Once a week, Auntie George stopped by Auntie Will’s house on her way back from shopping for groceries. Sometimes they would weed Will’s flower garden together, or bake bread, or just sit next to the front window while they watched the neighbor children play across the street. Of all the seven sisters, they were the closest.

“I’m worried about Ignatius,” said George one week as they sat crocheting together.

“Yes, I am too,” replied Will, “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about it.”

“You too?”

Will nodded.

George continued. “After last Sunday’s dinner, I had a talk with him. I had to tell him to put down that dog-eared old Bible he carries around with him everywhere nowadays so we could talk. He’s gotten so deathly quiet lately, I can barely get a peep out of him. Will, I asked him if he has any friends at school or at church, and he said no. I asked him, “None?” And he said none. I asked him if he didn’t get lonely, and he said no. And then I asked him what he does after school before his father gets home, and he said, ‘I go for a walk over to the cemetery.’”

“Oh! My!” sighed Will, shaking her head. Her eyes watered up, and she pulled a lace handkerchief out of her purse and dabbed her face with it. “It must be so hard for him. It’s been a year now, hasn’t it?”

George nodded sadly. “Have you noticed he’s lost his appetite? He leaves half the food on his plate Sundays.”

“I’ve noticed. There’s something queer about that, for a boy his age. He’s gotten so thin! And Ernest let slip something the other day about how he doesn’t sleep properly at night. He catches him up at all hours reading, and then he’s up again before the crack of dawn.”

“Josephine was the heart of that family.”

Will sighed. “You know that sometimes when a person dies, there are others who step forward to take that person’s place in the world. Those she leaves behind find strength inside they didn’t know they had until she left. But sometimes, no one carries on for the dead. Sometimes those left behind only learn how much they leaned on her, and now that she’s fallen, they fall too. Sometimes a death leaves behind a hole that only gets wider and more terrible as time goes on. I’m afraid that’s what’s happened since Josephine died.”

“You only need to see Ernest, to know how true that is. He could always only barely take care of himself. He’s terrified of facing the pain of his loss and even more terrified of being weak in front of his son. So he’s shut down. He just buries himself in work.”

“And the bottle.”

George shook her head.

“What should we do, George?”

“I don’t know. I’ve thought often of asking Ernest to let us take care of the boy. Or what if I asked them both to move in with me?”

Will shook her head. “He’ll never do it. The man is nothing if not proud. He’ll think it’s charity and never accept. And you know it would kill him to be separated from the boy.”

“We can’t save Ernest. We have to think about the welfare of Ignatius.”

“How do we ask a father a thing like that? He’d be wounded...”

“I don’t know, Will. Maybe you’re right. Maybe all we have left is to pray.”

Will let her crochet work slip off her lap onto the floor as she slowly slid to her knees. She clasped George’s hands and both of them bowed their heads.

“Dear God,” she prayed, “we ask you in the holy name of Jesus to please watch over this family.”

“Yes, Lord!”

“And send down your guardian angel to be with Ignatius....”