The Mill River Redemption Read Online Free PDF Page B

ashes. That way, we could still use it, like she wanted,” Emily said. “And, don’t let Rose get to you. I know she can say horrible things, but trust me … what comes out of her mouth isn’t worth a damn thing.”

CHAPTER 4
    1983
    W HILE I VY GREETED CUSTOMERS AND DID HER BEST TO reduce her holiday inventory, Josie spent the remainder of the day in a haze of misery. She held herself together until Rose and Emily were asleep in the attic bedroom. Quietly, she came downstairs and found Ivy settled into the recliner in the living room.
    Ivy looked up from the book she was reading. “They fell out okay?”
    “Yes.” Josie sank into the sofa across from her. “I think I’d like to open the package now.”
    Ivy nodded and left the sitting room. She returned a moment later with the box that the mailman had delivered for Josie earlier in the day. “I’ll be in my room, if you need me,” she said quietly.
    When her aunt was gone, Josie looked down at the package. With a trembling finger, she traced the words on the shipping label— PACKAGE CONTAINS CREMATED REMAINS. PLEASE HANDLE WITH CARE AND RESPECT . The return address was for a funeral home in the Bronx.
    She stood up and took the package into the kitchen to cut through the tape. The cardboard shipping container held a sealed envelope and a rectangular metal box, which she lifted onto the table. Josie opened the envelope and unfolded the paper it held, but she saw only “Certificate of Cremation” and “Anthony PaoloDiSanti” before her eyes filled with tears and the paper slipped from her fingers.
    Josie couldn’t breathe. She found her wool coat on the rack by the side door, stumbled outside, and started to walk.
    The sidewalk was covered with a dusting of new snow, and Josie’s shoes were the first to leave footprints. She pulled up her hood and occasionally used the sleeve of her coat to wipe her face. Two blocks ahead, at the intersection with Main Street, the glimmer of Christmas lights caught her attention.
    When she arrived at the intersection, the white town hall building was on her left. To her right, the small row of shops she remembered seeing the night before ran along one side of the street. Across from them, set back off the road, was St. John’s. It was after eight o’clock, and the shops along Main Street were long closed, but she thought she saw a few lights on inside the little stone church. Emotionally exhausted, her face numb from the frigid air, Josie crossed the street and walked up the steps of the church to the front door. To her surprise, it was open.
    Josie entered cautiously, easing the door closed behind her and enjoying the warmth that met her cold face. She was in a small, dark foyer. Ahead of her were two large double doors that led into the sanctuary. She could see that the altar was well lit, but the light faded gradually so that the pews in the row closest to the door were almost completely shrouded in darkness. Josie slid into one of them and sat down.
    She was grateful to be alone in this quiet, warm, dark place. Time was irrelevant. She wanted to somehow slip into the darkness and escape her grief, but when she closed her eyes, she was haunted by the words “cremated remains.” As she slumped forward, tears dripped onto her lap. Josie didn’t hear how her gasps and sobs echoed slightly in the sanctuary. She focused only on trying to survive the seemingly endless torrent of agony that poured out of her.
    Josie didn’t know how long she had been sitting there crying when she heard the pew creak under the weight of another person. She turned to see a priest seated next to her.
    “I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said quietly. “I was just getting things ready for tomorrow’s mass when I heard you. I wanted to see if I could be of any assistance. My name is Michael O’Brien. I’m the pastor here.”
    “Oh, I’m sorry, Father, I didn’t … I mean, you’re probably closed. I was just out walking and got