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change diapers faster than anybody she’d ever seen. I felt real proud about that. I didn’t tell her I changed them fast on account of them smelling something awful.
    Mama got small checks from the construction company and the government after Daddy died, but it weren’t enough to make ends meet. Gran took in sewing, and Mama took in washing. “We ain’t got a lot of money, but we got us each other,” Gran liked to say. “That makes us’uns rich!” She was sure right about that. We had ourselves some fun, even when we was a-working real hard.
    Gran had this old-timey sewing machine. She got it cheap at the end of World War II when a clothing factory she worked at in Charleston shut down. She would whistle hymns like “Amazing Grace” and “Rock of Ages” in time to her feet pumping the sewing machine, up and down, up and down, up and down. Mama would join in with her mourning-dove voice while she scrubbed clothes on the washboard and pulled them through the wringer. I learned to sing tenor a little, but most of the time I just liked to listen to my mama’s voice. I’d pat, pat, pat BJ on the back and bounce, bounce, bounce him on my knees in time to the music. That would help him cough up someof that there sticky, nasty stuff that made it hard for him to breathe.
    When Mama finished up with her washing and had hung the clothes on the line to dry, she would get out her dulcimer and sing the melody of some sweet, sweet tunes. Gran would get out her stitching and start to quilting. Then she’d mix her deep alto voice into the songs. I’d get the recorder Daddy made for me afore he passed on, and we’d make us some fine music.
    Gran always said, “We can’t let our sad rob us of our joy.” And we didn’t. We sure had us some good times, even with BJ being sick so much. He weren’t even a year old when he started dancing to the music and trying his best to sing along. Gran said he learned to talk faster than any baby she ever done saw. And that’s a lot of babies! The first word BJ ever said was
sassy-pras
, and he was just three months old. I guess that’s ’cause Gran always said she was going to fix herself some sassafras tea. He must of just liked the sound of it.
    BJ giggled up at Gran and grinned without a tooth in his head. Him and Gran was alike that way, not having no teeth. “Sassy-pras!” he shrieked.
    I thought we would lose Gran right then and there. She fell back in her rocker with her hand covering up her heart. Mama started fanning her with the funeral parlor fan. I runned to get her some cool water from the well.
    Gran finally comed back to herself. “Tarnation!” she said. “How did that baby ever spit out that word?”
    Mama saw that Gran was okay, so she went over andpicked up BJ. Then she sat with him on the couch. He showed his dimple, smiling up at her. Mama smiled back. “You’re just going to have a lot to say to us, ain’t you, BJ?”
    They locked eyes. “Sassy-pras,” he said again, real soft and slow-like.
    “That’s right, BJ. Sassafras,” Mama told him. I think Mama and BJ talked in ways that only they could figure out.
    BJ was always right smart. After he learned how to walk, him and me used to go out in the woods. He’d point to every tree, animal, bird, and flower in sight. “What’s that, Lyddie?” he’d ask.
    “That’s a cardinal, BJ.”
    He’d nod. “That’s a carnal,” he’d say. “What’s that?” He’d point again.
    “That’s Queen Anne’s lace.”
    “That’s keen ann lace. What’s that?”
    “Them flowers are rhododendrons.”
    “Road in them ones. What’s that?”
    “That’s a weeping willow.”
    He stopped walking and looked at me. “How come the tree is crying, Lyddie?”
    I didn’t know what to say to that. I didn’t know what to say to most of them questions BJ asked. And he was full of them.
    One day when BJ was three years old, we got supper ready after church. BJ sat on a chair at the table, watchingus. “Mama, my