Waking Up in Dixie (42 page)

Nobody noticed the pitiful choir or its accompaniment at the recessional. They were too moved by Howe’s message, and the minute Father Jim pronounced the benediction from the back of the church, the whole congregation erupted in a surge of support.

Elizabeth’s friends enveloped her with hugs and praise for Howe’s turnaround, and most of the men present came up and shook Howe’s hand in wordless approval till the funeral director shepherded the family to the front of the aisle, where Howe and Charles joined the pallbearers in taking not just Augusta’s, but the other two coffins to the three waiting hearses outside.

Elizabeth caught up with Howe after the last casket was shut into the hearse. “You’re not really going to bury those, are you?”

“Only Mama’s.” He put his arm around her shoulder and leaned in close so no one would overhear what he said next. “Just between you and me, I’m donating the other two to needy veterans, along with a dozen more.”

Elizabeth smiled, slipping her arm around his waist. “I like that. It’s a nice memorial for Augusta.”

He drew her toward the waiting limousine. “Come on. Let’s go bury the past.”

“Sounds like a plan.” And they did.

Once their sins were laid to rest with Augusta, the life they shared was fun and maddening and glorious and true and frustrating and unpredictable. And that suited Elizabeth just fine. So fine, in fact, that she sometimes invited Howe up to Blue Ridge. But only sometimes.