He stuck his shovel deep into the fresh earth and wiped away the sweat and tears from his eyes. He couldn't believe she was gone, just like that. As far as he could remember, she was fine last night, but by morning, she was dead. Tuberculosis. That's what it must have been. She must have caught it from the foul air down by the lake. He woke up startled and disturbed by his dream. She was in it, but the events were blurred. He grasped his bottle of moonshine and noisily drank a mouthful. He turned over on his bed, felt for a woman who was no longer there and fitfully fell asleep again. Dread.