Rosemarie tiptoed in at dawn bringing the women boiled eggs, corn porridge and tea. She found them nodding at Bartles’s bedside. His noisy breathing had stopped. He was dead. Rosemarie sat her basket on the table, gently touched Molly’s shoulder, and tiptoed out.

Molly took Aggie’s hand, waking her to her loss. “He’s gone to God.”

Aggie sighed stoically. “What will I do without him?”

Molly returned. “What will we do without him? He knows everything about our places.”

As the women prepared the body for burial, they heard hammering as the men built a coffin. Soon the minister arrived to offer comfort and prepare for the funeral. The neighbors brought a funeral meal that included stewed squirrel, baked chicken, ham and roast beef. The table groaned under baked yams, beans, potatoes, squash, and tomatoes. Pies and cakes were too numerous to count.

Will and Aggie Bartles were good neighbors, held in high regard. There was not a family who was not a beneficiary of their kindness. Women bustled about the kitchen tending the table and tidying up. Men spoke in hushed tones, doing whatever chores they could, including chopping wood, harness repair, and replacing shingles.

The service was simple, scripture and a eulogy. The mourners ringed around the grave on the Bartles small acreage in view of the back door of the small, neat cabin. Aggie stood stoic and unweeping as they lowered the body into the grave.