Grandpa came to visit. He was charmed by Baby Bettie, who is almost able to stand alone, not quite ready to walk. At his age, Grandpa talks about subjects that are usually not discussed here at home. He brought up our dead sister, Viva, who died before any of us can remember of 'summer complaint' along with two brothers. Mama never speaks of Viva, nor does Daddy, who was visibly uncomfortable when Grandpa began to reminisce about Viva running out to follow him, calling 'Daddy Pa,, Daddy Pa' when he came from the field.
Mama was in the house and we were making pictures at the edge of the cornfield, because Daddy wanted to have the corn in the pictures. Mama never let any of us girls wear the little dress in Daddy's little trunk, laid away carefully in tissue paper. She never says a word when we take bouquets of peonies to place on the graves for decoration day, just quietly stands, drawing a deep breath as her eyes turn far away. I had hoped she would bring the little dress out for Bettie to wear, but so far she has not done so. There is a little white linen suit that belonged to Hugh or Herbert, as well. It must have been such a hard time for her, each child dying so young.
Lately Mama seems so tired all the time. She gets short of breath just walking up the back steps. She tries to hide it, but it's there, as are her swollen ankles.
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