Beauty Rising Read Free Page A

parsonage was set off to the side about a hundred feet further back from the street than the church. I walked right up the three cinderblocks used as steps for the front door and knocked firmly. I felt especially calm. An elderly man with a bald head and a rim of white hair from ear to ear smiled as he opened the wooden door.
    “Hello, son. What can I do for you?”
    “Hello, Reverend. My name is Martin Kinney Jr. My family lives over on Home Avenue.”
    “You’re a Kinney. Martin Kinney, you say. Well I know your father. Or knew your father a long, long time ago. Come in, come in. I’m so glad you came. Your father is still a member here – inactive that is. But we never close the doors on reconciliation.”
    He brought me into his small living room. There was a red painted piano in the corner and a well-worn sofa opposite it where he sat me down as I pondered the shocking fact of my father being a church member.
    “So how is your father Martin?”
    “He died this morning,” I said without any emotion. I still didn’t know what I felt.
    “Oh Martin, I am sorry. How could I be of assistance to your family during this time?”
    “I never knew my Dad had ever gone to church. But last night, he was talking to me about when he was a boy and he said my grandma would take him every Sunday.”
    “Maggie. You must have never met your grandmother, is that right, Martin?”
    “Yes sir, that’s right. She died when I was one year old.”
    “I came here in 1960. Your father must have been about ten years old at the time. Your grandmother was a Godly woman. Never missed a service. She sang in the choir and directed the Christmas pageant for years; in fact, I believe it was my first Christmas here when your father sang a solo in the pageant.”
    “My father, sing?”
    “Well, that was a long time ago.”
    “Reverend, would you come and say a few words at my father’s funeral?”
    “Martin, of course I will,” he paused thoughtfully looking straight into my eyes. “Would you like me to take care of the whole funeral service?”
    I nodded gratefully.
    “Fine. I’ll take care of it. Just give me the details.”
    ______________

    By the time I arrived home, the funeral assistant was at the house talking to Mom in the kitchen.
    “Mr. Baldwin, I’ll be in this afternoon to pick out the casket,” I heard my Mom say to the short man all dressed in black.
    “Very well, Mrs. Kinney.”
    Neither acknowledged me as I stood in the doorway.
    “No,” I spoke boldly. “No casket. Dad’s being cremated.”
    My Mom twirled her head around and looked at me. Her eyebrows seemed to be permanently in the downward position for years now. I was used to this scowl, but I would not be moved.
    “Martin, take the trash out. We are busy here,” she turned back to Mr. Baldwin. “Is 3:30 okay?”
    “Yes, that would be fine, Mrs. Kinney.”
    “No, Mom. You don’t understand. Dad must be cremated.”
    “Martin, shut up!” She blushed mildly then turned back to Mr. Baldwin feigning a grin to cover over her harsh tone. “He just doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”
    I ignored her and walked up to Mr. Baldwin. He uncomfortably smiled my way as I approached. The cremation would happen. I would see to it.
    “Mr. Baldwin, it was my father’s wish to be cremated…”
    “Martin. He said no such thing. Mr. Baldwin, I’m sorry for this distraction. He’s always butting his nose into things,” she said sourly.
    “Mr. Baldwin, he wanted to be cremated, so could you please arrange that? Also, could you notify Reverend Fox at the Methodist church over on Main Street about the funeral arrangements? I’ve asked him to say a few words and organize it for us.”
    “Reverend Fox? What the hell are you talking about? I will not have that man step foot in the funeral service. Just what are you trying to do? Martin, leave!”
    “Mom.”
    “Martin, I have had enough of you. Can you not respect my wishes just this once? Even on the day