"Here we are," George announced as he pulled off to the side of the street. In the distance Margaret could see a small white church that looked like it was out of a story book. It had a covered porch wrapping completely around it, giving it the appearance of a house. The tiny parking lot beside it was stuffed full and cars were beginning to pile up on both sides of the street.
He helped Margaret into her chair and she smiled gratefully. "Thank you," she said gruffly, her cheeks still flushed from embarrassment, she hated being so entirely dependant on the good-nature of others.
"No problem, Miss," he said sincerely. "Now if ya like I can introduce you to Daniel…"
"No!" Margaret quickly interjected, before smiled at her own hastiness. "I just want to be as inconspicuous as possible," she explained.
He nodded in understanding. "Well the sidewalk is paved and we had ramps put on most of the buildings in town so you should be alright," he began to walk away but then turned to her with a smile. "But iffen ya need any help be sure to let me know, ya hear?"
Margaret nodded and began to wheel herself towards the church. She could barely manage to squeeze into the small building. It seemed as if the entire town had shown up. The thought caught her by surprise although she knew it shouldn't have. Hawkeye was always willing to offer his friendship to anyone until they showed him that they didn't want a friendship. So why should she be surprised that so many people were attending his funeral.
"Excuse me," Margaret heard a familiar voice as someone bumped the chair roughly. "Sorry about that, baby."
Margaret stared at the man in shock even though he hadn't given her a second glance. "McIntyre," she muttered to herself in disbelief.
For one instant she was tempted to call out to him but the thought of him seeing her sitting helplessly in a wheelchair caused her to turn away and fight her way towards the door. Once she made it outside she wheeled herself around the wide porch to the back of the building. There was another door and she looked inside curiously, wanting to watch the people inside.
Instead the site of a polished, black casket with a flag draped above it met her gaze and she felt herself begin to shake. A young man walked to the front of the building and motioned for everyone to sit down. Margaret realized he was the minister, although she thought he was far too young to fit the part, barely above thirty. It occurred to her that he had probably known Hawkeye well.
"We are here today," he said solemnly. "Not only to grieve for the life that was taken from us but also to celebrate the life he had. Benjamin Pierce was a part of this town and he had a way of making everyone feel welcome."
Margaret's eyes drifted from the young man back to the casket. She knew it wasn't going to be an open-casket ceremony because of the burns, but she found herself wishing she could see his face. To be certain that he was really gone.
After all, she reasoned, couldn't it be that someone had just taken his dog tags? That he could still be alive somewhere in Korea? Margaret shook the ideas from her mind. No, he was gone, she had to face that. Still it was so odd thinking of him in that wooden box. She could almost feel his arms slipping around her shoulders and holding her tight on that horrible night.
"I knew Ben well, as most of you here did," the man's words jerked her back out of her reverie and she tried to look up at the man but her eyes were glued on the casket.
"For his friends he was a joy to be around, and for his enemies," the minister paused and chuckled. "For his enemies he was hell on earth." Margaret found herself amused by this odd preacher, who described Hawkeye so bluntly.
"He was my best friend, and I know many of you had the pleasure of calling him the same." Margaret's thought s drifted to Trapper who was sitting somewhere inside and she wondered what he must be thinking.
"We're all going to miss Benjamin Hawkeye Pierce, but we are left with thousands of warm memories and the knowledge that his life, however short, was completely devoted to saving lives."
The preacher sat down and Margaret breathed a sigh of relief, she had come extremely close to tears with the man's final words and she was grateful he had stopped before she fell apart completely.
George Mason made his way to the front. "Daniel asked me to take his place up here today," he announced in a gruff voice. Margaret noticed a few unchecked tears on the man's cheek. "If everyone could stand while we proceed to the graveyard."
George stood beside the casket and three more men approached and she felt herself panicking. She wasn't sure if she should follow the crowd to the cemetery behind the church. She was terrified of falling apart but she found herself wheeling around to the back.
"I'll just stay on the porch." She stubbornly told herself. Ten minutes later, after a few more words from the minister, Margaret heard the sickening sound of dirt hitting the smooth surface of the casket. The noise was muffled a bit by the flag but every tiny rock or grain of dirt striking the wood echoed in her ears, making her want to scream at them to stop.
"It's a horrible noise," Margaret turned and saw an older man beside her. "I saw you wince," he clarified, leaning up against the porch railing. "The dirt on the casket," he began again. "It's the worst part of a funeral. I've had my share of funerals too so I should know."
Margaret only stared at the man, completely unwilling to enter into another conversation.
"He was a good kid. Troublesome at times," he added with a smile. "But he was a good kid. After his mom passed on everyone in this town… well I don't know… we all seemed to pitch in and try and raise him together."
The old man sighed and Margaret surveyed him curiously, wondering what kind of role he played in Hawkeye's life. He was short, no taller than 5'8", he had a thick head of white heir, bushy eyebrows, wrinkled skin, all-in-all the very portrait of a small-town man. He was dressed in a well-made suit that appeared to be two sizes to small but he carried himself in such a way that no one would dare say he was sloppy, or disheveled.
"Did you know him well?" the man prodded.
Margaret frowned, resenting the intrusion. "Well enough," she replied airily.
"What did you think of him?"
Margaret had no idea why this man continued pestering her. She wanted to scream at him to leave her alone. Instead she straightened her shoulders and stuck her chin in the air. "In all honesty I thought he was a complete jackass," she said firmly.
The man laughed and Margaret felt sick to her stomach. There was no mistaking that laugh. She flushed hotly and her frowned deeply. "You must be Daniel Pierce," she said reluctantly.
He nodded and extended his hand. "By your answer I think you know him better than most," he told her with a wink. "And by the way you said it I conclude that you are none other than Margaret Houlihan."
She nodded and Daniel looked back at the burial site, where the group was quickly dispersing. "I'm going to be bombarded in a moment with dozens of friends and relatives," he said sullenly. "That's the second worst part about funerals. Nobody leaves you alone."
"Would you have dinner with me?" Daniel asked her suddenly. "I know it's a lot to ask but I need some company at the house with me tonight, and John is a bit hard to bear alone." Margaret stared him in surprise before nodding. She had no idea why, out of all his friends, he wanted her to be a buffer between him and some house guest.
"On second thought," he said, eyeing the crowd steadily moving towards him. "I think I'd like to escape right about now, would you join me for lunch as well?"
Margaret smiled slightly and nodded. "I suppose," she said dumbly. "But why do you want to be with me?"
Daniel smiled slightly at her bluntness. "In all honesty I wanted to ask you a few things, and I need somebody new to bore with pictures of Ben, somebody who hasn't seen them a thousand times."
Margaret nodded somewhat reluctantly, she wasn't exactly ecstatic about the idea of being bombarded with pictures of the man she had so recently lost.
"Alright," he grabbed onto the handles on the back of her wheel-chair. "Let's escape this swarm of bees."