A common story in the hills and hollers throughout West Virginia, the mineral and lumber rights to the land on which Aunt Cathy's old house sat had been virtually stolen early in the 20th century, traded to agents for out-of-state business and mining interests for little more (or even less) than a song. Still, with the price of fuel these days, there was real benefit in getting free natural gas to heat with as her royalty from the gas well that sat on the branch about 200 yards behind the house.

The big old space heater in the parlour could be cranked up until nearly all the downstairs was toasty warm on a dank, November morning. There was no heat upstairs at all, though. Until just a few years ago, Cathy slept upstairs all winter, in spite of the cold. She liked the feeling of being snug and warm under the comforter and quilts,with the feel of the cold on her cheeks as she slept. Her bedroom window faced east, and when it was really cold, and frost formed in the inside of the window overnight, she liked to lie in bed in the morning to watch the sun shimmer and glint through the frosty glass until it warmed the window enough to begin to melt.

But her bones were getting old, and her blood thin. Last winter, she had often found herself sleeping on the couch in the parlour rather than brave the cold upstairs at bedtime. This fall, she had moved into the guest bedroom off the parlour for the winter. It was well-furnished, and she had to move a padded chair out to make room for Cassie's rocker. It had been a real struggle getting it down the stairs by herself. But she didn't want anyone else touching it.