Meleah's Western Part 7

Friday's Fiction is here now. Of course since this is another part to Meleah's Western, I should get a comment or two. I do wonder if anyone read my bit from my book. . . Maybe they are just waiting for the whole thing. Well, I did get another "letter" written this week. That means I have written two months worth in one month.:) Only three "letters" left! I have been working on this book for so long that it seems strange and exciting to be so near to the end.

But that has nothing to do with Meleah's Western. I know it might be difficult to remember things in this story since it has been months since the first part was posted. I re-read the entire story before writing this next part. Any questions would be gladly accepted. I really enjoy writing this story. I've never done anything like it before. I wonder how long it will be when it gets finished? And how many parts it will have.:) But I will stop rambling as no one probably reads this. I wonder, how many people go directly to the story?

Part 7

Both fell silent as crunching footsteps were heard on the snow approaching the cabin. Though Sally started, Ty didn’t move, for he recognized the steps of Carson.
On the treshold, Carson paused.
“Is all ready?” Ty questioned quietly.
Carson nodded.
Ty rose from the table. The time had come to place his father’s body in its final resting place.
Sally tried to stay her tears, but they wouldn’t be held back. They flowed down her cheeks as the three stood by the newly made grave deep in the mountain forests, where no human eye would be likely to see. Carson and Ty spread snow over the mound of earth before all three turned silently back to the cabin. Sally clung to Ty, the one known earthly tie that was left to her. Never in all her eighteen years of life had she felt so forlorn. Pa was gone. Pa, the one who had been everything to her since Ty had left so suddenly two years before.
As the trio slowly neared the cabin, Sally stumbled. The struggles, hardships, and endless anxiety of the past months had taken their toll on her young body. Without a word, Ty picked up his sister and entered the cabin. Placing her gently on the bed, he brought her a bowl of stew. After she had eaten, he sat by her side without a word until he saw her fall into the first real sound sleep she had had in a long time.
The afternoon waned. The sun dropped lower and lower in the western sky. The two friends sat in the gathering dusk. Ty’s thoughts were mixed; memories of the past came back to mingle with the perplexing and bewildering puzzle of the present. Could anything be more complex than the task he had promised to do? How was he to fulfill his father’s wishes? With a sigh he at last arose and stepped over to a pallet on the floor. This was where he used to sleep. Perhaps all he needed was a good nights rest. He realized with a start that only the day before he and Carson had ridden the last of their arduous journey. Was it any wonder that he felt so exhausted and his eyes refused to stay open? He had hardly slept since they had set out. Ty’s body relaxed, and in another minute he was sleeping as deeply as his sister.
Carson too had been thinking that quiet afternoon and evening. He had sat before the fire gazing into the dancing flames. His quick ears caught the sounds of Ty’s bedding down; he smiled to himself. “The boy needs it. Ain’t used ta this sorta thin’. He ain’t learnt ta take his sleep where an’ when he can git it an’ trust ta Providence ta wake him when he needs it. That’ll come in time, I reckon.” After a few more minutes Carson too stretched out, rolled in his blanket Indian style, and closed his eyes.

Stumbling toward the door, the old woman gasped for breath. Her hand went to her head, and she swayed a moment. Sheer will power kept her on her feet as she opened the door of the cabin.
“Aunt Kate! Yer sick!”
“Just a might dizzy, Bob. Don’t go off gettin’ excited.”
Bob frowned. “Aunt Kate, yer workin’ too hard. Ya got ta have rest. Ya ought ta be in bed this minute.”
Aunt Kate shook her head. “Ya know I don’t have time fer that. There’s work ta do.”
Bob shook his head, and before his aunt could protest, he had picked her up and carried her to her bed. “Yer goin’ ta rest,” he ordered firmly. “I reckon I can take care of the house an’ her.” Glancing out a window as he spoke, he smiled involuntarily at sight of a little sprite of a child playing in the grass with her doll.
The child couldn’t have been more than three years old. Her hair was light and hung loosely about her fair face in little curls and waves. The sunshine played about her through the shady tree branches and turned her hair into locks of pure spun gold. Bob called her his little sunshine.
“The sun don’t usually like ta share its brightness with anyone else, but I reckon the good Lord told it ta share a might with the child, jest ta brighten others’ lives,” he was wont to say to his aunt after the child had gone to her trundle bed and was fast asleep.
“I reckon you’re right, Bob, but to think--”
“Now, Auntie, don’t ya go an’ spoil the evenin’ with thinkin’. I jest ain't goin’ ta do no thinkin’.”
His aunt would smile indulgently and change the subject.
Now as she lay in her bed, she wondered how Bob could do all that needed to be done. She tried to rise but fell back on the pillow as the room whirled around her. “I’ll be all right in a day or two,” she told herself. But the days passed, and she was no better.
“Bob, suppose ya let me take the young one to stay with my girls until Kate gets back on her feet?” The speaker was a gentle looking woman who had come over nearly every day to help out.
Bob hesitated. He knew the Westlins were kindly people with three daughters of their own. They lived a mile or so away, and their latchstring was always out. He knew the child would be taken good care of, but . . . How could he let his little sunshine go to the house of a stranger?
Mrs. Westlin noticed his hesitation. “You sleep on it. I just though I’d offer. Talk to Kate about it if you want.”
Bob nodded.
That evening after he had told Aunt Kate about the offer, he sighed and looked down at the little face so innocent and sweet, sleeping quietly in her little bed. “No matter what happens, Aunt Kate, or where she is, she will always be my little girl.”

Check back for more.

"Home Fires of the Great War"

Here is your Friday Fiction.

I have been writing and writing and writing this week. I am working on my "Home Fires of the Great War" and boy are things getting exciting! Trying to get three "letters" written each month has been very helpful and I have managed to do it. Only this month I just finished my fifth letter! And it is not the end of the month! I have written three letters just this week which leaves me with only four more to write! I told you things were exciting.:) Once I get these last letters written, I will go back and write the "war letters" and slip them in where they go. That will only leave the "background" to do! If all goes as it has been, I should have test copies ready for readers before Christmas! If you haven't yet told me you want to be a test reader, and you would, let me know. I'll be more than happy to add you to my list.:)

I have been working so much on my book that "Meleah's Western" hasn't been thought of much. Anymore questions about it?

This story that you are about to read, is based on the story Johnny Ch. told us in the van on the way home from Jefferson City about an event in his life. I did change a few things such as who it happened to and how they were affected. But most of it is from the real life story. I hope you enjoy it.


Oh, I must tell you about Evie. It would have been laughable if it were not so pitiable. We have, or rather used to have, a black rooster whose name was Nighty. I believe Georgie named him, not that it matters. Nighty was mean. His favorite past time seemed to be terrorizing any person, with a few exceptions, who was outside. For some reason he never chased David, Edmund or Karl. Any of the rest of us were fair game as far as he was concerned. He was treacherous. If you turned squarely around on him and started walking toward him, he would turn tail and leave, but the moment your back was turned, he would be running straight for you. It got so bad that the younger ones wouldn’t go outside without one of the older boys. That rooster was the only one Kirsten couldn’t tame. Evie loves to be outside, but was terrified of Nighty. She would run screaming to the house or to the nearest person if he so much as looked at her. Finally Edmund had enough of it. One day he caught Nighty, who had just chased Evie inside, grabbed his legs and snapped his head against a fence post before tossing him behind the barn.
When Evie heard the news she ran outside at once and shouted, “Nighty’s dead! Nighty’s dead!”
Kirsten and Rosalie were much quieter upon hearing the news, but also took immediate advantage and spent the rest of the day playing happily outside.
A day or two later, Evie was outside playing and singing, “Nighty’s dead! Nighty’s dead!” I was in the kitchen with the older boys when a sudden, shrill, terrified scream came from outside! The boys sprang to their feet in an instant, knocking over their chairs as they did so.
“Nightys comin’ af’er me!” Evie’s holler sent us all into action. At once we rushed for the door. Edmund was first. Leaping off the porch he sprinted across the yard and scooped up Evie in his arms. I stared from the safety of the porch. There indeed was Nighty. His head was hanging down at a grotesque angle from a broken neck, and he was staggering straight for Edmund.
“That beast!” Edmund exclaimed. “Here, David, take Evie, and I’ll deal with him.” That was easier said than done, for Evie refused to let go of Edmund. Try as they might, they couldn’t get Evie to leave Edmund. Meanwhile the rooster was coming closer and closer. Evie’s screams again rent the air, and Edmund gave up to the inevitable and said,
“One of you can do it, and make a good job of it!”
David caught the luckless rooster and Karl a hatchet. In another minute, the rooster was without his head. Unlike the other butchering of chickens they do, the boys didn’t let go of this one for some minutes after his head was off. If you don’t know chickens, they run around like crazy for a little bit after their heads have been chopped off. Nighty would most certainly have headed straight for Edmund and Evie.
Evie was still clinging in terror to Edmund’s neck and shirt and crying, saying over and over, “Nightys af’er me! He is!”
“No, Evie,” Edmund soothed. “David has him, and Karl is chopping off his head. He won’t be after you any more.”
“But he comes back!” Her face was buried against his neck while her legs were wrapped tightly around his waist. She was shaking and trembling.
Mama and I hurried over, but even with our combined effort, it made no difference. Edmund was the only one she wanted then, and it took nearly a quarter of an hour for him to just get her calmed down enough to raise her head.
He took her to see that Nighty was really dead, and then they watched as he was buried. Still, it was almost a full hour later before Evie would let go of Edmund’s neck. She refused to go outside alone for two days after that, and will never go anywhere near where Nighty is buried, probably fearing that he will somehow come out of the ground and chase her. She has regained most of her courage by now, though she still looks warily at the barn when she passes it. The other way she was affected is that she dislikes any and all chickens. No longer will she go with Kirsten to feed and gather the eggs. She wants nothing to do with them. I can’t say that I blame her, can you?


I do hope you feel sorry for Evie. And for Johnny, though I think he has recovered from his scare. :)

Meleah's Western Part 6

Here is Part 6 of Meleah's Western. I hope you all enjoy it. I have no idea what I am going to write for the next 1000 word. I hope some of you will help me by asking questions that you would like answered. That usually sparks something for me and I get an idea. So, please, if you have questions (and if you don't I'll wonder why) let me know what they are. You can leave a comment or send me an email. I hope to hear from you soon. Until then, I leave you with "Meleah's Western Part 6."

Part 6

All was quiet. The branches of the trees were heavy with their load of snow. Occasionally the snow would slip off with a soft sound leaving the branch to spring lightly up into the air. Here and there birds, with feathers ruffled to keep out the cold, could be seen searching for seeds. Most of the forest animals, however, were snugly settled in their warm nests. The only sound heard was the faint hammering from the barn where Carson was busy at work building a rough pine coffin. Smoke spiraled skyward from the nearby cabin chimney, yet though the sun was rapidly approaching the center of the sky, no one inside had so much as thought of eating.

The brother and sister were sitting on either side of a small table near the fireplace. Before them lay the broken locket, the small picture and the family Bible. They had been sitting thus for some time talking and puzzling over the events of the preceding night.
“I still can’t see who it is yer ta look for,” Sally sighed. “If we have a sister, why ain’t we heard of her before? An’ why didn’t Pa tell us even her name?”
Ty shrugged. “I jest don’t rightly know. I’m wishin’ I did though.” His brows drew together in a frown as he gazed at the table.
“Are ya sure there isn’t anything else in the Bible that would help?”
“I didn’t see nothing.”
“Ty, are ya sure he said “sisters” and not jest sister?”
“An’ if’n he didn’t, then who would I be supposed ta find?”
It was Sally’s turn to frown. They had been over this ground before, and yet she just couldn’t quite believe she had a sister. Looking up slowly, she almost timidly began to speak. “What if Ma really isn’t dead and that is . . ..” She didn’t finish her sentence.
“I’ve been wonderin’ that very thing myself if ya want ta know the truth. Only I don’t see how that can be.”
“Perhaps there is a record in the Bible.”
Ty opened the Book and saw the faint inscription again. After a moment of careful study, he read it aloud. “For my darling daughter on her wedding day 18__ from Mother.” Ty looked up. “That’s all that inscription says. Ain’t much help.”
Sally said nothing only reached for the Bible to see for herself. After reading the same words, she turned a page or two. “Look Ty. There is a record of some sort in here. See there is Pa’s name, Jonathan Andrew Keith Elliot. Why’d he have so many names, I wonder? There is his birth date written. Below his name is Ma’s, Eleanor Mary Crook Elliot an’ her birth date. Ty, there is no date of death here.”
“I know. I looked years ago an’ always wondered why. If’n she did die, why ain’t her death recorded?”
Sally didn’t answer. She was busy reading the rest of the writing on the page. “Our names an’ births are recorded here, an’ there is no other name anywhere.” She looked up. “I jest don’t see how there could be a sister an’ it not be recorded.”
“Sally,” Ty almost groaned, “I don’t see either, but it don’t change the fact that I have ta find someone.”
No more was said for a while as Sally turned page after page looking for anything that might be called a clue. Ty sat thoughtful. Slowly he picked up the small picture and looked at it. As he gazed, vague memories stirred from some forgotten recess of his brain. In a dazed and perplexed voice he began to speak. His low voice had a faraway feeling to it. Sally ceased turning pages and listened, staring in wide eyed wonder at her brother.
“She was there . . . an’ Pa. It was a cabin. Small, but weren’t like this. . . . Flowers in . . . a pitcher, seems like. There were others there. We went away, . . . you an’ me. . . . She was gone when we got back. . . . No sign a her. Her bonnet was gone. I looked for it. . . . Pa said . . . she was gone away. Never said where. . .. Pa cried. I heard him. . . .” His voice trailed off and all was quiet.
Sally hardly dared breath. Was Ty remembering some clue to these puzzling questions?
“Sally,” Ty spoke firmly. “This is Ma’s picture. I’m sure.”
Sally nodded.
“An’ I wonder . . .” There was obvious hesitancy in the brother’s voice. “I’m jest guessin’ ya know, but could Ma ‘ave left Pa an’ gone back ta the city?”
Sally gasped. “Left him! Why?”
“Think. Pa was livin’ out here in the wilds long ‘for he got married. Could be Ma didn’t like it an’ went back.”
“Why? I mean, what would she do an’ how would she live? You don’t think a sister could have been born after she . . . left?”
Ty shook his head. “Else how’d Pa know. I’m mighty certain he didn’t get no mail. No, I reckon perhaps there was--” here Ty stopped.
Sally finished the sentence in horror stricken tones. “An illegitimate sister.”
Ty nodded grimly. “Maybe Ma never told Pa ‘bout her until she was leavin’ . That’d explain why she ain’t in the Bible.”
“Ty, could it be?”
“I jest don’t know, Sally, I jest don’t know. How else would ya explain the missin’ name an’ no date of death?”
For a long time they sat there in silence. Each busy with his own thoughts. Surely that couldn’t be right, and yet, how else could it all be explained?
“Why’d Pa say ya could do what he couldn’t?” Sally wondered.
Ty was several minutes in answering. “I reckon,” he began at last. “he might not a knowd where they lived, an’ I’m ta find out.”
“Well, I ken tell ya one thin’ Ty Elliot, ya ain’t goin’ nowheres without me.

To be continued . . .

Two Dollars and a Knife

I wonder how many people get on this on Friday to see what I have posted? It would be interesting to find out. Is is just people who leave comments? I don't think so, for I know others have read things and not left comments. But what am I talking about that for? I wanted to mention to those who do get on and notice the new look and buttons on the side, that you ought to check out each place.

A & A make the cutest bags that are just the right size. (read the post before this)

As for PaperBackSwap, if you have never been on it, you are missing out. It is a place we love. Growing up reading books and having books read to me, has given me a love for books. (just in case you didn't know that) The only thing was, we didn't have money enough to go to the bookstore all the time. My mom's and my favorite used book store went out of business a few years ago, and so for a while we had no place to take the books we wanted to get rid of nor get "new" ones. It was last year when I got to looking at PaperBackSwap. I will admit, I was quite sceptical at first. I didn't understand it. But once I got to looking at the site, wow! We now use it all the time. If we get low on credits, Mom goes to used books places, calls me and I check to see if books she has found are on some one's "wish list." We have gotten some like new, $20+ books on there. We have saved over $600.00 on books!

And then there is the SwapADVD site. I'm sure many people have DVDs they would like to get rid of and others they would like to get. This site is a great place to do that without spending a lot of money. And you can swap credits from PaperBackSwap to SwapADVD or the other way around.

Okay, I've given you my sales talk, which you probably didn't even read, and now I will post a story. No, I'll tell you right now, this is not Part 6 of Meleah's Western. I should have the next part ready for next week. I was going to post this story before the 4th, but I posted Part 5 instead. I hope you didn't mind.:) I had written this story years ago for a story contest that Vision Forum was having, only they never did have it. So here it is.


July 8, 2000
Dear Mike
You missed all the excitement at Grandpa’s on the 4th. Except for your family, everyone was there dressed in colonial clothes. Even Grandpa, though by the end of the afternoon he was talking of putting on his army uniform, if it fit. It was all because I found a knife pinning two $1.00 bills to a tree. Boy, you should’ve been there! No matter how hard I thought, I could come up with no reasonable or unreasonable explanation for them being there. Dad didn’t know either. As I stood in the kitchen after lunch, racking my brains for ideas, Grandpa startled me by dropping his hand suddenly on my shoulder asking,
“What’cha up to, Patrick?”
“I’m. . . Grandpa, did you stick two dollars on a tree with a knife?” I blurted the question out quickly. Grandpa looked astonished but shook his head.
“Go get ‘em, and we’ll take a look.”
Needing no urging, I rushed outside, leapt off the porch and raced to the tree. Everything looked the same. As I reached out for the knife, my spine began to tingle, and I knew I was being watched! Slowly I turned my head, eyes scanning the trees and bushes. A sudden sneeze whirled me around to see an older man wearing a dark green shirt.
“Your last name Henry?” the man asked
“Yes, sir.”
“Take that knife and money to your grandfather. See what he says.”

After another quick glance at the man, I obeyed. Hurrying as quickly as it was safe to, I reached the kitchen and opening the door shouted, “Grandpa! Where are you?”
“Here.” His voice sounded from the living room.
Stepping quickly in, I laid the knife and money in Grandpa’s lap. All was silent. Grandpa stared, his expression changing from bewilderment to disbelief and delight. Standing up suddenly, he exclaimed,
“Klesingharper! Where is he?”
Grandpa limped quickly to the back porch.
“Klesingharper!” Grandpa thundered. The man came into view. At sight of him, knife and money dropped from Grandpa’s hands as he started for the stairs. I hurried to his side knowing he wasn’t very good on steps. His hand trembled on my shoulder as we slowly descended the last step. Across the lawn, we met the stranger. After a hearty embrace, Grandpa, his voice choked with emotion, invited him in. So, together we walked back to the porch where the family had wonderingly gathered.
To make a long story short. Grandpa and Corporal Klesingharper both fought on Guadalcanal in ‘42. They were great friends. Once Grandpa lent Corporal Klesingharper $2.00, he promising to repay him. Klesingharper became seriously injured, and just before he was sent back to the States, Grandpa gave him his knife. They hadn’t seen or heard from each other since that time until the 4th. All afternoon we sat intently listening to their amazing stories of Guadalcanal, Coast Watchers, the Japanese and the Solomon Islands. I caught the whole thing on video!
Your Cousin,
P. Henry

Try These Tested and True Twintastic Totes!

Okay, this is not a story, but when my "triplets" are making such totally Twintastic Totes, I just had to let you all know about them! I know they are great because they made me one for my birthday last year, and I love it! They aren't too big nor yet too small. I haven't gotten to see the latest small size yet, but I'd love to. So, if you are looking for a darling bag for yourself, friend or relative, one that will make others jealous, check out my "triplets" Twintastic Totes!

Meleah's Western Part 5

Okay, Meleah asked me enough questions.:) Since I now have a good start on the story, and know, for the most part, what happens, I will no longer be waiting for Meleah. She gave me the inspiration I needed for this story and we'll see how it goes from here. If anyone now has questions about the story, let me know. Comments are also encouraged as I have a tendency to write only when I know someone is eagerly waiting for the next part.:} Sorry, but that is the way I am. So I guess if I haven't written another part for a while and you are just dying to know what comes next, drop me a comment or an email. But now, I wonder if anyone read this first or if they just skipped to the story coming back to this after.

But I'll delay no longer. Enjoy!

Part 5

Ty was across the room in an instant, gun in readiness as Carson, with his rifle in his hands cautiously approached the door.
“Ty!” Sally gasped out in terror. “Don’t go out there! Don’t!” She had sprung up from her seat and now gripped her brother’s arm tightly with all the strength she had. “They said they’d be back. Oh, Ty!” Though her voice was low, it was full of fear, and she trembled.
Ty glanced down at her then back to the bed. The sick man slept on undisturbed.
“Stay with Pa,” he ordered softly. “I’ll be careful--”
“Ty,” Carson answered the pleading look Sally had given him before she turned slowly toward the bed, quivering in every limb. “If it was them, I reckon we’d ‘ave heard more’n jest one shot. Ya jest wait on guard right here, ‘n I’ll check things out.”
“Carson, I can’t let you do that. It’s me they’re after. They must’a known I’d be back with Pa so sick. I’ll go out an’ you can wait here.”
The younger man moved a step toward the door, but Carson stepped in front of him.
“Tain’t no use, Ty. My mind’s made up. Ya stay here. I’ll give the usual signal if’n I want ya.” And before Ty could protest or argue, he had pulled back the latch and slipped silently out.
For several minutes Ty stood in the deep silence listening. He couldn’t hear Carson’s steps out in the snow. Why had he allowed him to go out? What would he find? Would he even be able to give the signal if he wanted to? Just when Ty could stand the strain of inaction no longer, the door opened noiselessly, and Carson glided back in.
“What did ya see?” Ty questioned.
Carson shook his head with a slight smile. “I reckon we’re as jumpy as a rabbit in a fox’s den. That weren’t more’n a branch snappin’ under the weight of snow. Large branch too. Recon it’ll make right good firewood.”
Ty let his breath out in a long sigh. “I reckon I am nervous. Ain’t been back here since the trouble. If’n they catch wind I’m back--” he shook his head, leaving his sentence unfinished, and holstered his gun once more.
A stifled sob reached his ears, and he turned quickly. Sally, kneeling by the bed with her face buried in the bedclothes, was crying. With soft steps Ty moved to her side.
“Sally,” he whispered, “tain’t nothin’ to be ‘fraid of now. Carson found it was jest an old branch broke.” He stroked her hair awkwardly.
“I ain’t cryin’ fer that,” came the muffled response.
“Then what are ya crying for?”
“I . . . I reckon its jest, oh jest fer everythin’. Ya know I ain’t one ta cry much.” She lifted her face wet with tears and looked at him. “I don’t know what’s the matter with me, but Ty,” her eyes showed the panic she tried to hide. “Promise me you’ll be mighty careful. They’ll find out you’re here and then . . ..”
Ty nodded. “I’ll be careful. I promise ya that. I aim ta keep as quiet as possible. No use askin’ fer more trouble when we got enough on our hands.”
All fell silent. Sally allowed Ty to help her to her feet and then to the chair by the bed. Carson sat before the fire with his back to the brother and sister, and though he could hear every word exchanged, he tried not to intrude more than he could help.

“Sally.” The sick man roused from his sleep once more and opened his eyes.
“Yes, Pa.”
“Is that my son? Is that Ty?”
“Yes, Pa.”
A smile lit the old man’s face. “She told me you’d be comin’. Ty . . .”
Ty sat down on the bed. “Yes, Pa.”
“Ya will find her, won’t ya?”
Ty nodded but before he could ask any of the many questions that burned on the tip of his tongue, his father spoke again.
“I knew ya wouldn’t . . . fail me.” The voice was feeble and low. “In . . . the pouch. . . on my watch guard. Son, get it.”
Ty opened the pouch and poured the contents into his hand. His father’s watch gleamed in the dim light. On the watch guard Ty found a small gold heart. It appeared to be part of a locket, a broken one. There was no picture. He held it in his hand.
“Is this it, Sir?”
The father looked. “Yes, Ty. It was . . . hers . . . but I . . . kept this. It . . . should help . . .. Ty.”
“Yes, Pa?”
“You never knew her, . . . but . . . in the Good Book . . ..” The sick man closed his eyes. His breath was scarcely discernible.
“Pa!” Ty’s voice was insistent. “What is in the Good Book?”
“The picture . . .” His lips moved, but no sound was heard.
Ty bent over him, his ear almost touching his lips and heard the words, “Take care . . . of . . . yer . . . sisters.”
Ty sat up with a start. He glanced at Sally. She seemed not to notice his sudden agitation, for all her attention was focused on her father.
For a full minute no one stirred. Then with one great apparent effort, the father’s eyes opened once more, and his voice sounded with a sudden strength.
“Ty will do what I couldn’t. I am going home!” There was an exultant ring to his voice as he uttered the last word, and a smile broke full across his face. His gaze was on something unseen by human eyes.
Ty and Sally sat in awed silence staring at the transformed and now lifeless face on the pillow. Neither of them spoke. It seemed a sacrilege to break the silence.

To be continued . . . sometime.