Free Ashes of Fiery Weather by Kathleen Donohoe

Without changing expression, she faced forward again.
    During his homily, Father Halloran praised Sister Magdalena, who had been in the cloister for over thirty years, for devoting her life to God in the purest form possible.
    Norah blinked. Good God, thirty years. How did you not go insane?
    After the Mass, outside the church, Norah stood at the bottom of the steps, watching Sean and his friends place the coffin in the hearse. She turned when Delia O’Reilly came to stand beside her.
    â€œSean told you about this?” she said lightly.
    Norah nodded. “He said the cemetery was interesting.”
    â€œIf you like cemeteries,” Delia said.
    â€œI do,” Norah said.
    Sean came over. “We gotta go.” He took Norah’s elbow and said to his mother, “You’re not coming to the burial, right?”
    â€œDo I ever?” Delia said, inclining her head. “Have you seen your sister this morning? I know she’s not working.”
    Norah assumed Delia was asking if Eileen had come home the night before.
    â€œI’d say she’s probably hanging around with a bunch of other twenty-two-year-olds.”
    â€œThank you, Sean. Helpful as ever.”
    He grinned, and Norah watched her expression soften and saw at once that Sean was adored. Norah hadn’t been sure, but she surmised now that his mother was simply better than most at hiding it.
    Delia turned to Norah. “You should see the Green-Wood if you like cemeteries. There are a lot of famous people buried there.”
    â€œO’Reilly, come on!”
    At the cemetery’s chapel, where Father Halloran said a final blessing, it was just Norah, Sean and the three other pallbearers. There was no graveside ceremony, Sean explained. The coffin stayed behind in the chapel, and the cemetery crew took care of the rest.
    Outside the chapel, Norah stood back a little from Sean and his friends as they finalized some complicated plan Norah couldn’t follow, but it had to do with baseball, the Mets and opening day at Shea Stadium. When it seemed to be settled, Sean told his friends to go home without them.
    â€œWhoa, O’Reilly, you know how to show a girl a good time.”
    â€œBe sure and snag some flowers offa the grave.”
    The three of them walked off, laughing.
    The cemetery was small. Sean told Norah it had only ever been used by the parish of Holy Rosary. Nobody was being buried here anymore.
    Sean brought her to where the nuns were buried and where the new grave would be dug, probably later today. The nuns’ gravestones gave their nun name and the date of death, but no birth date, and not their real name, whatever they had been called before entering the order.
    Sean pointed to the high stone wall and explained that the convent lay right behind it. There were stories of nuns leaving the convent at night to put flowers from their garden on the graves, but that was probably bullshit.
    â€œMy grandmother was one of them. In the cloister.”
    Norah looked at him, ready to laugh but uncertain. “A nun? She left the convent to get married?”
    â€œOther way around. She went in after she was widowed. This is the one who was born in the firehouse.”
    Norah stared at him. “Is she still in there? Or—”
    Sean shrugged. “We don’t know. They don’t have any more contact with their families. Mom never saw her again. I’m sure she’s here by now.” A wave of his hand encompassed the neat row of graves. “Whenever one of them dies, Mom goes to the funeral. Come on.” Sean started walking, and Norah had to run a little to catch up.
    They crossed the cemetery and came to a corner separated by a low wrought-iron gate. At the center of the enclosure stood a statue of a mustached, helmeted fireman holding a child whose head was buried in his shoulder.
    â€œFireman’s Corner,” Sean said. He took Norah’s hand and led her to the statue. She read