Aunt Kathy sat in the front passenger seat of Big Bill's car, Moljnir curled in his usual place on her lap. Bill didn't drive the old Galaxy often, but the big bench seat would allow his mother to keep her leg elevated on the drive home. Little Billy parked himself in the middle of the back seat where he could lean forward and rest his arms and chin on the front backrest, seatbelts be damned. The three of them chatted easily, talking about work the boys had done to the old house while Kathy was in the nursing home, pointing out landmarks to one another along the way, and sharing what little gossip they had about the goings-on in the hollers. Now and then one of them would start a song and the other two would join in, their voices sliding around each other with the ease that only a life time of singing together brings.

"Do you want to plan songs we'll sing up at the graveyard tomorrow morning, or just wait and and do as the spirit moves?" asked Bill, his voice matter-of-fact, eyes straight ahead on the highway.

Kathy started. "I thought you said...."

Bill turned his head and looked at his mother, a wide smile on his face. "Your neighbors have missed you, and wanted to do something to welcome you back," he said. "Elmer Johnson 'borrowed' his bulldozer from the State Rd. Commission last week and ran it up the track to the top of the ridge. Louie got his grandpaw's old dodge truck runnin', the one with the mule gear? I'm not sure even it could make it to the top on slick mud, so I didn't want to say anything until I was sure the weather was going to stay dry. But it hasn't rained in a week. We'll be on top of the mountain for Easter sunrise."

Bill waited, but Kathy didn't speak. He turned his eyes from the road again to look at her. She was staring straight ahead out the window, tears running down her cheeks.





                o---------------o---------------o---------------o

They had come to the graveyard on the ridge just as the eastern sky began to lighten. Louie and Billie lifted the kitchen chairs from the bed of the truck while Big Bill helped Kathy out of the cab. It had been a bit of a rougher ride than Kathy had expected, but now she was here it was worth it. Sharon wanted to rush her into a seat, ready to wrap Kathy in a blanket against the chill April air, but Kathy waved the blanket away irritably.

"If you want to be useful child, give me your arm and walk me over to Cassie's grave. There. Now. Go away and give me a little space."

Sharon backed away, and turned to join the others. They quietly arranged the chairs, facing east, keeping their voices low. They left the baskets with the food in the back of the truck for now.

Kathy stood directly on Cassie's grave. It was still too dark to make out the words carved into the granite, but she could detect the faint gleam of the daffodils that encircled the stone. She closed her eyes and breathed in deep, taking in the sharp smell of the wild onions she had trampled underfoot. With her heel, she dug shallowly at the ground, hoping for a whiff of the new earth and something more, the clean, chlorophyll smell of chickweed, or the peppery scent of the tiny winter cress. "It will come." She opened her eyes. The sky was growing lighter. It was time to join the others.

"OK. We're ready." she called.

This time it was Big Bill who offered his arm. He escorted his mother to her chair and helped her situate the blanket. Kathy looked back toward the grave, her eyes following the trail they had left on the dew-covered grass and spring weeds. "There will be more smells once we get to stirring around up here," she thought with satisfaction. She turned her face back toward the east, straightening her shoulders. The new day was afoot now, the sky lightening rapidly as the sun approached the horizon. As the first bright rays broached the edge of the facing ridge, the bells of the many little churches tucked away in the hollers below began to ring.   Up here on the ridge at the head of this furthest of hollers, The sound was faint and muted, as if the sound had been made almost mournful by the journey through these old mountains.

They waited expectantly, straining to be sure to hear. There it was, even fainter than the bells, but joyous, lively, piping in the rebirth that is spring. The notes of the flute coming from the direction of Cassie's grave danced over, around and through them, playing the first measure of the song. The rim of the sun appeared across the mountain, and they began to sing.


Beautiful morning! Day of hope,
Dawn of a better life;
Now in thy peaceful hours we rest,
Far from earth's noise and strife.

Morning of resurrection joy,
Day when the Savior rose,
Singing shall greet thy opening hour,
Singing shall mark thy close.