They were gathered to bury Jackson Redclay, one of their own. His family stood grim-faced and unmoving, lost in their own thoughts while the words of ...he white preacher fell uselessly among them. Soon, it was time. Emmett Redclay knelt, and dropped a feathered amulet upon the casket. A scattering of shredded tobacco was followed by a thin, streaming handful of sandy soil, picked up from the pile beside the open grave. Melba Redclay stood with her husband, her face a cold mask. Tears ran in. .. not..." Not helping?" he suggested, and she shook her head. "Not accurate?" she smiled, gently, but it was Hope from the kitchen doorway that supplied the answer."Not fair." On you." Shawna clarified, taking his hand. "It's not fair on you, to wrap us up in that." He started to argue, but she cut him off. "Listen... I know it's important, I know that we're not entirely separate, but... it hasn't been coming between us, Marcus, I have. Hope says it's understandable, and so will you, and it. More

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