Chapter Six
				Lee's Story
	When I woke up a few hours later I saw Rosalee cast her beautiful
brownish green eyes on me.
	"Did you have a nice sleep?" she inquired.
	"Yeah, how's your story going, Rosalee?"
	"Good, and call me Lee please, it's much more comfortable than
Rosalee."
	"Well then Lee, would you like to read me your story?"
	"I guess, I don't know. I'm kind of nervous."	
	"Come on please," I begged with my best puppy dog face."Please."
	"Okay, but please, remember it's just a rough draft."
	"Okay, let's hear it."
	"On a cool October morn I woke up to find that I was all alone in my
tiny house on the plain. Usually my parents were there, but this morning I was
alone in the cozy my cozy home. I slipped my feet out from under the comfort
of the piles of quilts and placed them on the cold, bare wood floor. I shivered
and went in to the the downstairs room. the embers in the hearth glowed, yet
sometime during the night the fire had gone out.
	I went outside to get some wood to build the fire and there I the
remains of my two parents. My father lay slumped over against the wood pile.
Congealed blood oozed from the bullet that was lodged in his head. Nearby
my mother lay. Her pregnant belly face up like a mountain, her arms and torso
were hacked to pieces, the large knife still remained in her head. I stiffled a
scream, grabbed the biggest pile of wood that could fit into my arms and
carried it inside. I bolted the door and built up the fire. Warm tears slid down
my face and I felt them stinging my eyes and cracked lips. I crawled back into
the still warm bed and cried myself to sleep.
	The next morning I woke up and went out to the downstairs room,
hoping it was some twisted dream. Yet I saw the same picture, a fire dying
and an empty room. Today I felt weak inside, but I was determined to face
the tragedy. We lived out in the country, a good three days wagon ride to the
nearest town. No one ver rode by here, no one. We were alone and cut off
from the rest of the world. And now I was alone and desolate. I was
determined to be the 19th century independent woman.
	I welled up all my courage and unlatched the door. My parent stil lay
there. I could just let them rot. I drug the large shovel over to the patch of
land by my mother's garden. I dug two six foot deep graves. I lugged my
parents over and layed them to rest, marking the spot with a two large rocks.
I went over to my field.
	My field wasn't special. The fact that nothing had been grown on it was
what made it special to mel. Wildflowers grew in their own, undecided spot. I
plucked some of the last few Queen Anne's Lace and laid them over the
graves. Tears again burned my cheeks. These though, were last I would ever
cry in this the thirteenth year of my life.
	Twelve harvests later. I was a women. Muscles developed from
chopping wood, plowing and hand picking the baby peas to heat in the warm
beef stew. Cattle lowed and I sat on the rocking chair that my mother rocked
me in when I was a baby. I was sewing a new quilt. Over the last twelve
years I had made three quilts. The size of the fields had decreased. then again
there was only one to feed. Over the years I had one breif visitor. A vistor
that stole my heart and my love, yet his fleeting presence soon left me back to
a normal life.
	That's all I have so far."
	"Wow that's great!"
	"Really?'
	"Yes, wow I can't belive that someone my age wrote that."
	She blushed and looked down at her worn leather shoes.
	"Now I guess we better figure out something to do about Billy." she
suggested, clearly tring to change the subject.
	"I guess. I have no clue what to do."