Page 30 of The Armor of Light
He nodded. ‘They were married for twenty years.’
‘The longer you’re together, the worse it must be.’
‘I suppose so. I haven’t seen you for a few days. What news of the Sunday school?’
‘People seem to think it will just be me in a small room teaching twelve children to read. I want to do more than that – to have more children, maybe a hundred, and to teach them writing and arithmetic too. And we must give them a treat to attract them – perhaps some cake at the end.’
‘I agree. When can we start?’
‘I’m not sure exactly, but soon. Here comes my father.’
The bishop came down the wide staircase in his full Sunday regalia. Elsie said: ‘Father, Amos Barrowfield is here. His father, Obadiah, has died.’
‘Mason told me.’ The bishop shook Amos’s hand. ‘A sad day for you, Mr Barrowfield,’ he said in a resonant voice, as if he was preaching. ‘But we can comfort one another with the knowledge that your father is with Christ, which is far better, as we’re told by the apostle Paul.’
‘Thank you, your grace,’ said Amos. ‘My mother wanted you to be the first person to know.’
‘That was thoughtful of her.’
‘And she told me to ask you whether the funeral might be held in the cathedral.’
‘I would think so. An alderman and a regular churchgoer is entitled. I must check with my clerical confrères, but I foresee no problem.’
‘My mother will be much consoled.’
‘Good. And now I must conduct household prayers. Come, Elsie.’
The bishop and his daughter went into the dining room, and Amos let himself out by the front door.
*
Two days later Amos and five clothiers, all wearing black hats, carried the bier from the house along High Street and down Main Street and into the cathedral, where they laid it on trestles that stood in front of the altar.
Amos was surprised by the crowd in the nave. More than a hundred people had come, maybe two hundred. Jane was among them, which pleased him.
Amos had mixed feelings about the cathedral. Methodists disliked the pomp of the traditional church, the robes and jewelled ornaments; they preferred to worship in a simple room with plain decoration. The focus was what went on in the mind of the believer. Despite that, Amos always felt uplifted by the cathedral’s great pillars and soaring vaults. The only thing he really disliked about the Church of England was its dogmatic attitude. The clergy thought he should believe what he was told to believe, whereas the Methodists respected his right to his opinion.
The Church had the same attitude as his father, who now lay in the coffin.
He was free of his father’s tyranny at last, he thought as the service began, but the freedom brought anxiety. He had to be in Kingsbridge to meet customers and purchase wool, so he needed someone to take over his rounds. He planned to stockpile materials, so that he would not be thrown off course by unexpected shortages, but that was not a simple matter, for he would need to buy when prices were low. He wanted to expand the business, but he did not know where he would find more craftspeople, especially spinners. I need help, he thought, now that the old man is gone. I didn’t expect this.
He was so absorbed in his worries that the end of the service surprised him, and it took him a moment to realize that he had to help pick up the coffin.
They carried Obadiah down the nave, out through the great west door, and around to the north side of the church where the graveyard was. They continued past the monumental tomb of Prior Philip, the monk responsible for building the cathedral more than six hundred years ago. They came to a halt at the new grave.
The sight of the deep hole and the pile of loose soil beside it struck Amos forcefully. There was nothing unusual or unexpected about the sight; what shocked him was the thought that his father’s body would lie in this cold muddy pit until the Day of Judgement.
There was another prayer, and they lowered the coffin into the grave.
Amos took a handful of earth from the pile. He stood at the edge of the grave for a moment, looking down, struck by the grim finality of what he was about to do. Then he trickled the earth from his hand onto the coffin. When it was all gone he turned away.
His mother, sobbing loudly, did the same, picking up a handful of earth and dropping it into the grave, then she walked unsteadily away. As the other mourners lined up for their turn, Mother grabbed Amos’s arm and said: ‘Take me home.’
Ellen had transformed the house for a big gathering. There wasa barrel of ale in the hall, together with dozens of earthenware tankards, and the dining-room table was covered with cakes, tarts, cheesecakes and treacle bread. Upstairs the drawing room had been prepared for the more important guests, and there was sherry, madeira and claret with more refined snacks: venison pasties, salted fish, rabbit pie and prawns.
Seeing all this, Mother pulled herself together. She took off her coat and set about making everything just right. Amos prepared to welcome the guests, and it was only a couple of minutes before they began to arrive. He shook hands, thanked people for their condolences, urged the ordinary guests to help themselves to ale, and directed the special ones upstairs, including Canon Midwinter and Jane. He began to feel like a weaver, repeating the same actions again and again until they became almost unconscious.
Everyone was talking about France. The revolutionaries had beheaded King Louis XVI, and then had declared war on England. Spade said that most of the regular British army was in either India or the Caribbean. The Shiring Militia drilled every day now in the fields on the outskirts of Kingsbridge.
