And then she talked a sight, more than was good for her, wanting to wear the dolesomeness out of my mind. “I’d give a pretty to see Alpha’s last child. I would, now. Hain’t seed him, nor Rilla’s last ‘un, nor Sue Ella’s youngest. Never they come and bring their biddy ones. I’d give a pretty.” She sat in bed, quilt-covered knees under her chin, looking back many a year. “I recollect your ma when she was a chap. A tidy body, good to mind and help. Housekeeping or field work, so quick she whisked a broom or hoe-chopped, never one could keep alongside. She could trash any of her brothers in a corn row. Fair she was, though a mite thin, to speak the truth; fair as a wild bloom. A choose and pick she could o’ had amongst the fellers. First, Laird Todd, Clark Millen, and Joe Quinn tried to keep her company, but nary a thing she’d have to do with them. ‘They hain’t a man good enough for her,’ I told her father.

“Luster Ross asked for her hand. Asked Boone if he’d agree to having him for a son-in-law. Luster Ross, who was heiring more land than a stick could be shuck at, coal lands big companies were trying to buy, asked her to be his bride. Aye nor nay Alpha answered, caring not a grain for all his leather boots and proud horses. A different beast he rode every visit; a fine coat he wore on his back, and his pockets rattled silver every step. He’s rich now beyond counting. Owns mines, and opens and closes them as he fits. Threeseam Mine. Hardstay. Lizzyblue. Got part ownership o’ Blackjack Mine. I hear he’s got pastures full o’ racing horses in blue-grass country. Gambling horses. Lives in a house size of a hilltop, and never dirts his hands.

“‘Your daughter is overweening in her pride,’ Boone kept saying. ‘Overweening like the Book says.’ And now I wonder. A sight of fellers gave Alpha the eye, I tell you. Colter Hollowell rode time and agin all the way from Licking River in Rowan County; and Taul-bee Lovern from Hardin Town, and Cleve Arnett from Big Leatherwood. Upstanding families, good stock. Now they’s one feller your pap allus was jealous of. Taulbee Lovern. Oh, Boone’d quarrel at me the way Alpha acted toward him, but never a word to her. ‘She must be waiting to marry the King of England,’ he’d say.”

“I’ve heard of Taulbee Lovern,” I said. “He’s got a boy that’s the brightest feller ever was. Spells and reads writing, and never darked a schoolhouse door.”

“Alpha could o’ had rings on her fingers and combs in her hair,” Grandma said, “but along come Brack Baldridge from Tribbey Camp, a long, lean, strung-out person. Him she tuck. Married a coal digger, a mole-feller, grubbing his bread underground. For gold and silks, she’d no fancy, and I was right glad for a fact. But allus I’d wanted her to choose one who lived on the land, growing his own victuals, raising sheep and cattle, beholden to nobody.