Sylvia held the photo tightly for a long moment just staring at the writing on the back fighting back the tears. Finally she could no longer contain them and the dam burst. Her shoulders slumped and she let grief envelop her.

The Bible dropped to the floor, spilling out various mailings and other photos. Only when she felt her tears run dry did she bother to bend her weary old body to retrieve it.

With the help of her carved walking stick, the one Elmer had made for her, before the arthritis had taken his craft from him, she got down in the floor and started raking the the contents into a small pile. Sylvia pulled her embroidered kerchief from her pocket and dabbed at her eyes.

As she gathered the contents into a small pile, she noticed a letter dated July 15, 1917. Her brow knitted and her mind sought through years of familiarity.

The year daddy died of TB. The responsibility of being the oldest male had taken its toll during the depression. Fourteen year olds didn’t like to make decisions.