A Truth for a Truth Read Online Free

point out that Hildy’s role as the wife of a minister was now well and truly behind her.
    Hildy reached for my plate. “I’ll just trim off the crusts and arrange them on a tray,” she said, looking genuinely delighted. “There’s a better chance they’ll be eaten if I fancy them up a bit and put them in among the other sandwiches. This was so kind of you.”
    I could not find my voice. The bread was homemade, the crust shiny golden brown and sprinkled liberally with sesame seeds, which are something of a splurge on our budget. I watched Hildy carry the platter to another counter and instruct one of her “helpers” to slice and dice.
    She returned, and spoke in a confidential whisper. “It’s so important that everything go exactly right today. Win deserves a perfect service.”
    I didn’t remind her that Win wouldn’t really be able to appreciate it, although Hildy, against Ed’s advice, had insisted that Win’s coffin be present in the church. For the most part, our memorial services take place after the cremation or burial service, but Hildy had been adamant that Win’s body should be in the service, too, and that everyone go to the cemetery afterwards. Luckily she had agreed to a closed coffin, since the body had not been embalmed and had indeed spent the past week in refrigeration. I wondered if his death would finally seem real to her at the graveside. I had yet to see any signs of mourning, and I wondered if Hildy was just good at hiding her feelings.
    “I think you need to stop worrying about the reception,” I said, putting my hand on her arm. “Where are your daughters?”
    She glanced at the clock above the sink. “I’m supposed to meet them in Win’s—Ed’s office. I guess I better go now.”
    Hildy’s grieving daughters were waiting for her, and she was arranging cookies. I didn’t want to think what that said about their family togetherness. On the other hand, maybe the church office was where they’d seen Win most often.
    Hildy removed her apron, patted shoulders and said chirpy thank-yous and good-byes to everybody in the room, then she left.
    I was immediately flanked by Dolly Purcell and Yvonne McAllister. Yvonne is not quite fifty, and Dolly’s in her eighties, but both women had been part of the congregation when Win Dorchester was the minister.
    “What did you say to get her out of here?” Yvonne asked. “What magical incantation?”
    I took in Yvonne’s expression, a mixture of annoyance and gratitude. I didn’t think the annoyance was aimed at me. “I pointed out that her daughters were probably waiting.”
    “We have a routine,” Dolly said. “We do these receptions regularly, and do them well. Hildy has, perhaps, forgotten.”
    Relief seeped in. I had expected to be chastised for my sesame seeds. I summoned some charity. “We all cope with grief in our own way.”
    “Let’s get everything in the refrigerator or under cover and get over to the service,” Yvonne said. “I think we can do that much without guidance.”
    We cleared the kitchen in record time, nonperishables under plastic wrap, everything else in the refrigerators. From the window over the sink, I saw Ed and Teddy heading for the church, and plenty of other people, too. The service would be well attended.
    The last to leave, I got stuck behind the other two women who had been in the kitchen with us. Fern Booth and Ida Bere are not my compatriots, not even my admirers or my husband’s. Neither Ed nor I are as devoted to every passing cause as Ida thinks we should be, and Fern is simply ornery. I am fairly certain no minister and family in the parsonage have ever pleased her. But Fern cured me of that delusion as I turned off the kitchen light.
    “It was a sad day when the world lost Win Dorchester,” she said to Ida. “He and Hildy were models for the next generation . . . although from what I can tell, few are following in their footsteps.”
    She’d had the grace to lower her voice for the