THE BOSTON EMBALMING CLASS

The gales that swept Cape Cod were the most fearsome I’d seen in all my sixteen years. They passed through Martha's Vineyard and chased away the fog that hung in the air like clumps of clotted cream. An early frost caused pumpkins and squash to rot on the vine and the sumacs and dogwoods that ringed the island were stripped of their scarlet foliage by late October.

We mourned the Indian summer and hunkered down to harvest what was left of the potatoes, parsnips and rutabagas. These were trying times and all the children of our village were sent to forage the woods for roots and berries. When the dying started, father preached a sermon of such power that I’ll take his words with me to my grave.