Village Squire, 1973-09, Page 11from work a few minutes befcre and his wife had just told
him of the news. He frowned for a few seconds but his
big happy face couldn't stay serious for long. He was
laughing at something David had said when Robbie came
back in from the kitchen.
"Robbie, it's your turn to sty grace "his father said.
"For what we are about to receive may the Lord make
us truly thankful - and Dear Lord please take care of Mrs.
Seymour! "
As he opened his eyes he saw David scowling at him
across the table.
"That was very nice, Robbie", he heard his father say
quietly.
They started to eat. At first there was little talking.
Soon, though David managed to start a conversation and
everyone joined in. Everyone but Robbie.
Somehow he couldn't shake the sadness from his mind.
He wanted to be happy with the otheisbut he just didn't
feel that way. After all, he told himself, she was just an
old lady. They said that everyone had to die someday.
But she was such a nice old lady. How could everyone be
so happy when a person was dead.
"I'll have to hurry to get the dishes done after supper,"
his mother was saying. "We should get to the funeral
home early before the real crowd comes."
"Can 1 go?" Robbie asked.
David scowled again.
"No dear. Little boys don't go to the funeral home.
That is only for grown-ups," his mother said.
Supper was over and his mother started to clear up the
dishes.
"Have you got your homework done Robbie?" his mother
asked.
"1 don't have any tonight."
" Then go outside and play dear. Don't forget your
sweater."
He went outside without his sweater anyway. It was
still warm although the sun was sliding down among the
houses of the new housing development on the hill to
the west. He didn't feel like playing ball anymore.
David was showing off on his bicycle again and he didn't
want to watch that. So he crammed his little hands in
the pockets of his jeans and started down the sidewalk
toward the river that cut through the centre of the town
just a block and a half south of where he lived.
The river was broad and shallow for some distance out
from both shores. A deep channel was gouged down the
centre. The banks were covered with smooth stones,
polished from years of water tumbling over them as they
lay on the riverbed and cast up here by the annual
rush of high water in spring.
Robbie knew all this. His father had told him the
whole story one Sunday afternoon when they'd come for
a walk here. Now as he walked he picked up a handful
of the stones and began to skip them over the water as
his father had shown him that afternoon.
He still hadn't learned properly how to do it. Some -
ti nes he could make them hop over the little wavelets
once and one stone even bounced three times. But most
fell into the water never to come up again.
Maybe that was what death was like he thought. All
those years the stones were honed and polished to perfec-
tion then washed up into the sunlight. Then someone
picked them up and hurled them back down into the
watery darkness. How long were they in the sunlight on
the beach? How much longer would they stay down there
in the darkness?
Except they said in Sunday School that people lived
again after they died. For people there was heaven. Not
for the stones. Maybe if they were lucky they'd be wash-
ed up again a thousand years from now. Or maybe they'd
have to stay there on the river bottom forever.
But the stones did leave something. His teacher had
told him that the ripples stones made in the water would
go on for ever if nothing got in the road. Maybe, that
was like people.
Robbie dropped the last of the stones from his hand
and they clattered and rolled across the other stones on
the beach. He shivered. Maybe he should have brought
his sweater.
•
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