Read Online The Ferryman by Christopher Golden - Free Book Online Page A

“Wish I didn’t know now what I didn’t know then ...”
    It never ceased to amaze him, all the things he thought he understood as a child that took on entirely new meaning to him as an adult. That song was one of them.
    Ralph Weiss’s funeral was heartbreakingly small. In addition to the man’s wife and grown children, as well as their little ones, there were a handful of friends from the man’s private life. Most of the teachers at St. Matthew’s had appeared for the mass and the burial, as had half a dozen nuns from the convent by St. Matthew’s and a small clutch of only the kindest-hearted and most dedicated students.
    It was a sad counterpoint to the last funeral David had attended. The year before, a student named Steve Themeli had been knifed in an argument over drugs. Themeli had been a rough kid, a troublesome student, and raged at every teacher who gave him the low grades he deserved—he had been particularly upset about nearly failing Mr. Bairstow’s English class—but seemingly half the student body had turned out to pay their respects when he died.Themeli had been despised by the faculty, but the students had loved him.
    It seemed wrong to David that so many would appear for the funeral of a drugged-out tough guy with an attitude the size of Texas, and so few for the old history teacher who had been a bit pompous, but had meant well.Wrong, and sad.
    The priest had come from Weiss’s own parish, but his words at the church had cemented David’s suspicion that he had not known the dead man very well. Any one of Weiss’s colleagues could have delivered a more thoughtful eulogy, but of course it would have been most appropriate had Father Charles been asked to do it.
    Hugh Charles was the chaplain at St. Matthew’s, an eccentric, wise man with sparkling eyes and a storm cloud of a brow when his wrath descended upon unruly students. Many people at St. Matthew’s felt that Father Charles was the school’s greatest treasure. But there were those among the staff—mostly elderly nuns whose sole function was to monitor study periods—who thought that Father Charles was far too relaxed with his students, and did not engender the proper respect for the clergy in them.
    David thought that was pretty much bullshit. It was the very warmth the nuns disdained, combined with a firm, even stern, insistence upon scholarship, that inspired the students to show him more respect than David had ever seen young people give a clergyman. During his own days at St. Matt’s, the chaplain had been Father O’Connor, a grim little troll of a man who inspired only dismay and trepidation amongst his charges.
    So it was that as the final blessings were said over the casket that held the mortal remains of Ralph Weiss, David kept his eye on Father Charles. A small procession formed of people who desired to pass by the casket to cross themselves and perhaps whisper a parting prayer. Though David had no such desire he would have felt out of place hanging back.
    Annette had stood beside him throughout the graveside service, their bodies at times brushing against one another in silent, subconscious communication. We’re here together. Isn’t it awful? Let’s get out of here as soon as possible. Feel that I love you, and know that it will keep you alive, that love.
    Of course it wouldn’t. But the two of them lent each other the comfort of that reassurance.
    When the procession began, Annette stepped forward first, breaking that link that had sustained them. With a frown, she turned to glance at him, eyes bright with the expectation that he should follow her. After just a moment, he offered a flicker of a smile and stepped into the procession behind her.
    One by one they passed the casket, there beside the hole in the ground where Ralph Weiss’s mortal remains would lie until they crumbled to dust. The hole was covered, of course, treated as though