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By C.B. Hoffman

Published by C.B. Hoffman at Smashwords

Copyright C.B. Hoffman 2010

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The sky was blue; not June’s endless blue, but with a tinge of late-summer gray, smudging out past the dark green shadow of steep, tree-covered hills rolling away like waves of a high sea. Elizabeth shifted her gaze from hills last seen a quarter-century ago through an uncomprehending film of tears; hills she had gladly never expected to see again then, and hadn’t wanted to see again now.

She’d had no choice, then. They had brought Mama back to the holler to sleep. Elizabeth frowned because the phrase—their phrase—had come to mind. Buried. Mama was back there to be buried. Pop had insisted, and in distant Chicago, Elizabeth found out too late to protest, to shout that Mama wouldn’t want to be brought back. Elizabeth bowed her head. Even if she had told Pop no, Mama would have sat up in her coffin and gently said that it would do no harm, such a small thing, and it would make Poppa happy.

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