I nodded. This wasn’t what I had expected, but talking about her sister was probably something she needed to do.

“Susan was fifteen and I was eighteen when our parents were killed in a small plane. They had gone to Florida for the weekend with another couple, the couple who owned the plane. They ran into a thunderstorm.” Betsy picked up the salt shaker (a pink pig with holes in its head) and examined it as if there were some meaning there. She sighed, set it down, and continued.

“I was a freshman at the university, and Susan went to live with our aunt Pearl, our father’s sister. She was a widow and had never had any children, and she and Susan grew very close.”

I began to get the picture.

“Your aunt Pearl. She was a snake handler?”

Betsy nodded. “The sweetest, kindest person who ever lived. She and my father were raised in a strict Baptist family just like Susan and I were. But Aunt Pearl wanted more. She wasn’t satisfied with what she called ‘diluted religion.’ At least that’s what Susan said. She told me once that Aunt Pearl said she wanted to touch God.”

By handling snakes? But I nodded.

Betsy picked up the salt shaker again. “I didn’t know anything about it, what Aunt Pearl was doing. I imagine our parents did, but they never said anything to us. Even after they were killed and I came home for Christmas or spring break, Susan and Aunt Pearl kept what was going on a secret from me.”

She looked up. “I don’t know why Aunt Pearl never tried to proselytize me. But she didn’t. Just Susan.”

“You were older. Your beliefs were already established.”

“I guess so.” Betsy managed a smile. “Or maybe it was simply that she knew how scared I was of snakes.”

The smile faded. “But, you know, that’s part of it. You’re scared to death, but you handle them anyway, thinking your faith will protect you.”

“Which Susan believed.”

Betsy nodded. “Which Susan believed. And Aunt Pearl, too. She died just three years after our parents did. Throat cancer. But by that time, Susan had married Ethan. She married him when she was seventeen. She met him at the church, of course. He was Monk Crawford’s son.”

Tears suddenly rolled down Betsy’s face. She reached for a paper napkin and held it against her face.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Hollowell. It just hits me every now and then that Susan’s gone.”

“You stayed close?”

She nodded, the napkin still pressed to her eyes.