Smell of coffee brewing and bacon in the frypan awakened Aunt Cathy about an hour later. She pulled a house-dress over her head and walked down the stairs and into the kitchen. Big Bill had just pulled a batch of bisquits from the oven. Sarah was slicing German Johnson tomatoes that Billy had brought in from the garden. She passed the thick, sun-warmed slices on to Becky and Joe to put on the biscuits with the bacon.

Come on Angel band
Come and around me stand
Carry me away on your snow white wings
To my eternal home.

Becky and Joe harmonized as they assembled the biscuit sandwiches. Aunt Cathy hummed along softly as she headed for the coffee pot on the back of the stove. She joined the rest of the crew at the big old maple table in the middle of the kitchen. Although a little bleary from the late night of music and moonshine, everyone but Louie seemed in good spirits. He wouldn't look her in the eye as he muttered an apology about spilling something on her sofa. She sighed but told him not to worry about it. She'd use spot remover on it later.

By 10:30 the 'party in the pickup' had driven off, with ample hugs and promises to come back in a month to do it again, and several pints of jam made from the black raspberries that grew all up and down the holler. The day promised to be hot and humid. Big Bill and Billy headed to the shed for garden tools and the lawnmower. They wanted to get the hard work done before the day heated up any more. Aunt Cathy, Becky and Sharon headed for the house. Becky and Sharon insisted that Cathy just sit and visit while they cleaned up the kitchen. Their dear friend Ralph was somewhere up along the ridge, scouting out ginseng, goldenseal and black cohosh to gather in the fall.

Cathy wondered if now was the time to start talking. It was, at the heart of it all, a woman's tale, two women's stories in fact, interwoven, but different stories none-the-less. "That's not true," she thought. "It's also Zeke's story, and Mr. Howard's story, and, ultimately, it is Big Bill and Billy's story too, for who knows how their lives might have been different if they had lived through a different story than the one she had lead them through. Not their stories exactly, for each will have their own to live and tell, but it is their history of their bloodkin and their heritage just as much as this little wornout piece of holler is. Yep, it's a packaged deal, my story and the holler. I best bide my time until we
re all together for dinner this afternoon."