Laura broke the silence. “When does it warm up around here?”
“Next month,” John said, “set your alarm for four in the morning and get up as soon as it goes off. One day it’ll hit seventy-five and if you oversleep you could miss the entire summer.”
“Really?”
John chuckled. “It ain’t that bad. But I will say it seems like the winter is ten months long. It usually warms up in late June, but by late August you can start seeing some foliage turning.”
Laura looked at him. “You are pulling my leg, aren’t you?”
“Stick around and see,” John answered.
The four-by-four stopped and when they disembarked, Earl stood beside his truck and said, “Welcome to the Dowd family plot.”
John saw a burial ground that encompassed almost an acre of cleared ground. “How’d you ever get approval for this?” he asked.
“What the friggin’ guvmint don’t know won’t hurt them.”
John held the door for Laura and when she stood beside him they studied the assembled Dowd clan. The vast majority of the assembled mourners were unknown to him, although he did recognize Buster and Louis.
Laura tightened her grip on his arm and when he inclined his head toward her, she whispered, “Are these all Dowds?”
He shook his head and said, “Most are local people.”
He guided her around the periphery of the assembly, stopping when they were beside the Dowds. John immediately saw Dwain and did a double take. The thirteen-year-old was well over seven feet tall and towered over everyone there. He and Laura took their place between Dwain and Earl. A short, slightly obese man in an expensive suit stepped forward and stopped beside the grave. John looked at the gathering and saw that beneath their rain gear the men wore a lot of flannel shirts and the women wore dresses and huddled beneath umbrellas trying to keep their hair from being destroyed by the gale force wind and pounding rain. Laura wore a fashionable suit with pants rather than a skirt, which John was sure she was thankful for each time a gust of wind swirled around her legs.
The new grave was open, a casket covered with an American flag draped over it. Beyond it John saw other new graves. Galen and Cully, he thought.
The short man held a Bible, a dead giveaway that he was the minister. John hoped that he would keep his eulogy short, the day was windy enough. The preacher must have read his mind. He spoke for ten minutes, led the congregation in several prayers, and then turned things over to the family to say their final goodbyes to Linwood Dowd.
In all, the service lasted just under an hour and John led Laura to the truck. When they passed Dwain he nodded and said, “It’s a shame ain’t it?”
“Your great-grandfather was a well-liked man,” John said. “He lived a long life.”
“Oh, I know that,” Dwain answered. “What’s a shame is burying him in the ground to rot … such a waste.”
Wendigo Page 30
