Emilie Richards - One Mountain Away

“Somebody important, then.”

Analiese nodded. “Yes, she was important.” She paused, then plunged. “The service is for a woman named Minnie Marlborough.”

Charlotte’s expression didn’t change, but she was suddenly still, because certainly the name was familiar to her. “Minnie Marlborough died?”

“Last week.”

“I’m sorry, I’ve been out of town for a while. I didn’t know. Had she been ill for long?”

Analiese couldn’t figure out how to answer that. From the moment she had seen Charlotte’s car, she had known this conversation might be necessary, although she hadn’t been sure Charlotte would remember Minnie. Now she was just as confused about the direction to take as she had been before she murmured her prayer in the parking lot.

“I don’t know how to answer that,” she said after a long pause. “I don’t know what you want me to say. I can tell you the truth, or I can tell you some version that’s easier to hear.”

“I remember the first time I heard you speak in our pulpit—I was overwhelmed by your honesty.” Charlotte paused, but not long enough to allow Analiese to respond. “But I was also fascinated.”

“Were you?”

“At the time you had to know you were destroying your chances of being called as our pastor, but that didn’t stop you from telling the truth, exactly the way you saw it.”

“Here I am, anyway,” Analiese said, “ten years later, and both of us completely baffled about how it happened.”

“I voted against you.”

“I assumed.”

Charlotte rubbed an eye, a gesture that was out of character for a woman who gave the impression she wouldn’t flinch under torture. “So do what you do best, and please tell me the truth.”

“Minnie never adjusted to life in town.”

Charlotte waited for more, but Analiese shrugged. “I’m sorry, it’s that simple. Her little farm, her animals? They were all she had. When they were gone, she didn’t have anything left to live for. At least that’s what her friends say.”

“You blame me for that.” It wasn’t a question.

“I’m your minister. It’s not my place to blame you, Charlotte. I wasn’t even sure you’d remember her.”

“And what about the woman Analiese Wagner. Does she blame me?”

“I wish I could separate the two that easily.” Analiese turned the question around. “What about the woman Charlotte Hale? How does she feel?”

Charlotte spoke slowly, as if she were putting memories together. “Minnie Marlborough’s farm was needed for a retirement facility that would benefit hundreds of seniors and has. Her neighbors wanted to sell when they heard our terms. We thought everyone would come out ahead. The city’s richer for the taxes the facility pays. The road’s been widened and improved, so residents in the area benefited, too.”

We, Analiese knew, was Falconview Development, of which Charlotte Hale was the founder, president and CEO.

She thought carefully before she spoke, struggling to be fair. “I know you or someone at Falconview found her an apartment where she could have some of her things—”

“I knew how much she loved those animals. I got the owner to lift the restrictions on pets so she could bring the two cats she’d had the longest,” Charlotte said, although not defensively.

“And found homes for almost all the rest who were healthy. I know.”

“Did you ever see her house? Ever walk around the grounds? Every penny Minnie Marlborough had from Social Security and savings went to those animals she took in. And she was such an easy mark. Somebody’s cute little kitten started clawing the furniture and suddenly Minnie found a new pet on her doorstep. She could never say no, and everybody knew it. I was told the house was falling down around her. I doubt she ate as well as the animals she fed.”

Analiese thought carefully before she spoke. “I think the hardest decisions are the ones where we’ll reap benefits from only one of the outcomes. How can we remain objective?”

“I guess you’re saying I didn’t.”

“I’ve been told Minnie had friends who went to that house every day to help. They brought food and took animals to the vet, and helped her find homes for everything from iguanas to llamas. I’m told that for every person who took advantage of her, there was another who reached out to help. She wasn’t a hoarder. She was poor, overworked, but she was happy. She had friends, purpose, the animals she loved, the home she’d lived in all her life.”

“You do blame me.”

“Right now I’m more concerned about how you’ll feel if you stay here much longer. You accused me of an abundance of honesty, but I think you need to know. There will be people coming through those doors in a little while, and some of them will be unhappy to find you here.”

“I was here for…” Charlotte stopped and shook her head. “Don’t worry. I’m not planning to stay.” She put her hand on Analiese’s arm when the minister slid forward to rise. “You really are expecting a crowd, then?”

“That’s the guess.”

“She had that many friends?”

“SRO.” She saw Charlotte hadn’t understood the show-business term. “Standing room only,” she clarified.

“All those people…” Charlotte dropped her hand.

“A tribute to a life well lived.” Analiese got to her feet. She had delivered her message, and while she’d been unsurpassingly blunt, she thought she’d done Charlotte a favor. Grief had turned to anger for some of Minnie’s friends who blamed Minnie’s decline and death on Falconview and everyone connected with it. Charlotte would not be welcome here today, and Minnie’s friends would probably make certain she knew it.

“It was a complicated situation,” Charlotte said, still seated.

“I know. We specialize in those in this building.”

“Are they taking memorial donations?” Charlotte reached for her purse.

“Don’t.” Analiese spoke so sharply the word echoed off the stone walls and could not be retrieved.

Charlotte looked startled, then she tilted her head in question. “I just thought…maybe the animal shelter? I can write a check.”

“Minnie Marlborough never asked for a handout in life, so I doubt she’d want one in death. She was a woman with her hand outstretched to help, not to ask. That’s what people loved about her. That’s why they’re all coming today.”

“You’re giving a sermon, and I’m the only one here.”

Analiese knew Charlotte was right, but she couldn’t apologize. “A hazard of the profession.”

“How many people will be at your funeral, do you suppose?”

“I’m sorry?”

“When you die, how many people will come to say goodbye?”

Analiese had never asked herself the question. “Why do you ask?”

“Maybe it is the measure of a life well lived.”

“Only if people attend because they want to.”

Charlotte’s smile warmed and softened her face, like a light going on inside a room at dusk, and even though the smile was sad, she looked more like herself. “You mean well-dressed businessmen checking smartphones don’t count?”

“It wouldn’t be fair to ignore them completely. Say…three businessmen equal one faithful mourner.”

“Maybe I’d better reserve this little chapel for my own funeral. Or the sexton’s broom closet.” Charlotte smiled again, almost as if in comfort.

Analiese wasn’t sure how to answer. “I’m afraid you’ll have to take a number. The broom closet’s been booked for months.”

As exit lines went, that and the smile accompanying it would do, but Analiese didn’t leave. She could hear a clock ticking inside her head, and still she couldn’t go without offering something better. As odd as it seemed, she felt as if Charlotte had just tried offering something to her.