"I guess that shows they at least believed what they were doing was right-not just whacking you on the spur of the moment because they were mad as hell, taking their anger out on your backside." He thought a moment. "But in spite of what your mother told you, you never spanked Randy?"
"Lord, no! And I wouldn't-and couldn't. Not that there weren't times he gave me ample provocation. Hitting him isn't in me. I deserved what I got, at least in my parents' eyes. My father did it because, to him, lying was so despicable he was forced to respond in a like manner. That was his way-his responsibility- teaching me a very important lesson. Maybe his father spanked him-I don't know. While I don't agree with the method, I came to understand that it wrenched my parent's heart to do it but there was no question about their motives-they did it out of love. That's why it bothered me so much when Martha seemed to understand so quickly."
"She's a sharp little kid."
"God, I'll miss her."
Dean held his wife closely, expecting more tears, but they didn't come. The two remained that way, blanketed in the comforting stillness of the old house and one another's arms. Dean stretched and extinguished the bedside lamp but neither slept. A long time passed until both heard the muffled but distinct sound of Martha's quiet sobbing in her adjacent room. They knew there was little more they could do or say to console the lonely child.