Chapter 6
SIX
First Baptist Church
Mabel’s Funeral
By the time Aubrey turned onto Main Street, traffic was backed halfway down the block.
At the overflow lot behind First Baptist, a deputy waved cars onto the damp grass while another guided people across the street. The entire county had turned out.
She slowed the rental car, staring through the windshield. Hand-lettered signs were taped to nearly every storefront:
CLOSED FOR MABEL BLACKWOOD’S FUNERAL
Even the local bookstore had locked its doors.
“Oh,” Aubrey whispered.
A church deacon in a navy suit moved forward the moment she climbed from the car into the damp mountain air.
“Miss Langford?” he asked gently.
Aubrey nodded.
“I’m Jim Patterson, honey. We’ve been expecting you.”
The kindness in his voice nearly undid her.
Inside, the sanctuary glowed with warm amber light and lilies.
Quiet piano music drifted through the rafters.
At the front stood the mahogany casket, surrounded by towering sprays of white roses and wreaths from Blackwood Estate Winery, the Jackson County Sheriff’s Office, the City Limits Café, and Harper & Associates.
Beside the casket sat a framed photograph of Mabel. Young. Laughing. Wind in her blonde hair as she stood in a vineyard, holding a wineglass toward the camera like she was sharing a beautiful secret.
Grief rose so fast it stole the air from Aubrey’s lungs.
Jim touched her elbow. “Right this way.”
He led her toward the front pew reserved for family. One seat. Just one.
The sight hollowed her out. Her mother wasn’t there. Not even now. Aubrey swallowed hard against the burning in her throat and slid into the pew alone, her charcoal suit jacket buttoned tight like armor.
Movement stirred behind her.
Mary Lou, June, and Helen rose as one. Without a word, they moved into the front pew and sat shoulder to shoulder beside her. Mary Lou took the spot closest and patted Aubrey’s hand twice with soft, cool fingers.
“Well,” she whispered thickly, eyes already swimming beneath an antique black lace veil, “you’re certainly not sitting up here by yourself, sweetheart.”
Aubrey almost lost it right there. Their fiercely protective grace scraped at every hard edge she’d brought with her from Pennsylvania.
As the sanctuary filled, the low murmur of voices died away.
Sheriff Burke Scott stood near the side aisle speaking quietly with a dark-haired woman Aubrey hadn't met.
Eleanor Harper spoke with several mourners near the front, while farther back, Red Stephens stood beside several men from the cattle operation, his weathered hands clasped in front of him.
A shadow fell over the aisle.
Aubrey looked up.
Bennett McCrae stood there. He wore a crisp black suit, white shirt, and dark tie. His six-foot-two frame looked imposing, all hard lines and hollowed-out exhaustion—a man barely holding himself together. He moved past her row and took a seat on the opposite side of the aisle next to Red.
Behind him, near the aisle, stood a woman Aubrey hadn't seen before—tall and composed, with a fitted black raincoat draped over a dark dress, rainwater still glistening at the shoulders.
Her dark hair fell in smooth waves, understated diamond studs catching the sanctuary light when she turned her head.
She did not look like someone who belonged to this town, and she stayed a few feet back as if she knew exactly where not to stand.
She didn’t go to Bennett right away, but her attention kept returning to him.
When he finally stepped back from the casket, she moved in close enough to touch his forearm once, a brief, quiet press of fingers that seemed to steady him more than comfort him.
Bennett covered her hand for a heartbeat before she stepped away again.
The exchange was so familiar it made Aubrey wonder if she’d missed something—if the woman was simply close to him, or if this was the kind of grief that came with history.
Behind them sat Declan O’Rourke, his sharp blue eyes scanning the congregation rather than the casket. When his gaze landed on Aubrey, he gave her a slow, almost imperceptible nod. It wasn’t comfort so much as acknowledgment.
The service began with Pastor Townsend stepping to the pulpit. Beside the piano, Anna Townsend rose in a simple black dress, her voice floating beneath the stained-glass windows as she sang an old hymn.
The pastor spoke of Mabel’s generosity, her stubbornness, and her fierce love for the mountains and the people in them.
“And if Heaven wasn’t prepared for Mabel Blackwood,” he said with a faint smile, “I suspect she’s already reorganized it.”
Laughter rippled through the pews. Even Aubrey smiled through her tears.
Later, when the congregation filed past the casket, Aubrey found herself standing beside Bennett and Red near the altar. For a long moment, neither man spoke. Red touched the edge of the polished mahogany with rough fingertips and looked away quickly, emotion tightening his weathered face.
Bennett stood motionless. Aubrey saw the raw tears in his eyes. Not hidden. Not embarrassed. Absolute grief.
Everyone here belonged to Mabel.
She wasn't sure she belonged here at all.
Then Declan O’Rourke stepped forward.
Deck rested one massive hand on the pulpit and looked out over the crowded church, eyes gone suspiciously red.
“Mabel Blackwood could curse a man flat, feed him fried chicken, and have him fixing her fence by sunrise, so she could.”
Gentle laughter rolled through the sanctuary.
“And the worst of it was,” he added with a small huff of a laugh, “you’d thank her for it.”
The humor faded into something quieter.
“But somewhere along the way,” Deck said, “she became one of the best friends I ever had. Your aunt loved this town fierce, lass. And the people in it loved her right back. Mabel Blackwood never gave up on the people she loved. Not once.”
The service ended in a blur of rustling programs. Aubrey waited until the sanctuary had emptied before she stood. She couldn’t face the receiving line, couldn’t handle one more well-meant stranger saying they were sorry.
She walked into the vestibule, leaving the bank of funeral lilies behind as cool, damp air drifted through the open front doors.
Low voices. The rustle of coats. The soft, wet sound of people crying and trying not to. Outside, the steps and sidewalk were lined with neighbors, farmhands, winery staff—a sea of black umbrellas clustered in little knots beneath the drizzle.
A tall, elegant woman glided quietly into Aubrey’s path.
Her soft platinum-blonde bob framed a face that had aged gracefully, and she carried herself with the effortless confidence of someone who had never needed to raise her voice to command a room. A simple strand of pearls rested against her black dress.
“Aubrey Langford?”
Aubrey nodded.
The woman smiled gently and took both of her hands.
“I’m Patsy Jordan,” she said softly, her hand lingering on Aubrey’s arm. “I’ve been Mabel’s best friend for more than fifty years.”
“We grew up together. Shared every milestone life handed us. Through marriages, heartbreak, harvests, and more cups of coffee than I could ever count.”
She smiled softly.
“There wasn’t much one of us did without the other.”
She looked back at Aubrey.
“I held you when you were a few weeks old.”
Aubrey blinked.
“You did?”
Patsy nodded.
“Oh, yes. Your mama couldn’t settle you that afternoon, but Mabel carried you up and down that big front porch until you finally fell asleep.”
She laughed quietly.
“And Harold was right behind her, making the silliest faces imaginable.”
Aubrey could almost picture it.
A baby.
A porch.
A family she’d never known.
“Mabel loved you, dear.”
Her voice caught.
“More than you’ll ever know.”
Before Aubrey could answer, another mourner stepped forward.
Patsy gave her hands one last reassuring squeeze.
“I’m so very glad you came home.”
She’d never belonged anywhere quite like this—not in the string of childhood apartments, not in the polished anonymity of her life up north. But these people had known her before she even knew herself, carrying pieces of her, Anne, and Mabel as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
“I—thank you,” she managed. “I… I wish I’d gotten here sooner.”
Patsy squeezed her hands. “You’re here now. That counts.”
“Y’all let the girl breathe, for heaven’s sake,” Mary Lou called from somewhere behind them. “She’s had a day.”
The crowd thinned. A few more hugs, a few more quiet, earnest condolences, and then they drifted away—toward cars, casseroles, and lives Mabel had once anchored.
When the vestibule finally emptied, Aubrey stepped closer to the open doors. Cool mountain air slid over her face.
Out on the steps, Sheriff Burke stood talking quietly with Red Stephens. Farther down the sidewalk, Bennett McCrae was already walking away into the gray afternoon, his dark suit disappearing into the mist, head lowered against the drizzle.
A small, tired voice inside her whispered that it would be easier to follow his example. To get in her rental car, drive back to the hotel, and pretend she didn’t own a house filled with funeral flowers and memories that weren’t really hers.
She’d spent most of her life trying to find somewhere she fit. Somehow, she'd never expected that place to be here.
But Patsy's words refused to let go.
I’m so very glad you came home.
Whether she liked it or not, this town had treated her like she belonged to Mabel too.
She didn't know what to do with that.