Dr. Hall turned around and began to walk back to the house and his waiting buckboard.  Dessie followed, and not a word was exchanged between them.  He helped her into the wagon, then got up, himself, and told the horses to “giddyup.” 

     The ride back to Dessie’s house was so different than the earlier wild ride that day.  It had been a ride of hurry, of trying to beat the clock that had been ticking towards death.  This ride was somber, sad, no hurry, no clock to race.  Dr. Hall was quiet, introspective, melancholy.  His pain ran deep, and her grief connected with his for just an instant.  She knew how he felt and touched his hand holding the horses’ reigns.  He glanced at her with a weak smile, and...

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