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roared. It felt like a crash of thunder.

Grandad stared wide-eyed, as if he was looking

at the Angel of Death. He pointed at him.

"Sinner!" he shouted, turned, and fled. Uncle Simon quickly realized he was

uncovered and seized the blanket to wrap around

himself.

"You better go," he said.

My heart was pounding a hole through my

chest and back. I shivered and trembled, gathering my

music, putting my violin back into its case.

"I'll tell Mommy what happened," I promised.

"You didn't do anything wrong."

Uncle Simon was back under the blanket, his

eves shut, his thumb and fingers pressing on his

temples.

"You need a doctor." I insisted and hurried out, never so frightened. I checked the yard for signs of

Grandad and then rushed to the house.

Mommy was in the kitchen working on her

chicken soup when I burst in. For a moment, I

couldn't speak. She looked at me, saw how upset I

was, and dropped the knife she was using to cut up a

carrot. It clattered on the floor.

"What's wrong?"

"Grandad... Uncle Simon," I blurted. "It was a

terrible scene!" Daddy heard the commotion and

hurried down the stairs. "What happened?"

As quickly as I could get out the words. I

described what had occurred, how just as I had

innocently checked on Uncle Simon's temperature.

Grandad appeared in the doorway and called me