Aaron Mahnke

But she stayed in touch with folks back home as best she could.

One of the people who wrote her often was Mr. Roth.

It's understandable, really.

For a little while, his daughter Mary had come back, and he was attached to Laurence because of it.

And on the rare occasions that she returned to Watsika to visit her parents, she would always make it a point to walk next door and visit the Roths.

She would knock, of course.

It wasn't really her home, after all.

But they would always welcome her in.

I imagine that they would make her a cup of tea and gather together in the sitting room.

I have to wonder if Mary's velvet headdress was still sitting out on the table and if Laurence ever felt like it looked familiar somehow.

What we do know is that each time she visited the Roths, she would do them a favor.

After a bit of polite conversation, she would sit back in her chair and close her eyes.

The clock on the mantle would tick loudly, almost like footsteps approaching from another room.

And then her eyes would open again.

But it wouldn't be Laurence.

Hello, mother, she would say to them.

Hello, father.

How are you?

There's something strange at the intersection of illness and spirituality.

I hope our journey today made that more than clear.