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a foot long. My heart was broken to see "Child

Casteel" buried near my own mother. There wasn't a

date put on her tombstone.

"Don't look at it," whispered Tom. "Your

mother's been dead so long, and it's Granny we're

going to miss most. Didn't know until her chair was

empty just how much she added t'our lives--did ya

know?"

"No," I whispered, shamefaced. "I just accepted her presence like she'd live forever. We're going to have to do more for Grandpa, he's so lost and alone

looking."

"Yeah," agreed Tom, catching my hand and

leading me away from a sorrowful place that did little

to communicate love to us. "We gotta appreciate

Grandpa while he's still with us, an not save our

caring for his funeral day."

A week later Pa came home looking sober and

very grim. He pushed Sarah into a chair, pulled up a

second one, and spoke in a strained voice while Tom

and I paused outside the window to spy and

eavesdrop. "Went t'see a doctor in the city, Sarah.

That's where I been. He told me I was sick, real sick.

Told me I was spreading my disease all over, and I'd

have to stop what I was doing or I'd go insane before I

die too young. Told me I can't have sexual

relationships with any woman, not even my wife.

Told me I needed shots to cure what I got, but we

don't have that kind of money."

"What ya got?" demanded Sarah in a cold, hard

voice, not at all sympathetic.

"Got syphilis in its first stages," Pa confessed in