The Check With Three Names On It

I have had a long time to look at my own heart on this. By Doug’s own paper, the three of us were supposed to have paid for that lunch. So three names belonged on it. That was the plain truth of how it should have been, and I wrote it down the way it should have been.

I will admit I also wanted to see what my brothers would do if anyone ever thanked them for it. But I did not ask the church to say a word. I did not put in a note. What Dale did with those names was not my doing, and I did not want my brothers shamed. I wanted them to have the chance to make it true.

On the memo line I wrote: Ilene’s funeral lunch. From Doug, Alan and Renee.

I put it in an envelope addressed to the church, to the attention of the treasurer. I mailed it Friday morning on my way to work, and I told no one but Jeff.

The first Sunday in November is All Saints Sunday. If you are not Lutheran, I will tell you what that is at our church. Pastor Wayne reads the name of every member who died in the past year. After each name, one of the ushers pulls the bell rope, once, and somebody from the family walks up and lights a candle on the table in front of the altar. There were nine names that year. It is the hardest Sunday we have and I would not miss it.

Both my brothers drove in for it. I had not expected that. Doug texted me Saturday night to say he and Alan would meet us there, and could I save a pew.

Our Aunt Lois came, too. She is Mom’s baby sister, 81 years old, and she lives ten miles west in Deshler in a little apartment across from the park. A neighbor drives her to church since she gave up her license. She sat on the aisle beside me in her navy coat and held my hand the way she had at the funeral, hard, like she was afraid one of us would blow away.

Doug and Alan took the pew just ahead of us. They had their good jackets on. Doug had gotten a haircut. Alan looked like he had not slept well in a month.

Across the aisle, in the third row where they always sit, were Mrs. Thornton and Bev and the rest of the kitchen women.

We sang the first hymn. Then came the announcements, which at St. Mark’s are read by whoever has one. The youth group had a soup supper coming.

Then Dale stood up.

Dale has been our church treasurer since before I could drive. He is 78 years old, a retired bookkeeper from the elevator, and he reads everything exactly as it is handed to him. There is not a mischievous bone in that man.

He walked up to the lectern, unfolded a sheet of paper, and put on his glasses.

“Before we remember our saints this morning,” he said, “the council has asked me to read a thank-you.”

Doug was looking at his bulletin.

“It is for the family of Ilene Brandt.”

Alan’s head came up.

“Her children, Doug, Alan and Renee, have sent the church a gift of twelve hundred dollars in her memory. It was marked for her funeral lunch.” Dale looked over his glasses at the congregation. “Now, I have kept these books a long while, and I will tell you we do not charge our members for a funeral lunch, and no family has ever sent us one paid in full before. I had to ask the council where to put it.”