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ever gave and more by making my life here good,” I say.
    He gives me a smile. “I’m not so much help around here now. I think it won’t be too long before this old body goes to sleep the big one.”
    It’s the first time he’s brought this up since the day he moved in. He told me then that he was an old man and he might die any time, and if he died, he didn’t want a big fuss made. At the time I just laughed him off, but now I want to know what he wants.
    “When you die, I will take care of things. What do you want me to do?” I ask.
    His reply startles me. “I want to go the old way. You make a log pile like a nest, and you line it with moss. You dress people in their best clothes and give them gifts to help them get to the spirit land. You say your last words, then you light the fire. When the fire gets low you heap more wood on it till the bones turn to ash. Then you take whatever is left and you put it in a box. You take it to a spot they liked and leave it there under another pile of sticks.”
    “You know that’s illegal. You can’t just bury people wherever you want,” I say.
    “When has legal ever bothered you so much?” he asks. I laugh, for I am fond of saying there are so many laws a person can’t help but break two or three every day just by accident.
    “I’ll think about that,” I tell him and change the subject. “I think I will have the kids home for Christmas this year.”
    “That would be nice. I haven’t seen all of them together for a long time. It might be the last time. Anzel, I am serious about my going. I can’t bear the thought of this old body going to strangers who will poke and prod and try to find out why I died. I will die because I am an old man, and I want to go the old way.”
    He is not going to let me off the hook. “Have you picked out a spot?” I ask him, half in jest.
    “Yes, I started building the pile at the sawmill. I wanted to have it ready in case I didn’t make it through the winter. But it isn’t big enough, it takes a lot of wood to send a person to the other side.”
    I think about his long walks in the fall. So that was what he was doing for such a long time out in the woods. The thought of the old man building his own funeral pyre makes my eyes fill with tears.
    “Don’t be upset, Granddaughter. I am at peace with death.” He reaches over and pats my knee. “Nearly all the people I have known in my life are there waiting for me.”
    “I am not crying because you will die. It’s the thought of you out there piling sticks for your own grave that bothers me. No one should have to do that. Don’t do it anymore, please. When the time comes, I will do what needs to be done.”
    “Do you promise?” he asks.
    “Yes.”
    He leans back in the chair, contented. I wonder what kind of a crazy promise I’ve just made. Can I really do what he asks? I decide to talk it over with Clint when he comes at Christmas.
    We go to bed, and my dreams are full of fire.

Chapter Three
    The preparations for Christmas are fun. The tree is a fake one, and I don’t even take the decorations off it from year to year, just tuck it in the storage shed. The tree is covered with decorations that are mostly homemade by two generations of children. I know who made every one of them. I don’t take the Christmas lights off the house, so it’s just a matter of plugging them in.
    My three boys say they can come, and my daughter’s husband and his new wife will come Boxing Day. My daughter Nadine died in a car accident when the girls were tiny — a senseless crash when she was driving to the store for milk — but Faith is a lovely woman who keeps close to our family, for the girls’ sake as well as for mine. Darcy was a lucky man to find her. Tammy and Sarah are my oldest grandchildren, both throwbacks to the Native and French side of our family. Both have black hair and eyes, and they are beautiful and smart.
    The days leading up to Christmas are cold and windy. Grandpère