November 1971

Josie paces the side of the church in head scarf and dark glasses. No one must recognize her. Her eyes rest on the slate tombstones slim as ancient teeth; a plastic sheet drapes a mound of freshly dug-up earth. Beneath a cloudless blue sky, black telephone wires stretch through treetops like unfinished notes.

Inside, the church is small with no cathedral ceilings or stained-glass windows, honey-colored wood everywhere. The mahogany casket an angry gash, as imposing as its inhabitant.