chairs and place them wherever they could find room.
Robert had been very popular in the community, but because of the condition, the church was scarcely populated, just a handful of families, and a number of strays that sat by themselves, keeping their distances.
The Doctor went on. “It’s a shame that Father McDermott isn’t here to give the eulogy today. Robert Fulcher deserves much better than I can offer. I can’t even begin to do the man justice the way Father McDermott could. Our spiritual leader had a tremendous tongue.
“Amen! He sure did, Dr. Drysdale. A sweet tongue,” an extremely gaunt Leonard Druckerman yelled from the back of the church. He had been a sizeable, formidable man before the condition. Now his suit hung on him the way a suit hangs on a hanger.
His little girl sat next to him, all hair and teeth. “Daddy, please!”
“You have to wait!” he scolded her in a hushed voice. “Now mind yourself!”
She dropped her head in frustration and wrung her bony fingers.
Dr. Drysdale glared at Mr. Druckerman for not having a better handle on his daughter. “If no one has anything else to say about Robert Fulcher, I guess we’ll proceed with the service.”
*
A mutation of our insects had caused them to breed at an incredible rate. Insecticides were found to be useless on the superbugs and before long they’d eaten most of the vegetation on the planet. The animals quickly died off as a result and global famine followed.
