The Church was filled to capacity. Its walls looked likely to burst. Despite her sadness, Dominique felt warmed by the outpouring of love for her beloved father. These people, from the village and from nearby townships, poor and rich, seemed to have been touched in some way by her father. They approached Dominique with care but each sharing heartwarming tales of their encounters with this man whom she had treasured so deeply.
Her mother, wearing an appropriately fetching black dress, was busy working the crowd. She greeted the villagers like she was the mistress of a grand manor, not a grieving widow. For effect, she would periodically reach beneath the diaphanous black veil which covered her face and discreetly dab at what she hoped looked like teary eyes.
Taking her seat in the front pew, Dominique’s heart filled with pride and gratitude at having been a part of this special man’s life. Even at the tender age of eleven, she understood that her father had walked gently through his life and all these people had been touched by his quiet gifts. This surely was the truest measure of a man, the loving connections made through everyday interchanges with other souls who shared the earth.
Filling these pews were some of the wealthiest people in the region, a fact that seemed to have Dominique’s mother spinning like a top on Christmas morning. They had been Father’s customers and were saddened by the loss of a true craftsman, the world made somehow less brilliant without his artistry. Here, too, were some of the village’s poorest inhabitants. They cherished the memory of the sweet handcrafted toys he bestowed so selflessly on their children – brightening their lives and bringing rare smiles to their faces.
Dominique tried not to look at the coffin at the front of the Church. She knew in her heart that it was only her father’s body in that box. His spirit was with her, with all of them in this House of God. But even his coffin was a testament to the man. Handcrafted by a local artisan, Claude Renault, the coffin was bestowed upon them as a gift. It was Claude’s way of paying respects to the fellow craftsman who had long been his rival. Although often jealous of Francois’ work, Claude was devastated by his loss. Francois had set the bar within his community of artisans and they would miss the competition that spurred them all to do better.
Dominique felt that she had cried all the tears she possibly could over the past days, but they seemed to spring unbidden to her eyes again and again. She still found herself looking towards the door of their tiny home, expecting, willing it to open and have him step over the threshold. Shaking her head, she reminded herself that this was not a bad dream from which she would waken. This was her reality.
The priest walked somberly down the length of the Church waving the thurible, suspended by a chain, back and forth. Smoke from the incense billowed out of the vessel. He was speaking Latin. Dominique prayed for the strength to get through this with the dignity that Father would have expected.
Father Desjardins took the pulpit and began with a prayer. As the group was seated, noisy rustling was replaced with a poignant silence. “We are gathered here today, in the sight of God, to honor and celebrate the life of one of His children, Francois DuBois. He was a man of God, not given to boastful ways, a gentle soul much loved by his Father in Heaven…” Dominique was having a difficult time hearing Father Desjardins’ voice as a vision of Francois became clear to her. He was sitting next to her, in his leather work apron and for a moment she thought she smelled the familiar, comforting scent of it. He whispered conspiratorially, “You know, ma petite, I am no longer in pain and aside from missing you, I am happy. I have made sure you will be taken care of financially. For the rest, I am entrusting you to your angel, Therese. Don’t judge your mother too harshly, her tool set is limited and she does the best she can. We must be patient with her as her soul learns and grows. She will find love and so will you, my sweet Dominique. Be patient and look for me in your gardens. I will send you signs that I am there, you will know them. Now no more tears, little one, you will need all your strength for the days ahead. I love you more than you could know.” And with an ethereal kiss, he vanished.