Then Came Heaven Read Free Page B

over the summer. It was an immense yard, situated on the south of the church, with the rectory set well back from the street and fronted by a veritable parkland covering an entire half block. The statue of the Blessed Virgin Mary stood in a stone grotto near the street, a rose bed at her feet and a screen of lush green pines behind her. The long sidewalk to Father’s house was flanked by great shade trees, intermittent flower beds and rock gardens, all of this surrounded by a fence substantial enough to stand till Judgment Day. The fence, of stone piers and black iron rails, set off the grounds beautifully, but it went clear around three sides of the church property and made for a lot of hand clipping when Eddie mowed the lawns. Sometimes though, the Knights of Columbus helped him mow and trim. They had done so last Saturday, the same loyal workhorses showing up as they always did.
    Eddie was on his knees at the fishpond when he was surprised to see one of those workhorses, Conrad Kaluza, coming up Father’s sidewalk. Con had hair as black as ink and whiskers to match, dark even after a fresh shave. He owned a little music store on Main Street and always wore nice trousers and a white shirt open at the throat.
    Eddie sat back on his heels, pulled off his dirty gloves and waited.
    “Well, Con, what the heck are you doing up here at this time of day? Come to help me clean out this slimy fishpond?”
    Con stepped off the sidewalk and crossed the grass. He looked pale and shaken.
    “Hey, Con, you don’t look so good. What’s...”
    Con squatted down on one heel in the shade beside the pond. Eddie noticed the muscles around his mouth quivering and his whiskers blacker than ever against his white face.
    “What’s the matter, Con?”
    “Eddie, I’m afraid I got some bad news. There’s, ah...” Con paused and cleared his throat. “There’s been an accident.”
    Eddie tensed and looked southward, toward his house. His backside lifted off his heels. “Krystyna...”
    “ ’Fraid so,” Con said.
    “She okay, Con?”
    Con cleared his throat again and dragged in a deep breath.
    “I’m... I’m afraid not, Eddie.”
    “Well, what’s...”
    “A train hit her car at the crossing out by her folks’ place.”
    “ Jezus, Maria...”  Eddie said in Polish— Yezhush, Mareeuh —and made the sign of the cross. It took a while before he could make himself ask, “How bad is it?”
    When Con failed to reply, Eddie shouted, “She’s alive, isn’t she, Con!” He gripped Con’s arms, repeating, “Con, she’s alive! She’s just hurt, isn’t she?”
    Con’s mouth worked and the rims of his eyelids got bright red. When he spoke his voice sounded wheezy and unnatural.
    “This is the hardest thing I ever had to say to anybody.”
    “Oh, God, Con, no.”
    “She’s dead, Eddie. May her soul rest in peace.” Eddie’s hands convulsed on Con’s arms. “No...” His face contorted and he began rocking forward and backward in tiny pulsing beats. “She can’t be. She’s... she’s...” Eddie looked north toward his in-laws. “She’s out at her ma’s house canning pickles. She said she was... she and her ma were... oh, Con, no, Jesus, no... not Krystyna!”
    Eddie started weeping and Con caught him when he crumpled. Over at Wenzel’s the saw started up. It sang a while and stopped, leaving only the sound of Eddie’s sobbing.
    “Not my Krystyna,” he wailed. “Not my Krystyna...”
    Con waited awhile, then urged, “Come on, Eddie, let’sgo tell Father, and he’ll say a prayer with you...”
    Eddie let himself be hauled to his feet, but turned as if to head toward the school building on the far side of the church. “The girls...”
    “Not now, Eddie. Plenty of time to tell them later. Let’s go see Father first, okay?”
    Father Kuzdek answered the door himself, a massive, balding Polish man with a neck and shoulders like a draft horse. He was in his early forties with glasses like President Truman’s,