I was not totally surprised when she followed me into the church. I did not argue with her then, and I have learned not to bother arguing with her since then. Instead, I am more careful where I venture, for she is sure to follow me. We have never been in bear's cave, but we have been in a few rough spots over the years. Those are stories for another day though.

When she asked me what I was thinking, I was positioning myself for a shot of the empty sanctuary, birds and all. "Honestly, I am thinking about the beauty of this old building and of the stained glass windows and of how sad it all seems. Once this was part of a thriving community. Now it stands silent and alone. I'm also thinking that I am glad you offered to be my guide. I'm sure that this isn't part of the normal tour and I never would have discovered it without you."

I almost wanted to hug her, in that moment, but didn't. I wasn't sure how it she would receive such attentions. Instead, I finished up with photographing the interior of the church. What I would have given to seen it once in it's hay day, to hear the music floating down to the cemetery and to hear the stories of the people. Some of those stories were probably handed down in Miss Taylor's family. I would have to question her more closely, as part of my research, and see if she had any older living relatives I could meet. At that moment though, simply standing there with her was enough. For a moment, I was content.

Most of my family is gone, and was gone, at that point. My parents died when I was a little boy and my Uncle Seth raised my sister and I. He moved us out to Hilo, where he was a teacher at the University of Hawaii at Hilo, in the history department. My sister is still alive, but besides her, there isn't anyone closer than some second cousins. It was rather a lonely way to grow up, knowing that I was the sole heir to the MacDonald name, at least in my branch of the family tree. Of course, as my sister and I always joke, there is always Uncle Ronald.