Bury Your Dead

It was both glorious and vaguely repulsive. Gamache crossed himself, a habit unbroken and sat quietly for a few moments.

“My family wanted me to become a priest, you know,” said the young voice.

“Having built up a tolerance for ash and smoke, I suppose,” said Gamache.

“Exactly. And I think they figured anyone who could tolerate my grandmother was either a saint or demented. Either way, good material for a life with the Jesuits.”

“But you decided against it.”

“I never seriously considered it,” Agent Morin spoke in Gamache’s ear. “I’d fallen in love with Suzanne when she was six and I was seven. I figured that was God’s plan.”

“You’ve known each other that long?”

“All my life, it seems. We met in confirmation class.”

Gamache could see the young man and tried to imagine him at seven. It wasn’t hard. He looked far younger than his twenty-five years. He had a curious knack for looking like an imbecile. It wasn’t something Morin tried to do, but he succeeded. He often had his mouth slightly open and his thick lips moistened as though he was about to drool. It could be either disconcerting or disarming. One thing it never was was attractive.

But it had grown on Gamache and his team as they realized what his face was doing had nothing to do with his brain or his heart.

“I like to just sit in our village church after everyone’s left. Sometimes I go in in the evening.”

“Do you talk to your priest?”

“Father Michel? Sometimes. Mostly I just sit. These days I imagine my wedding next June. I see the decorations and picture all my friends and family there. Some of the people I work with.” He hesitated. “Would you come?”

“If I’m asked, I’d definitely be there.”

“Really?”

“Absolutely.”

“Wait ’til I tell Suzanne. When I sit in the church mostly I see her coming down the aisle to me. Like a miracle.”

“Now there is no more loneliness.”

“Pardon?”

“It’s a blessing Madame Gamache and I had at our wedding. It was read at the end of the ceremony. Now you will feel no rain, for each of you will be shelter for the other,” Gamache quoted.

Now you will feel no cold

For each of you will be warmth for the other

Now there is no loneliness for you

Now there is no more loneliness

Now there is no more loneliness.

Gamache stopped. “Are you cold?”

“No.”

But Gamache thought the young agent was lying. It was early December, cold and damp and he was immobile.

“Can we use that blessing at our wedding?”

“If you’d like. I can send it to you and you can decide.”

“Great. How does it end? Can you remember?”

Gamache gathered his thoughts, remembering his own wedding. Remembering looking out and seeing all their friends and Reine-Marie’s huge family. And Zora, his grandmother, the only one of his family left, but she was enough. There was no bride’s side and no groom’s side. Instead they all mixed in together.

And then the music had changed and Reine-Marie appeared and Armand knew then he’d been alone all his life, until this moment.

Now there is no more loneliness.

And at the end of the ceremony, the final blessing.

“Go now to your dwelling place,” he said to Morin. “To enter into the days of your togetherness. And may your days be good and long upon the earth.”

There was a pause. But not too long. Gamache was about to speak when Agent Morin broke the silence.

“That’s how I feel, that I’m not really alone. Not since I met Suzanne. You know?”

“I do.”

“The only thing wrong with my image of our wedding is that Suzanne always faints or throws up in church.”

“Really? How extraordinary. Why do you think that is?”

“The incense, I think. I hope. Either that or she’s the antichrist.”

“That would mess up the wedding,” said Gamache.

“Not to mention the marriage. I’ve asked and she assures me she isn’t.”

“Well, good enough. Have you considered a pre-nup?”