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did just the same. I dressed it in clothes that both Our
Jane and Keith had worn, maybe Fanny, Tom, and me
as well.
Sarah finally fell flat on her face on the soiled
bed, gripping the mattress in her clawing fingers,
crying as I'd never known her to cry before.
I didn't even notice Granny until I was finished
with the dead baby. Not until I looked at her two or
three times did I realize that she wasn't knitting,
crocheting, darning, braiding, weaving, or even
rocking. She was just sitting very still with her eyes
half closed. On her thin white lips was a faint smile. It
scared me, that funny happy smile; she should be
looking sad and mournful.
"Granny . . ." I whispered fearfully, laying
down the stillborn child all dressed and clean, "are
you all right?"
I touched her. She fell to one side. I felt her
face, and she was already turning cold, her flesh
hardening.
Granny was dead!
Shocked info-death by the birth of a monster
baby, or by years and years of struggling to endure a
life of hardships! I cried out, and felt an awful blow to
my own heart. I knelt by her rocking chair to hold her
close. "Granny, when you get to heaven, please tell
my mother I'm really trying hard to be like her. Tell
her that, will you, please?"
A scraping sound moved our way, drifting in
from the porch. "What ya doing with my Annie?"
