14
She was in the ground. That was all Bill could think to hold himself together. Constance Bruce was finally at rest.
He sat in the afternoon sun on the top of the three stone steps at the front of the Round Church in Richmond, Vermont, staring out across the broad, green field that stretched toward the Winooski River. Most of the town’s four thousand people lived across the narrow, two-lane steel bridge, and it felt as if today he’d met every single one. If it wasn’t true, he was tired enough for it to be true.
People had come for the service. Not many, but enough. She’d made friends here. Ones who came up and shook his hand and said kind words about her.
Now she had died here.
There was so much he should be doing, but he didn’t know where to begin. He was baking in the warm sun, bu
