Tears ran unchecked down Perry's face. "I know," she whispered. "I heard him promise."

After a long minute Mary turned with tear-filled eyes to Perry and Hunter. "I'd like to be alone with John for a few minutes. Hunter, would you go tell Hank what he needs to do? Perry, I'd like you to speak with Eva, if she hasn't left yet." Mary paused as she saw their worried looks. "I'm fine, I just want to rest here a minute with John." Mary was still holding his hand. "Please ask that no one come up until I call."

Hunter stood and crossed to his grandmother's side. He bent and kissed her cheek before moving away. As he passed, Perry saw unshed tears in his eyes. Yet his fists were tight as he fought for control.

Without a word she followed him to the hall. As they stood together in the darkness Perry sobbed. "I'm sorry, Hunter."

He placed his arms around her, but he seemed far away, in his own private grief. She could feel a wall between them. He didn't want to share his pain with anyone.

"I'll go down and make the arrangements." He moved away. If she hadn't seen the pain in Hunter's eyes when John died, she'd have never known how deeply he felt his loss.

An hour later both the doctor and the minister were downstairs waiting for Mary. The minister seemed impatient and displeased at having to wait. He showed his displeasure by frowning at Perry as she poured his third cup of coffee. He mumbled to the doctor, "I feel sure Mary will want to make a large donation in John's name to the building fund."

The old doctor knotted his mouth into a wrinkled prune and refused to speak to the reverend.

Hunter made all the arrangements and put Hank to work on the coffin. He stood tall and silent by the windows, staring at the winter night. Perry wanted to comfort him, but his rigid stance held her back. It said to all that he needed no one. He made no effort to talk with the doctor or the minister but cocooned himself in silence.

Dr. Moore finally broke the vigil. "Perry, perhaps it would be better if you and I went up and checked on Mary. She's been up there a long time."

Perry was hesitant to break Mary's wishes, but the doctor added, "I'll just look in on her."

Reluctantly she followed the old doctor up the stairs. He listened at the door for a moment but heard nothing. As he opened the door they saw Mary sitting in her rocker, by John, still holding his hand.

"Mary," Dr. Moore said as he stepped into the room.

She didn't move as the doctor neared. Perry reached for a shawl to cover Mary's shoulders, for the night and death's hand had chilled the room.

"Mary?" Dr. Moore's words were laced with a lifetime of friendship. "Are you all right?" He touched her shoulder in concern.

Mary's body slumped forward, first half onto the bed, then melting toward the floor. Both Dr. Moore and Perry dropped to her side, fearing she'd fainted. The doctor lifted her head gently with old, unsteady fingers and lovingly closed Mary's eyes.

"No!" Perry shouted, not believing what she saw. "No!" She screamed, moving beside Mary, trying desperately to awaken her.

The doctor stopped her efforts. "It's no use, Perry. She's already cold; she's been dead some time."

"No," Perry sobbed.

The old doctor lay Mary's head down lovingly and put both his hands on Perry's shoulders. "Perry, don't you see? It's the way they wanted it. Mary's heart has been weak for many years. She just couldn't live without him."

Both turned as Hunter burst into the room. For a moment he looked confused, not believing what his eyes told him. He darted to his grandmother and lifted her into his arms, holding her tenderly, as a father carries a sleeping child.

"I'm sorry, Hunter," the old doctor whispered through his tears.

Hunter placed her on the bed beside his grandfather's body. He stared down at her in disbelief.

Something fell from Mary's lap as he lifted the body. Perry bent and picked up a tattered old pink bonnet and handed it to Hunter. He turned the old hat in his hands as if examining a great treasure. "He said he fell in love with her when he first saw her at church in this." He lay the bonnet beside Mary.

"Hunter," Perry whispered, "I'll go downstairs and tell the others."

He nodded sharply as she watched his self-control stretch tight. He stood at the edge of the bed, staring at the bodies of his grandparents. "They were my shelter from the world when I was a child. I thought they would live forever."

Stepping away, she was unable to watch the pain in Hunter's face any longer. She moved slowly downstairs, in no hurry to share her heartbreaking news. Her mind ran over all that must be done. She knew that Hunter and Wade were the Williamses' only living relatives, so there was only one to notify except those already in the house.

Midnight had passed to the steady pounding of Hank's hammer in the barn by the time all the plans were made. Perry instructed Eva and her daughter to begin cooking for any company who might come in tomorrow. They were thankful for something to do. Perry said good night to the doctor and returned to the main room.

Hunter sat in a comfortable chair, staring at the fireplace. She admired how he had handled the minister earlier. Hunter had been much nicer than she could have been.

Kneeling at his knee, she whispered, "It's very late." Her hand rested lightly on his leg. She could feel his leg muscle tighten to her touch, as if he resented her closeness.

For a moment he looked at her as though she were a stranger he remembered seeing somewhere. "You need to go up and get some sleep," he said matter-of-factly. "The room at the end of the hall, on the left, was my mother's. You can sleep there." With a tired sigh he leaned back, resting his head against the back of the chair. His handsome face was outlined in gold by the firelight. The desire to touch him was a deep ache within her, but there was a coldness about him she'd never seen before. She'd seen the young boy of years ago in Hunter's face. Gray eyes so capable of fire showed only the frozen coldness of steel now. He must have withdrawn like this when his mother died. He would cry out for no one, and no one would touch him.

"You need some rest too." Perry's words were soft and filled with concern. "The minister will be back in the morning. You handled him wonderfully."

"I learned a long time ago never to antagonize a fool. You never know which way he'll react. He'll be useful tomorrow to read over the graves. Then we can forget him."

Hunter grew silent once more. When he spoke again, his voice sounded far away. "My grandparents told me years ago where to put them to rest. At the time I never thought much about it. There's a little hill a few hundred yards up the stream. Grandmother used to have picnics up there. I remember playing by the stream as they sat on the grass watching me."

"That sounds like a wonderful place," Perry added, not knowing what else to say.

He reached over and covered her hand with his own. "Thanks… for being here."

"I cared for them a great deal…" She wanted to add, "and for you," but she wasn't sure he'd welcome her caring now.

He spoke into the fire. "It's very late." He seemed to have pulled away into a shell. "I think I'll sit here for a while."

Perry moved away, knowing Hunter wanted time alone. She climbed the stairs. Suddenly the house seemed cold and bare. She found her room and within a few minutes was curled into bed. The room was small but homey. A large patchwork quilt was spread over the bed and a shelf of poetry books lined one wall. A worn, overstuffed chair sat beside a small table by the window. Perry guessed Hunter's mother must have spent hours reading in that chair. Perry could picture in her mind what this farm must have been like thirty years ago. Love must have warmed the house as death cooled it now. Maybe Hunter was right, Perry thought. Pulling away from people is less painful in the end.

She'd have to wake up very early to get everything ready for the funeral, but sleep eluded her. She kept listening for Hunter's steps on the stairs but they never came. Finally Perry fell into a fitful sleep.

By five the next morning, Perry was dressed and ready to go downstairs. She heard Hunter moving about in the room across the hall from her and wondered if he'd slept at all. With Mary gone, Perry quietly supervised the running of the house. She felt strange doing so, but she knew there was no one else to do it. The two maids were lost in grief and barely any help at all. Some people bear their grief on the outside, Perry realized, while others, like Hunter, hold it deep inside.

As the sun marked almost noon without giving any warmth, the funeral passed like a slow-moving dream. The small procession walked from the house, following the wagon carrying the coffins up the hill. Though the day was cloudy and cold, all except the minister were too numb with grief to comment. The maids cried in waves, first wailing loudly, then whimpering and sniffling. About the time everyone believed them quiet, another wave of wailing would resound.

As the minister read from the Bible and prayed, Perry glanced around her. In spring this spot would be beautiful, with trees shading it on the left and the stream babbling on the right. Her attention was brought back to the funeral by Dr. Moore blowing his nose. She knew not a day of his life would now pass without him remembering and missing John and Mary. He had not enough time left on this earth to build another such friendship.

As the little group walked slowly back to the house, Perry silently slipped her hand into Hunter's. She needed to touch someone, even if he didn't seem to need her. He looked at her in surprise, as though he'd forgotten her presence. She could feel the distance between them even as they touched.