The Rosewood Casket by Sharyn McCrumb

went by all night on the highway, so she learned not to be fussy about where she slept. As long as she has her stuffed camel, she’s all right. I just look in on her to make sure she doesn’t kick the covers off.”
    Debba shivered. “I don’t know if I can sleep in this house,” she whispered. “I hope we don’t have to stay long.”
    “It looks okay to me,” said Kelley. “It could use a good cleaning, and a lick of paint here and there, but the woodwork is beautiful. I want to walk around outside tomorrow, and look at the mountains.”
    “I heard they released wolves into the mountains somewhere around here,” said Debba.
    “Oh, wolves never hurt anybody,” said Lilah, who had no patience with vapory women. “They weren’t timber wolves, anyhow. They’re some little doggy kind of wolf that used to live up here before people trapped them all to death. I read about it in one of the park guides I found at a rest stop. It says they only released a dozen or so, and they’re so shy you’d be lucky to ever catch a glimpse of one. I think they have little collars on to make sure that people don’t hurt them. Sure is a far cry from olden times, isn’t it? Now we have to protect the wolves from the people. The way I see it, you’re a lot safer here than you would be back in Nashville.”
    Kelley smiled. “There sure are some wolves in Nashville, all right. I dated a few of them.” She added hastily, “But Charles Martin isn’t one of them!”
    “Well, there are certainly wild bears out in these woods,” said Debba. “And wasps, and poison ivy, and maybe moonshiners, for all I know. People do get killed in the forest these days, I don’t care what century it is. Just don’t let your little girl stray too far from the house.”
    “She’ll be fine,” said Lilah. “I’ll ask Rudy to keep an eye on her.”
    “Who is Rudy?” asked Kelley, wondering if there was an extra brother Charles Martin had neglected to mention.
    “Why, Rudy is my guardian angel,” said Lilah. “Of course, I just call him Sir. ” She smiled modestly as the two women stared at her. People always did seem to expect an explanation when she mentioned Rudy. But this time was the exception. Debba and Kelley looked at each other, and then turned away.
    “I have to go unpack,” said Debba softly, and she hurried from the kitchen before anyone could reply.
    Kelley stood up, but she was smiling. “And I have to go check on Kayla, but, hey, you thank your angel for me, okay? I’d be real glad to know that he’s looking out for her.” One thing about being an item with a country music star: she had sure gotten used to being around strange people. After a while they started to seem just like everybody else.
    *   *   *
    In the dimly lit parlor, Clayt Stargill was hunched under the circle of light of the table lamp, reading the sheaf of yellow lined paper to his older brothers. “All I can figure is, he seems to have gone all traditional in his old age,” he told them.
    “He’s lost his reason,” said Robert Lee. Even though the television was not turned on, he sat facing it squarely, as was his custom at home. “We didn’t do any of this when Mother passed away. She had a proper burial in a new metal casket from Graybeal’s, and there was none of this foolishness about salt and covered mirrors. It’s pagan is what it is.”
    “I think a man is entitled to face death on his own terms,” said Garrett.
    “It could have been worse,” said Charles Martin, smiling. He was cradling the Martin in his lap, occasionally strumming a soft chord as he listened to his brothers. “Daddy once said he wanted me to get Johnny Cash to sing ‘Peace in the Valley’ at his funeral. Uh, that’s not in there, is it?”
    Clayt grinned. “Wish it was, Charlie, but the answer is no. Guess you’ll get to provide the music yourself, with Grandmaw’s old guitar, there. He wants an old hymn that he calls ‘Just Beyond the Eastern