The Judgment Read Online Free PDF Page B

That way each of you has the picture.”
    “What about the frame?” the daughter said.
    “Get five frames that are close to the original.”
    For a minute everything was silent again.
    “I suppose that would be all right,” one of the sons said grudgingly. “That would be okay with me.”
    They all turned and looked at the daughter who had protested the most. “I should have the original,” she insisted stubbornly.
    Amos shrugged. “If it’s all right with the others, it’s all right with me.”
    Several nodded.
    “Is it agreed then?” I asked.
    “I suppose so,” Amos said.
    “Anybody object?” I asked.
    They looked at each other, but no one spoke.
    “Anything else I can help you with?” I asked.
    “I guess not,” Amos said. “Thanks for coming over.”
    The others, still grim faced, nodded and turned toward the guest of honor. I wondered if the Kalts would ever be one happy family again.
    I started to leave. Amos followed me out to my car.
    “I guess you must think we’re all pretty silly,” he said.
    “Families are very touchy at times like this,” I said.
    “What do we owe you?”
    I shook my head. “Nothing. I was glad to help out.”
    He took out his wallet and held it so I couldn’t see what was in it, then he extracted a bill and shoved it into my pocket.
    “Thanks,” he said, then returned to the funeral home.
    I started the car, then fished out the money.
    Five bucks.
    Apparently, the wisdom of Solomon was going pretty cheap lately. Well, I reasoned philosophically, it was five dollars more than I had when I got up that morning.
    I made an appointment to see Father Chuck. On the phone he had sounded friendly, almost too friendly, like a salesman who wants to sell you some aluminum siding. But maybe I was biased because Sue seemed to like him so much.
    I drove out to Hub City. Like a number of rural Michigan cities, it was a place that time and progress had passed by. Once the center of a thriving farming and manufacturing center, the small town had seen prosperous times. Then the manufacturing left for various reasons, leaving small deserted factories behind as monuments, like grave markers. The town itself looked neglected. Storefronts, those that were still open, needed painting. It wasn’t much of a place, but the supermarket was open, as was a large gas station. There was a drugstore and several other businesses still operating. Most of the retail stores were closed and boarded up. Those that could had moved to a large mall south of the town.
    The redbrick Catholic church was the centerpiece of Hub City, built at the turn of the century by the rich German families who had come to the place and prospered. It was big, large enough to seat hundreds. Next door, built at the same time, was a three-story brick rectory. There had been a school, but it had been razed, leaving acres of open land behind the church and rectory.
    There was a Lutheran church at the other end of town, but it was not nearly as grand as its rival. I parked in the church lot, which needed an infusion of gravel. There were many bare spots. The woodwork on the church and rectory badly needed paint. I walked up the steps to the frontdoor of the rectory and rang the bell, listening to it ring inside.
    As I waited, I noticed the wind had picked up and it was becoming quite chilly. Low clouds scuttled across the sky. It had the look and feel of snow. I hoped it would hold off until I got back to Pickeral Point. At last the large wooden door opened and I was face-to-face with Ernest Hemingway, or at least his twin brother, or so it seemed.
    “Father Albertus?”
    The smile Sue had warned me about lit up his bearded face.
    “Father Chuck,” he corrected me. “Mr. Sloan, I presume? Please come in.”
    He was as Sue had described him. “Six feet or nearly, thick through the chest and shoulders, with large hands, one of which he extended to me. He had a strong and reassuring grip.
    “Let’s pick a place where we can be