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

it were something obscene, the way some Muslims insisted upon women covering every inch of their flesh.
    Garish.
    The word came unbidden to David’s mind, but he could not banish it.The flowers that bedecked the casket seemed too bright, the sky too blue, the sun too warm with hope and the promise of life.
    As David passed the casket, he surprised himself by bending down to pull a single rose from an arrangement near his feet and tossing it onto the casket. Others ahead of him had done it, but he had not known he would follow suit until he felt himself moving.
    A whisper of prayer passed his lips and he glanced to his left and saw Weiss’s widow, supported by her children, dabbing at her eyes. As though she could feel his eyes upon her, Mrs. Weiss glanced up and stared at him a moment. A flicker of recognition seemed to wash over her face and her brow furrowed slightly. David wondered how many times her husband had complained to her at home about the former student who had come back to St. Matt’s to teach and thought he could do it better.
    Suddenly flushing with guilt, he broke the gaze and put a hand on Annette’s shoulder, rushing her a bit so that they could escape into the small knot of mourners now gathered on the grass near their cars. Annette turned to look at him and blinked in surprise.
    â€œWhat?” he asked immediately.
    She glanced away. “Nothing. I’m sorry. I’m just ... I guess I didn’t expect to find you crying for him.”
    Baffled, David wiped a hand across his eyes and was astonished when it came away damp with salty tears. He had not even been aware that he was crying.
    Annette’s gaze was upon him again, and David shrugged.
    â€œMaybe they’re not for him, y’know? Maybe they’re for his family. Or maybe they’re for me. I sort of feel like I’ve lost something. Kind of twisted, I know, when I didn’t even like him”—he whispered that last—“but still. It’s like part of my past has been taken away.”
    With a sweet smile, Annette reached out to take his hand. She stood on her tiptoes to kiss him, and he still had to bend slightly for her to peck at his cheek.
    â€œYou’re a good man, David Bairstow. Trust me. I’m pretty objective.”
    David wiped at his eyes again but found no new tears. He nodded. “Thanks, Elf.”
    Even as he said it, he saw Father Charles striding across the lawn toward them. Annette followed his gaze and her expression changed a little. She was probably the only person at St. Matt’s who didn’t get along with the priest. Father Charles had never been anything but nice to her, but he had also admitted to her once that he supported the church’s teachings about homosexuality. Annette had been cold to him ever since, though David thought it was more to protect herself emotionally than that she was angry.
    Still, they both turned to greet the priest as he hailed them.
    â€œWell, now, two of my favorite teachers,” Father Charles announced as he reached them. “You’re both well, I trust?”
    They assured him that they were. The priest eyed them one at a time, then glanced sidelong toward the casket and the grieving family.
    â€œA teacher is an extraordinary thing,” he told them in a tone that would brook no argument. “To draw into the world the mind of another person, young or old, to educate, to provide form and a method of understanding experience. Glorious.”
    Now he studied them again, a small, beatific smile on his face, though his eyes were stern. “Don’t ever forget that, either of you. We are, all of us, teachers. As we are all students. We never stop learning, or teaching. But those who dedicate their lives to the pursuit and the cultivation of knowledge and understanding are God’s own instruments. Even one who is less than eloquent, for he still teaches by example, by dedication, the value of learning.