The sun beat down mercilessly as Jarrod dug the grave under the big old tree in Strawberry's weed-choked churchyard. He straightened up and wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. The heat compelled him to shed his shirt long before and he grabbed for his canteen and tilted his head for a long drink. Stray droplets trickled down his sweaty chest as he ducked and poured some of the cool water over the back of his neck before slicking back his wet hair. Picking up the shovel again, Jarrod went back to his task, throwing scoopfuls of dirt out of the grave.

The mindless work gave him time to think, time to consider what he was going to do with his newfound discovery that Tom Barkley was his father. A part of him wanted to march into that grand house, proclaim his parentage and demand what he was entitled to: a name, a heritage, a part of it all. In spite of the circumstances of his birth, he was Tom Barkley's son just as much as Nick and Heath and there was no reason he shouldn't wear that proud name just the same as they did.

Jarrod tossed up another shovelful as the sweat ran down his back. There was more to consider, though, the feelings of the rest of Tom Barkley's family. In the couple weeks he'd been in Stockton, he'd gotten to know them all. Nick and Heath were becoming good friends and even their little sister, seemingly shallow and flighty at first, had gained his respect with her selfless work for those less fortunate.

And then there was Mrs. Barkley. Jarrod flung more dirt out of the grave. Gracious and kind, she had opened her home to him and even extended a standing invitation to Sunday dinner with the family when she found out he lived alone. How could he drop a bombshell like that on such a lovely lady and reveal that her husband had been unfaithful and fathered a son on another woman? No, Jarrod couldn't bring himself do that. It just wasn't in him to hurt people he was growing to like and respect. He was content with his life, doing what he loved, and if he didn't tell Nick and Heath he was their brother, at least he could still be their friend.

Jarrod inspected his work, decided it was finished and hauled himself out of the hole. He grabbed for his shirt and halted when he heard the gravelly voice behind him.

"You'd better cover that up. It's a disgrace, kin of mine looking like he's done hard time."

Jarrod turned slowly to face the lanky man standing there looking at him with undisguised contempt. He hadn't thought anyone would be around to see the scars that criss-crossed his back and arms when he took off his shirt and donned it now with slow, deliberate movements.

"Uncle Matt."

Matt Simmons looked at the freshly dug grave with a sneer. "And what do you think you're doing, burying that tramp of a sister of mine here with good, decent folk?"

Jarrod held tightly to his temper. "My mama was a good, decent woman," he said firmly, "she deserves a proper burial. And there's no one left in Strawberry to say otherwise."

The grizzled man looked as though he was going to argue, but the grim look on Jarrod's face made him reconsider and he changed the subject. "So I hear you've set up in Stockton."

"Yep." Jarrod had no desire for a prolonged conversation with his mother's brother.

"Met the Barkleys yet?'

Jarrod looked up sharply. He could see the calculating gleam in Simmons' eyes. "Real nice folks," he said casually as he gathered up his shovel and canteen.

"Real rich folks," Simmons corrected.

Jarrod tightened his grip on the shovel. "What are you getting at, Uncle Matt?"

Simmons crossed his arms and leaned back against the trunk of the tree. "Oh, just that there's things you should know, things we're owed for what Martha and I did for you and your mother."

"There's nothing you can tell me that I don't already know, Uncle Matt," Jarrod stated bluntly. "And the Barkleys don't owe anybody anything. Especially not you and Aunt Martha. Now if you'll excuse me…" Jarrod pushed past Simmons only to have his uncle grab his arm.

"Now listen, you little bastard," Simmons growled, face inches from Jarrod's. "You may have got yourself a high falutin' law degree, but I'm still owed for the shame you put our family through on account of being born. You and that little tramp you call a mother…"

Jarrod's fist caught him neatly in the chin and sent Simmons stumbling backwards before he was able to finish.

"I'm not that little boy you used to bully and beat up on, Uncle Matt," Jarrod snarled and Simmons inched away with fear in his eyes as Jarrod advanced on him threateningly. "And you'd better keep that filthy mouth off my mama and stay away from the Barkleys unless you want to feel more of my fists." He snatched up the dropped shovel and stalked off, not bothering to watch Simmons slink away.

Jarrod stopped briefly to wash at the pump as he walked back to the cabin. He went into the house and silently picked up the body of his mother, dressed lovingly by Hannah and Rachel in her best dress, and carried her out to lay her gently in the wooden casket he'd built earlier.

As he pushed the cart he'd found to take the coffin to his mama's final resting place, he noticed Matt Simmons and his wife watching from the shadows of the hotel. They'd better keep their distance, he thought grimly, or there'll be hell to pay. But he knew his uncle was too much of a coward to confront him again. He made a mental note to talk to Rachel and make sure that she'd contact him if they gave her or Hannah any trouble after he left.

Before he knew it, they were at the churchyard and Jarrod reverently set the coffin beside the freshly dug grave.

Jarrod turned to the elderly black woman beside him. "Hannah, you know best what she'd like to have said over her. Please?"

Hannah nodded, closed her eyes for a moment and then opened them, their soft brown shining clearly as she recited, " *'Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by your name; you are Mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow you. When you walk through the fire, you shall not be burned, nor shall the flame scorch you. For I am the Lord your God, the Holy One, your Saviour…' " She closed her eyes again and her hand sought Jarrod's to hold it tightly.

Rachel then spoke, reciting one of Leah's Thomson's favourite passages. " **'The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He makes me to lie down in green pastures; He leads me beside the still waters. He restores my soul; He leads me in the paths of righteousness for His name's sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for You are with me; Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me. You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies; You anoint my head with oil; my cup runs over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life; and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.' "

"Amen," they murmured together. Jarrod carefully tied the length of rope he brought with them around the coffin and slowly lowered it into the grave before he fell to his knees with his heart breaking.

Hannah threw a handful of dirt onto the coffin. "***'Ashes to ashes, dust to dust'," she said softly and turned away to walk slowly back through town. Rachel did the same before following to leave Jarrod a final moment alone.

"I know you're in a better place, Mama," Jarrod whispered as tears rolled unashamedly down his cheeks. "I just wish that better place could still be here with me." He knelt beside the grave until his grief wore itself out.

Finally standing and picking up the shovel, Jarrod tossed the dirt into the grave and the earth hit the wooden coffin with a dull thud, a sound Jarrod knew his heart would never forget.

.

*Isaiah 43:1-3

**Psalms 23:1-6

***Book of Common Prayer