"What's over there?"
Roy raced to catch Sara. He caught a faint whiff of her perfume, and it triggered memories of Europe and the only other woman who ever captured Roy's attention. When they stopped, Sara lovingly pulled weeds from the burial grounds and tossed them out of the fenced area. Roy had recently replaced the older wooden grave markers with real headstones. Sara looked at Roy with a question mark.
Roy pointed at the first headstone. "William was my grandfather. He built this log cabin in 1848. His wife over there, Rebecca, gave birth to my Pop, Thaddeus, that same year. She died in childbirth three years later along with my aunt, Clara. Grandfather was a miner and during a cave-in, he was killed in 1871. My pop, Thaddeus, met his wife when she was nine. She was part of a wagon train heading west to California, when Indians attacked and killed everyone, except Pop's wife. She couldn't remember her own name, so Pop called her Rebecca, after his mother. Pop raised Rebecca until she turned eighteen, then in 1880, they got married in town. I was born less than a year later. She was a frail woman and giving birth was painful, so eight months after my birth, she died. I was raised by my pop until my sixteenth birthday. Unfortunately, he was killed by Apache Indians one day while out hunting."
"Roy, that's too many deaths for one small family."
Roy nodded. "It's my family curse."
"Did you ever get married?"
Roy's response was forceful. "No, Ma'am!"
"Whoa Roy; that answer came a little too fast. No woman of interest; ever? Not even someone who didn't know you were secretly in love with?"
A tiny smile formed at the corner of Roy's mouth.
"Ah, I thought so. Who was she?"
Embarrassed, Roy looked down, turned and walked toward the cabin.