by Shelia West

Created on: November 10, 2008   Last Updated: December 31, 2008

"Mom, I'm bored." Michael's words rang out hollowly in the quiet house. He came to the kitchen door, a forlorn expression on his face. "We never do anything since Dad left. All you do is work and worry."

Ruth Ann sighed. It had been six months since Michael's father had died and he still couldn't say the word. He made it sound as if his father had walked out on them instead of dying in that horrible automobile accident. She glanced outside. It was a beautiful fall day. The sun was shining on the brilliant colored leaves of the trees surrounding the old house. Michael had been outside bouncing a basketball off the side of the old barn. She had watched him for a while before setting up her sewing machine and starting on the huge pile of alterations and mending.

Ruth Ann knew her son was not coping very well with the grieve from their tremendous loss. He was failing in school; he had nightmares several times a week. He was listless and quiet most of the time. But she didn't know how to help him. She had taken him to talk with their pastor several times, but it did not seem to help. And she had no immediate family to turn to for help. So they seemed to just exist day after day.

Ruth Ann was coping by working. She didn't have much time for the misery and pain to engulf her. She was working eight to ten hours a day at the factory. Then she would come home and do the chores, with Michael's help. The old farm wasn't much. The house constantly needed repairing. The barn could fall with the next strong wind. But it had been in her husband's family for over two hundred years. Much of the land had been sold off, but they still owned over ninety acres. They were down to twelve cows, some chickens, five goats, and an old mare to take care of, but without Michael's father, it might as well have been herds.

In addition to that, Ruth Ann had taken to sewing for people for extra income. She often stayed up until the wee hours of the morning hemming beautiful dresses or mending quilts.

But Ruth Ann was determined to hang onto the old farm. It was her son's birthright. She remembered how proud his Dad had been the day that she gave birth. His eyes had sparkled as he danced around with the tiny bundles in his arms. "Now I never have to worry about the family line, Ruthie. You took care of that for sure."

"Mom! Mom!" Michael's loud voice pierced through the memory. "Why can't we go fishing?"

Ruth Ann grimaced. She had never liked fishing. That had always been "the guy thing."

"Never mind."

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