he weather was unusually cold for November in the south. Though it was Alabama, the weather was always cooler in the mountains than the lower elevations in north Alabama.

Eleanor and Robert were making their way carefully along Broad Street. It was early Saturday morning, so there was no morning "rush hour". Besides, rush hour only lasted about ten minutes in a town the size of Grayson, especially since so many businesses had relocated to the "four-lane" west of town. The new Super-Mart was hurting Johnson's Drug Store, and the new grocery chain was cutting into Harold Tompson's Produce Mart, but at least Annie's Café was still doing a decent business.

Annie was unlocking the front door as they turned the corner; she held open the door as Eleanor helped her Papa inside. The warmth of the small dining room, the smell of fresh brewed coffee and Lewis' home-baked cinnamon rolls were a welcome change from the chill outside.

As they settled themselves at a table by the window, Annie brought their coffee and took their breakfast order. She was a pleasant woman in her mid-sixties. Annie had been a friend of the mother Eleanor scarcely remembered. There was a picture on the fireplace mantle, but the memory of a pair of loving arms was about all Eleanor remembered. Funny, although Annie had known the woman who had been her mother and Robert's daughter, Eleanor and Annie had never been particularly close.

After their breakfast had arrived, Robert and his granddaughter sat in comfortable silence and watched the town come to life. As the shops and businesses opened, more people walked the sidewalks, huddling to keep out the wind that, at times, seemed to chill to the bone.

Robert was still active for a man approaching his ninetieth birthday; he felt fortunate. He still lived independently, even if his tiny cottage was behind his granddaughter's home. He really didn't mind. She looked in on him frequently, and called often when she was away. Most often they shared meals at one location or the other, but they knew each other's routines and respected them, taking care to not interrupt his afternoon naps nor call her too early on Sunday mornings.

Though she called him Papa, Robert was Eleanor's Grandfather. She was the only child of his only daughter, Miriam. Eleanor's father had died in Korea shortly after she was born. When Miriam and her mother, June, were killed in an auto accident more than thirty-five years ago, it has fallen to Robert to be father, mother, grandma and grandpa to a bewildered little girl whose world had also changed in an instant.

Eleanor grew to be a pretty woman, but not striking. She probably wouldn 't be noticed on entering a room, but she most likely would be remembered after leaving. Her face was well proportioned, with eyes not too close, a straight nose with no lumps or bumps, and adequately full lips. Her features fit together exceptionally well. Once upon a time, she had kept her warm brown hair lightly frosted, but at forty, that was no longer necessary. There was plenty of gray in her hair, and she had decided she liked it.

Then there were her eyes, her best feature. They weren't exactly blue, nor were they gray, but when her sensibilities were offended, they quickly changed to fire and ice. And if you missed the change the first time, you didn't the second.

Annie was filling their cups for the second time; they looked up just as a young girl walked by the window carrying a young child on her hip. Though she was nineteen, she looked little more than sixteen. The little boy looked maybe two years old. The girl's blond hair spilled out from under a knit stocking cap pulled down to just above hazel eyes; the child had the same hair and eyes, but he wore a "Lil' Slugger" baseball cap on his head. Though they were both dressed warmly, their cheeks were flushed from the cold.

They watched as the pair passed by the Café, Eleanor more intently than Robert. "If that's mother and baby, he doesn't stand a chance," she said. Robert met her gaze and held it for a moment.

"Don't be so quick to judge a single parent," he said. "I don't think I did so badly."

"But Papa, you were older, more established. And you'd already brought up one child!"

"I was an old man. I loved you dearly, but I had to learn patience all over again. And that young girl has more energy than I've had in fifty years. More blind optimism, too."

"OK, point taken; but its still not fair to the baby."

"And you know life isn't always fair."

The young girl and her child were soon forgotten as Eleanor returned to her library book and Robert to the morning newspaper. They were so immersed in their respective thoughts neither of them heard the Café door open. Eleanor was a bit taken aback when the young blond with the two-year-old made her way to the table next to them. The young woman took off their coats and caps, set the little boy in a booster chair, and sat down next to him.

When Annie reached the table the girl ordered hot tea and a cinnamon roll for herself, oatmeal and a glass of milk for the child. When their food was delivered, Robert watched Eleanor watch the young woman. She quickly moved her hot tea out of the boy's reach and opened an oversized purse. She took out a jar of baby food, added fruit to the oatmeal, along with milk to cool it down. She poured the remainder of the milk into a "sippy cup" and proceeded to feed him the oatmeal and fruit. Although Eleanor had no children of her own, marriage and motherhood just hadn't seemed to be in her future, she was impressed. The girl showed far more confidence and skill than she'd expected.

As the little boy ate, he began to notice his surroundings; his eyes met Eleanor's and he grinned and giggled. She found herself smiling. The young woman looked up and smiled too.

"Hi," she said.

"Hi," returned Eleanor. "Is that your little boy?"

"No," she said. "He's my little brother."

"Oh," said Eleanor, not a little embarrassed at her earlier assumptions. "Giving your folks a break this morning?"

"No," she said. "It's just me and Ben. We're out to run errands and decided to treat ourselves to breakfast. I've come to Annie's for years; it sort of feels like one of my homes. Now I treat Ben and myself whenever I can." Giving the child another bite of oatmeal, she said "His name is Benjamin, after our Daddy, but we've always called him, Ben. And I'm Allison."

"I'm Eleanor, and this is my grandfather, Mr. Williamson."

Robert spoke up, "That's a bit formal. If you want to use 'Mister', make it 'Mr. Robert'."

Robert shot Eleanor a look as she said, "I know its none of my business, but how is it that you and Ben are on your own?"

"Your right," said Robert. It is none of your business."

There was a brief look of sadness on her face, then Allison said, "Oh, I don't mind. People often think he's my baby, so I've told the story many times. It sounds a little "hokey" sometimes, after so many repetitions. But its true."

"It wasn't supposed to work out like this," she said. "I'd been a little embarrassed when Mama told me she was pregnant. I was in high school, and sure, everyone knows their parents "do it", as we put it then. But no one wants to think about it, especially at that age. Besides, I was looking forward to my junior and senior years and wasn't interested in becoming a permanent baby sitter. Little did I know." she said with a smile.

"At about seven months, Mama got really sick-something about her blood pressure. She had to stay in bed until Ben was born, so he wouldn't be born too early. Mama delivered him at eight and a half months, but the bed rest caused a blood clot to develop. It went to her heart and she died.

"I'm so sorry," Eleanor said. "It must have been really hard. My mother died also, but I was so young I hardly remember her."

Allison smiled. "It was awfully hard on Daddy. He tried, but he still blamed the baby for Mama's death. I tried once to remind him that he was a partner in having a baby, but the look he gave me stopped me short. Finishing high school was really important to me and Daddy knew that. I guess his gift to me after Mama died was to stay around until I graduated, but two days later he was gone. He left the paperwork I needed for access to the checking and savings accounts and a note. He said he was sorry, but he couldn't take it any more. Mama's death and taking care of the baby was more than he could stand. 'You're a smart girl, Allison; and a good girl. I know you'll do your best,' he said.

"Well, so far, my best usually feels like two full-time jobs. One is taking care of a two-year-old; the other is trying to support both of us. Ben is a really sweet baby; he laughs and giggles a lot, and hardly cries. And no matter how tired I am at the end of the day, when I pick him up after work, his excitement at seeing me helps me make it through the rest of the evening.

"You know, sometimes I wonder why things happened the way they did. Why does God let things like this happen? Why do Mamas die and Daddies run away? Finally I just accepted the fact that I may never know why, but God has a reason and its must be a good one. That ideas is what keeps me going sometimes; until I reached this point, I stayed so angry at God I couldn't function."

Ben had finished his oatmeal, and Allison had managed to finish her tea and cinnamon roll while she fed him and talked. Eleanor was quiet; she was a little overwhelmed by the strength and courage of this young woman. Allison was preparing Ben to go back out into the cold. As she did so, Eleanor and Robert looked at each other, then back at the young pair. She wanted to do something to help them, but she didn't want Allison to get the impression she felt she was incapable.

"Allison," she said, writing down a phone number and handing it to her. "Papa and I would really like it if you and Ben could have dinner with us sometime. Would you?"

She took the paper, looked at the two of them and smiled broadly. "Yes, I'd like that a lot. Thank you."