I spent the last two nights sittin’ in front of the kitchen stove fire, scratching your names in a piece of dark gray slate. The light weren’t good. But I tried t’make the writin’ neat.

Juliana

Deborah

It weren’t hard work. The slate were soft … almost like the clay it come from. But, oh my, so smooth and silver with moisture. Made m’ cheek cool when I brung it up to rest it there. It felt real good.

Tomorrow I will git on up afore the sun just like I allus do. Check the stock, git them eggs outta the hen nests whilst I still can. Then I’m gonna walk a piece over to the Coffee Tree.

Remember? Remember sittin’ there with me afore you left? An’ me sayin’, "Don’t you fret - I will not forget you two gals ever. Cross my heart." An I ain’t neither. Forgot, that is.

I wished you could’ve stayed on. I miss the way ya’ll smiled an’ talked to me when I brung over yer supper. I still scratch the letters in the dust outside the doorsill ever day. Jist like I promised I would.

I remember.

Sittin’ under that messy ol’ tree. Pickin’ up the seeds offa the ground. And the two of ya’ll a sayin’ that them seeds was cooked and used for coffee in the olden days. But raw, them seeds was pure poison. An’ then a lookin’ at me so serious like. I jist smiled an pretended I dint hear right.

Well, I’m takin’ this here rock to the tree. An’ I’m puttin’ it face down below them branches. So only I’ll know that ya’ll were there once. With me. And mebbe that’ll bring you on back here someday. I hope its soon, but prob’ly not.

This time, ya’ll could stay right here with me.

I’m all alone now.