They sat down to a meal of hamburger patties in mushroom gravy (God bless Mr. Campbell and his golden mushroom soup, Kathy added to the blessing), boiled new potatoes and kale. Dinner had been delayed when Aunt Kathy found Sharon's lightly steamed kale unacceptable.

"Goodness, Sharon, don't you know you have to boil the farts out of kale? There. Back in the pot with it. I thought you knew how to cook!"

She made Sharon return the Kale to the pot, cover it completely with cold water, then turn the heat on high. It boiled hard for 10 minutes. In the meantime, Kathy set another pot of water to boil.

"Pour off the water of that first boiling. You see how green it is. That's the farts. Zeke could blow us all out of the house unless I boiled it three times. Me, I'm not so gassy. I think two good boilings will do it."

Under Kathy's direction, Sharon returned the drained kale to the pot, poured the second pot of boiling water over it and tossed in the chunk of fatback Kathy handed her. 10 minutes later, Kathy watched with satisfaction as Sharon dished out the slimy green mess onto their plates.

"Now that's home cookin'" said Kathy as she dug into her meal with excellent appetite.

"Looks and feels like that algae that grows on the rocks in the creek, if you ask me," retorted Sharon. She took a few nibbles, but decided to stick with the salad for her greens.

"You hear anything from Abraham?" Sharon asked over her shoulder as she dried and put away the supper dishes. She had insisted that Aunt Kathy stay seated and not help with clean-up. She had made no bones about her worries that Kathy was not getting back her strength and vigor as they had hoped would happen when she returned home to her beloved holler. Kathy would talk about that, but she did, surprisingly, stay at the kitchen table and let Sharon do the cleaning up alone. That was comment enough, as far as Sharon was concerned.

"I've invited him up for Memorial Day," Kathy answered. I haven't heard back yet if he will come."

"If you aren't feeling a lot stronger by Memorial Day, Aunt Kathy, I'm not so sure you should let everybody come."

"Nonsense. I know things are moving slow. But Sharon, I am, after all, 84 years old. Not exactly a spring chicken. And if you will think about it, I have never done well in the winter. I've often hated this holler in winter. Don't look so surprised. I"m not a complainer, you know that. But how often have you heard me fuss about the mud and the dark and the gray skies that set in along about Thanksgiving and stay until yer afraid it won't ever be blue skies and sunshine again? Your uncle Bob has been sweating out the last 3 winters, afraid I'd arrive on his doorstep down there in Sarasota on a February morning, ready to take up residence with him and Rosalee. A few days on the porch with my lilacs, then another fewworking a little in the yard, and I'll be good before you know it. Good as I'm likely to get anyway.

"Come over here and sit down. Leave the pots in the drainboard Sharon, they're fine. I want to talk to you."

Sharon turned and studied Aunt Kathy's serious face, taking in the kindness in the bright blue eyes, the fine wrinkles and deep lines that patterned the skin around her mouth and eyes, the pale, thin, almost translucent skin, still smooth over the planes of her cheeks. Sharon realized she could see a trace of the cherokee woman from 4 generations back in the beloved old face that was looking up at her from Kathy's seat on the other side of the kitchen table.

She nodded, rubbed her hands on the sackcloth towel she had been using to wipe the dishes dry, then pulled out the chair across from Aunt Kathy and sat down.