All the Blue of Heaven by Virginia Carmichael

Janey folded her hands into her lap
and rested her little prayer book on her knees. It was worn, black leather,
with a frayed red ribbon to mark the pages. It was Matthew’s childhood prayer book
and Janey treasured it above most any other possession.
               
Allie bowed her head and held her own small leather book, a twin to Janey’s.
She absently traced her name, inscribed inside the front cover in her own
childish hand. During the quake one wall had collapsed, spilling their clothes
and bedding out into the street. There were so many looters, people desperate
to survive, that by the time they went back, there was nothing to salvage. But
a young neighbor also dug through the rubble, salvaging a few of their items he
thought would be important.
               
She closed her eyes, remembering his sadness at not finding more of their
belongings. He could not have known that everything important was already gone,
burned to ashes in her studio. He handed over the prayer books and Allie was
glad that Janey had this memento of her father. For Allie, it mattered next to
nothing. She hadn’t opened the book past the first page since the quake.
               
The crowd stood and Allie realized the service had started. She rose a moment
too late and saw her mother glance her way. Hoping it had not looked like
weakness, Allie straightened her back and lifted her chin. A familiar hymn rang
out over the heads of the congregation and she let her eyes roam the large
sanctuary. So many familiar faces, families in their accustomed pews. She was
surprised to see small additions to several groups. There was Sarah, on the
side a few pews ahead, standing next to a tall blond man. Two small boys with
the same colored hair and matching sailor suits stood between them. Allie
smiled as the smaller one nudged his brother with an elbow, and was rewarded
with a sharp jab.
               
A profile caught her eye and she almost gasped out loud. Thomas stood a pew
behind Sarah, his mother to his right. But of course he would not continue to
sit in the very back, now that he was a wealthy member of the city council and
an educated man. In San Francisco their church had been fluid in the seating
arrangements, with families moving freely from one pew to another on any
Sunday. Here at home, where you sat meant so many different things. Where he
was seated now told her he was very wealthy and admired. His mother looked much
the same, except her clothes were quite fine, all black silk and a large hat
trimmed with ostrich feathers. Her eyes busily swept the congregation although
her lips moved with the words to the hymn.
               
Allie remembered the time his mother had found the two of them alone, talking
under the oak tree. She had sent Allie home, using a tone one would use for a
rebellious puppy. Mrs. Bradford had never approved of their friendship, and had
made no secret of it.
               
She hadn’t meant to be staring at him, but as if he had felt the weight of her
gaze, he turned in time to catch her in the act. Allie felt her face burn as
they made eye contact. His figure was strong and straight, shoulders powerful
beneath the knee length coat he wore. Allie couldn’t help but notice once more
how he had changed, at once familiar and strange. He smiled and inclined his
head, but there was a question in his eyes. Allie dropped her gaze and focused
on Janey, who was singing out in her clear bell of a voice. She was glad the
hymn was familiar since Janey couldn’t read yet, although that didn’t keep her
from holding open the hymnal in front of her.
               
The service seemed to last the whole morning. Drops of perspiration trickled
down the back of Allie’s neck as she bent her head for the final blessing and
dismissal. One more hymn, hopefully a short one, and they would be free to go.
               
The organist struck the first few chords and the