Continued...

Bertie came to his mother, his shoulder high in fear.

He paused and took a deep breath.

"Mother, what are you talking about?"

"That!" She pointed with her trowel. As he waited for his response, she used the metal tool to scratch her left knee behind the pad. Bertie knelt to get a closer look, knodding deeply and dramatically. His mother stepped back and took a quick mental inventory of her new flowers. All were healthy, bright and ready to be planted. She reviewed her plan of attack. She had new soil; she had the new duds. But the sun was ratching high up into the sky and she knew her time outside was limited to begin with at her age.

A huge cheer echoed from the nearby living room. She moved her view back to Bertie. The back of his neck also had joined in the chorus of the temperature-beads of sweat had started to form and drag down the sides of his throat.

"Pulled me away from my game for..."

"What?"

"Nothing, I'm not sure what it is."

"Did we have an animal die here? Did we bury it here? I can't remember. Maybe your father killed something like a ground hog with you boys?"

"No, that's not it, that's not it at all. Looks like that 'coon we found a few years back."

"Raccoon? I don't remember any raccoon."

"No, you didn't. It was a secret. Me and Ronnie found it. Limbing back up in the woods behind...."

"Ronnie and I," she demanded, pointing again with the trowel."

"Behind Pete's house. Took it to Ronnie's shed and put it out of it's misery."

Bert declined to elaborate.

"Ah, okay. Now get yourself back in to that house. And get me something to drink," Bert nodded without looking at his mother. He held out a hand and she placed the trowel in it. He quickly dig up several other sets of bones. Mrs. Castle looked on.

"That was just one 'coon?"

Bertie kept digging, looking at a bone here and there, as it they were magical or weighted.

"I said, was that just one??"

"No, well, no, looks like there might be some other bones. They are small. Probably just died here trying to dig up the racoon," he looked to the street and could only see a small piece--the shade of the nearby oak held off a full view.

"Let me get you that water," he stood.

"Can I still finish my work?" his mother inquired.

"I think so. But you might want to separate out some of those bones. Can't help thinking that it won't help anything grow much. There might be some fur in there too."

Bert went into the house and forgot about the water. He positioned himself on the end of the divan so he could see his mother finish her work.