Kevin Doyle and his son Jerry stood next to Kevin's brother, Terence, as they looked down at the grave while leaning on the shovel. The small wooden marker that Terence made was the only reminder of the mother they had and the farm they would soon lose if they didn't find money to pay for the back taxes.

"Ma wasn't one for figures," Kevin said as he drew his son near and tussled his hear hoping to take grief from the boy. Jerry didn't resist.

Terence said nothing about his mother. He turned and looked at this kid brother and nephew. "I thought Dad did better with finances...I guess I was wrong," he said then looked down at the barren soil and kicked a small rock down the small hill that overlooked the farm that hadn't been worked in ten years.

Kevin sighed, "Terence, there just has to be a way of getting some money. Like maybe a quick crop of some sort. "

"Kevin. I have been to just about every bank in the state and no one would loan me money to buy supplies for a crop. Not the way things are," Terence began to walk down the hill and Kevin caught up to him. "Furthermore, it's too late in the year to plant anything."

"Look," Kevin said, "I know it was hard on you this past year and you did your best moving in with Ma. It was the same when my Sarah died. It was hard, but I managed to move on," Kevin tried to make his brother understand that life was not over for him. "We'll find away to keep the farm, you'll see!"

"And how would that be, short of robbing a bank?" Terence laughed and continued to walk to the old log house.

Jerry heard the conversation, even though he remained at his grandmother's grave. The young teen sighed and his shoulders sagged. His uncle inherited a farm that was next to worthless to him. Jerry slowly pulled himself away from his grandmother's fresh grave and walked down the hill following his father and uncle.

The sun was setting behind the tall white pine trees that covered the hillside above the little cabin. Sleepy Eye was just over the hill a spell and were likely still basking in late summer sun. Jerry continued to shuffle his way down the hill and didn't really want to here his father and uncle argue about finances - at least not yet, when his grandmother was just barely buried.

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Charles Ingalls stood outside the little white painted clapboarded church. He agreed the Sunday before to meet with Reverend Alden who said that some of the partitioners had complained about the benches they spent their Sunday's on. Charles almost laughed at the Reverend when he first asked for his help.

Somehow in his mind's eye he could see Harriet Oleson being jabbed somewhere unmentionable by a small sliver and then making it sound as it the whole tree was planted somewhere. Even the thought made Charles smile and he then wondered how the Reverend managed to keep a straight face, let alone have someone like Mrs. Oleson nag at him the way she constantly does with just about everyone in Walnut Grove.

Although Charles and the good Reverend wouldn't be staring the work until the next, being Saturday, Charles wanted to get an idea of the materials he would need then see if his boss Lars Hanson could donate. Charles shivered with the damp night air.

The sound of the Reverend's buggy seemed to warm things, "Sorry, I'm late Charles," Alden pushed the brake on his foot then stepped down from his buggy. "My goodness. It has gotten a lot colder since I left my place," he smiled and shook Ingalls' hand and the two walked up the stairs to the building.

Charles said nothing at first to the Reverend, knowing the man was still dealing with the loss of his wife of only a few months. No one, including Robert Alden knew Anna was as sick as she was. However, the town of Walnut Grove had rallied around their beloved preacher and he seemed to be managing well.

Once inside the building, Alden walked part way up the side aisle and turned to Charles, "Thank you for meeting with me here tonight, Charles. It means a lot to me," he smiled warmly.

Charles smiled back, "Don't mention it. It's an honour to help out in here when asked," he looked around the room.

Alden nodded, "I suppose some see it that way. Others' don't," there was a tinge of bitterness in the Reverend's tone.

Charles walked closer to the older man who stood before him, "How are you doing?"

Alden drew a deep breath and then looked at Charles, "It's been hard..."

Charles nodded and place his hand firmly on the Reverend's right shoulder, "I'm sure it has been. But that's why we have friends, right? To help you through these tough times..."

Alden tried to smiled, "Yes, Charles," he said as he fought back tears.

Charles knew he'd hit a nerve and tried quickly to change subjects, "Now which one of these benches was in question?" he said as he began to look the seats over.

Alden swallowed and then smiled, "You know, I can't remember the last time I did any kind of woodworking. This will be a welcomed change," he said as he surveyed the benches.

Charles looked up from the bench he was at, "I didn't know you did woodworking."

Alden had a glint in hi eye, "I have some hidden talents, you might say," he smiled. Charles shook his head and chuckled in his funny way which made the Reverend laugh before he too started to examine the seats that doubled as school desks and Sunday pews.

"Oh, maybe this one should be completely replaced, Charles," Alden said and watched the farmer moved to his side. Charles nodded, "Yeah, and two others over there could use new seats too."

They both stood up and looked around the room. It seems they had looked at all the benches, "I'll talk to Hanson and meet you back here tomorrow morning, okay?"

Alden nodded, "I look forward to it, Charles."

"Good. So do I," Charles turned to leave then stopped, "and tomorrow night, you'll have supper with us."

Alden's mouth opened but nothing came out. His eyes misted again and he smiled, "Thank you, Charles."