And Then There Were Two

Ann stood before the tiny casket, disbelief washing over her as she watched the vicar close the lid over the gray face of her baby girl, so perfect in form, so perfect in loveliness. Having had a difficult time recovering from the death of her toddling, round-cheeked James just two years earlier, Ann failed to control the tears coursing down her cheeks. Her remaining two children wiggled and squirmed, wanting to explore the giant playground that was the inside of the Holy Trinity Church. Four-year-old Alfred pulled at her skirts and one-year-old John bounced on her hip.

Alfred stood next to her, clenching his jaw, his knuckles white and his fists clenched. His chest rose and fell with unusual rapidity. The vicar’s words had infuriated her husband. John Davies was generally so kind. Present at so many of their life-changing events, Vicar Davies had married them, had performed the baptism of Alfred, and of James and of John and had helped them bury James. How could the vicar be so callous as to remind two grieving parents that their precious infant daughter had not been baptized? God had not allowed baby Jane to live and had not given them enough time to get her baptized. Ann questioned bitterly this precept of church doctrine. Surely His heavenly system was better than what John Davies had presented…