Hungry Hill: A Memoir

Chapter 6 - Anne of Green Gables

38 H u n g ry H i l l selves from the Sampson’s Family Chapels so that a staid propriety may return. When I glance over, I see my father still on the kneeler, dabbing at his eyes with a white handkerchief. Come on, Dad, get up. Mr. Sampson floats across the room and places his big, white paw-hand on my father’s shoulder, and I hold my breath watching for my father to get up. At last he puts his palms down on the kneeler and pushes himself up. Then, as if an angel of lightness is whispering in his ear, he faces us, smiles, and says with an old, familiar energy, “Let’s get this show on the road.” He does everything but clap his hands together. = 6. Anne of Green Gables There is talk about who gets to ride in which limousine once we’re out on the sidewalk. Joey and Gerry, in a protest instigated by Gerry, are refusing to ride in the smaller limousine with Aunt Madeline and Uncle Bill. Michael, Danny, and I, the big kids, know that we will get to ride in the first limousine, right behind the funeral car. For a minute I am afraid my father might ask me to ride with the little kids, but I calm myself, knowing my aunts and uncles are there to take care of them. Well, Gerry crabs his way into our limousine. So that means Joey has to come with us too. There is plenty of room, not like our station wagon, but Gerry and Joey are playing with the buttons on the side of the door as if they were riding a spaceship. When Gerry yells, “Take off!” my father looks at him. The chauffeur has a black uniform hat on and drives so slowly I can read on the poster in the window of Liberty Bakery that a Boston cream pie costs forty-nine cents. I do wish my classmates could see me riding like a bride-to-be in the limousine. My father straightens his tie and reaches over for Gerry’s arm. “That’s enough, Gerry. I don’t want you playing with the buttons,” Dad whispers. I jump in and tell Gerry that he better start acting like one of the big kids if he wants to ride with us. He makes a face at me and looks out the window at Bottle Park on Carew Street with the old men smoking cigarettes and sitting in the shade. He sneaks his finger back on the button when my father isn’t looking. A Memoir 39 The hearse leads the funeral procession. My mother’s golden bronze coffin is covered over and surrounded with flowers from the funeral home. The hearse drives right through red lights, and the parade of cars follows. For as far as I can see behind us, there is a string of cars with Sampson’s funeral flags perched on the drivers’ fenders. Although it is still mid-morning, the cars all have their headlights on. Bill Kelly, the Armory Street policeman, waves the hearse on and holds the traffic up for us. In front of Our Lady of Hope Church, my class is marching up the steps, two by two, boys first, girls next, behind Sister Agnes Edward. The driver pushes a button and the window separating the front and back seats glides down with a smooth, easy sound. The driver keeps his head forward and says, “Mr. O’Malley, you and the children will be the last ones in. You’ll go to the front of the church where an usher will show you to your seats. Then the pallbearers carry the casket in. No one can see in through these special windows.” My father nods as if he knew exactly what was going on all along. I’m just glad someone knows what to do, because I have no idea what will happen at the cemetery. Danny lowers the window to wave to Brian Long, one of the boys in his class, until Sister Maurice Joseph steps next to Brian and cuffs his ear. “What are you doing, Danny? You fool,” Michael barks, leaning forward and putting his hand on the window. Then he smirks, slinking his eyes over to my father for a sign of approval. My father stares out the window, his eyes on the group of pallbearers standing on the sidewalk, where Mr. Sampson is passing...