It was a cloudless, mild spring day in the Massachusetts countryside. Fruit trees were in full flower and the dark, brooding woods shot through with light green leaves. The graveyard, in contrast to the chaos of the surrounding misty, cluttered woods, was a maze of orderly respect.
Graves were arranged in neat lines, some with particolored pots of flowers and small flags that waved in the early morning sunshine. There were mausoleums and crypts, scattered among the orderly plots, some with imposing iron fences adorned with ornately spiked tops.
Rachel Vogelgesang, second lieutenant, U.S. Air Force, was the Honor Guard officer in charge of this particular funeral. She was a perfectionist with a reputation for meticulous planning. It had taken two hours to prepare for the departure, and over two hours for the Honor Guard to drive out from the base. For her, the reputation of the Air Force and the U.S. military was at stake at every burial they served. At the special request of the decedent’s father, she had arranged an over-flight before Taps and the twenty-one-gun salute.
She parked the van in the cemetery grounds at a respectful distance from the newly opened grave. The Honor Guard personnel climbed out and formed up with the presentation flag, immaculately polished rifles, and the electronic silver trumpet.
Rachel reported their arrival to the Rev. Hiram Couch. The Reverend, a circumspect and spectral figure, pointed out the bereaved mother, who would be receiving the honorary flag.
“It might be best for the Honor Guard to stand alongside the open grave, opposite from the family and guests,” he suggested.
“Yes Sir,” Rachel agreed. “I only hope the impending rain holds off until we’re done.”
She returned to her troops and called them to attention. The Honor Guard, with Rachel in the lead, took their place, while the small assembly of mourners stopped milling around and sat around the bereaved mother and father. A beautiful young woman, dressed in black and sitting next to the deceased’s mother, wept inconsolably, but no one except Rachel paid any attention to her. She was the only civilian present, outwardly affected by the sense of loss.
Rachel gave a discreet nod to signal they were ready, and the Reverend began the service. It proceeded with reverence and without a word misspoken. The Reverend did an admirable job of the eulogy, with the traditional theme of “In an instant, we shall all be changed.”
Symbolically, clouds began to gather during the service and the bright spring morning turned dark and ominous. There was no rain predicted, but in New England, anything can happen with the weather within the space of a few hours. Rachel scanned the skies for rain and spied a hawk circling overhead.
After the Reverend’s address, the Honor Guard waited for almost five minutes, listening for the sound of overflying aircraft, but heard only the birds singing. The rapidly massing clouds made it impossible for anyone to see an aircraft, even if it flew directly overhead. Finally, Rachel thought she heard the distant rumble of engines, but she could not be sure—it may have been thunder. However, it was enough for her to raise her silver trumpet and a beautiful rendition of Taps crowned the service. She lowered the horn and ordered the Honor Guard to present arms. Three volleys of the Guard’s seven rifles rang across the cemetery.
In the silence that followed, one female member of the Honor Guard picked up three of the spent shells and handed them to the Lieutenant with a salute. Two other airmen carefully unfolded, then refolded the presentation flag. One presented it to Rachel, who carefully tucked the three spent shells into the body of the flag.
She went forward to the bereaved mother and presented the flag, “with thanks from a grateful nation.” As the mother accepted it, Rachel noticed she was close to tears, but she didn’t cry. She was from a military family and was determined not to cry at her son’s funeral, unlike the young woman sitting next to her. She continued to weep uncontrollably, tears streaming down her cheeks. Rachel stepped back, stood to attention and saluted the flag she’d presented. She then rejoined the Honor Guard and marched them back to their parked van, where she ordered them to stand at ease. They waited silently for the guests to depart.
While the civilians slowly dispersed, the young woman approached Rachel and thanked her and her people for their presence. She said she’d never attended a memorial service quite so respectful and added that Rachel played Taps so beautifully, she would never forget the experience and believed the decedent would have been very proud.
She went on to explain. They had decided to marry after his third tour in Iraq. If only he’d quit after his second tour, she moaned, things would have been different, although she understood that he did not want to let down his buddies. He was a true patriot, just as the Rev. Couch had said, killed by an Improvised Explosive Device, with only one more week to serve.
The young woman lifted her kerchief to her nose and said it all seemed so unfair. If they’d married after his second tour, she, not the man’s mother, would have received the honorary flag with the three cartridge shells. Now, she had nothing left, but a few pictures and her memories. She wiped her tears away with her black-gloved hand as she walked away alone, her head bowed. A few drops of rain had begun to fall, but the woman hadn’t noticed, she was too caught up in her despondency.
Rachel ordered her troops to prepare to depart while she sought out the Reverend to let him know how proud they were to have helped. She would doubtless see him again at another funeral, so many young airmen, sailors, soldiers and marines had fallen. Then too, so many older military veterans were being buried now, the Honor Guard’s schedule was full.
She mentioned the woman’s compliments to the Reverend and her trumpet playing in particular. She shook her head at the thought since she only held the electronic silver trumpet, the instrument played itself. The music it played so sweetly came from a recording but, she supposed, what mattered most was the effect.
“Pity the overflight didn’t go as planned,” the Reverend observed, “but I appreciated you taking the initiative when you heard what might have been an aircraft. But I think it was thunder.” As if to punctuate this, more thunder rolled across the sky, and the rain fell harder. He pointed to the roof of a crypt, where a giant red-tailed hawk perched, surveying the ground for mice or voles. “They are an ancient symbol of war, you know. They always come for a military funeral.”
Rachel and the Reverend mused on their observations for a few moments, lost in their separate thoughts. The hawk watched them, moving its head from side to side. Then, the Reverend shook Rachel’s hand.
“I won’t forget this sad day, or your service,” he told her. She nodded, smiled faintly and went to the van ready to drive back to base. The Honor Guard had two funerals the next day. She felt her electronic silver trumpet was a chanticleers singing all over New England in a springtime of fresh graves and final regards.
As she prepared to drive out of the graveyard, Rachael observed the young woman watching as the gravediggers covered her fiancée’s coffin with earth. The Rev. Couch stood solemnly beside her for a moment then, taking her hand, he led her to the crypt on which the hawk still perched.
He unlocked the gate surrounding the crypt then, using a large key hung from his waist by a tether, he unlocked the door to the crypt. With some effort, he pushed open the door and motioned for the woman to enter. The woman turned and, for one last time, looked at the grave of her beloved, before disappearing into the crypt. The Reverend pushed the door shut again, locking it with his key.
Shocked, Rachel opened her door and ran through the pouring rain in pursuit of the Reverend. The hawk flew down from the low roof to perch upon his arm as he set off toward the woods. The thunder crashed, and rain lashed down so hard, even the gravediggers had taken shelter in their truck. A fine mist rolled across the graveyard as she shouted after the minister.
“Why did you lock her in the crypt?”
“She’s dead!” He shouted back, struggling to make himself heard above the rain. “She committed suicide when she learned of his death. That was her family crypt and her final resting place.”
He went on to explain that while praying the previous evening she had come to him as a vision, asking to be present at her beloved’s funeral. He thought it was the least he could do and agreed. The woman Rachel had spoken to was a ghost; she should feel privileged to have shared the experience. With that, he turned and walked into the woods, the hawk still perched on his arm.
Rachel returned to the van and drove out of the cemetery. She’d heard rumors about Reverend Couch’s odd behavior at funerals but never witnessed the associations he brought with him. She thought about asking her comrades about what she’d witnessed but realized they’d fallen asleep. No one else witnessed the mysterious actions of the Reverend and the woman near the crypt, and she was sure she’d not dreamt it. So what could she tell her troops?
She decided she would tell them nothing as there was nothing she could say that would be believed.