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was a bit afraid of her. She said, “Well, Luke. Matt. Kate.” Her voice was unsteady and she didn’t say anything else, just gave us a rather shaky smile and patted Bo’s foot.
    Dr. Christopherson and his wife were next, and then four men I didn’t know who turned out to be from my father’s bank, and then, in ones and twos and whole families, all the people I had known since the day I was born, all looking upset and saying, “Anything we can do …” to Luke and Matt.
    Sally McLean was still standing as near to Luke as she could. She looked at the ground as people paid their respects and every now and then stepped closer to Luke and whispered something. Once I heard her say, “Would you like me to hold your little sister?” and Luke said, “No,” and tightened his grip on Bo. After a minute he said, “Thank you, but she’s fine.”
    Mrs. Stanovich was one of the last to come up, and I remember what she said very clearly. She’d been crying too, and still was. She was a large soft lady who looked as if she didn’t have any bones and who talked to the Lord all day, not just during grace and prayers like the rest of us. Matt had said once that she was as mad as a hatter like all the Evangelicals, and my parents had banished him from the dining room for a whole month. If he’d just said she was mad as a hatter he might have got away with it. It was disparaging her religion that got him into trouble. Religious tolerance was a family creed and you defied it at your peril.
    Anyway, she came up to us and looked from one to the other, tears rolling down her cheeks. We didn’t know where to look. Mr. Stanovich, who was known as Gabby because he never said a word, nodded at Luke and Matt and headed speedily back to his truck. To my alarm, Mrs. Stanovich suddenly pulled me into her huge bosom and said, “Katherine, sweetie, great will be the joy in Heaven this day. Your parents, bless their dear souls, have gone to join our Lord, and the Heavenly Host will rejoice to welcome them. It’s hard, my lamb, but think how happy our Lord will be!”
    She smiled at me through her tears and squeezed me again. Her bosom smelled of talcum powder and sweat. I’ll never forget it. Talcum powder and sweat, and the idea that up in heaven they were rejoicing that my parents were dead.
    Poor Lily Stanovich. I know she was genuinely grief-stricken by our parents’ death. But that memory of her is the clearest one I have of their funeral, and to be honest I still resent that, even after all this time. I’d have liked a pleasanter memory, that’s all. I’d have liked a clear strong picture of the four of us, standing very close together, supporting each other. But every time I get it fixed in my mind, in wallows Lily Stanovich, bosom to the fore, and smothers it in tears.

chapter
THREE
    It was a long time before I told Daniel much about my family. When we first started going out we exchanged bits of personal information, as you do, but it was all very general. I think I told him that my parents had died when I was young but that I had other family up north and went to visit them sometimes. It was hardly more detailed than that.
    I knew quite a bit about Daniel’s background because a lot of his background was in the foreground, so to speak, right there at the university. Daniel is Professor Crane of the zoology department. His father is Professor Crane of the history department. His mother is Professor Crane of the fine art department. It’s a little Crane dynasty. Or as I learned later, it’s a small subsection of a large Crane dynasty. Daniel’s forebears roamed the cultural capitals of Europe before emigrating to Canada. They were doctors or astronomers or historians or musicians, each of them without doubt eminent in his field. Against all that, Great-Grandmother Morrison’s little handmade book rest seemed a bit pathetic, and I kept it under wraps.
    But Daniel is a curious man. He shares with Matt— and it is the only