Travis Dawson went pale the moment the little girl lifted his father’s harmonica to her lips.

But the trouble had started a minute earlier.

Half of Dry Fork, Texas had packed into the little white church for Earl Dawson’s funeral. Ranchers in pressed shirts. Women clutching tissues. Earl’s old brown cowboy hat rested on the casket, and his widow, June, sat in the front pew with her back straight and her eyes dry.

Then Travis shouted.

“She stole Dad’s harmonica right out of the casket!”

Every head turned.

Beside the casket stood a little girl nobody in town had ever seen. Seven, maybe eight. A faded yellow dress two sizes too big. Scuffed boots. A strawberry-blonde braid coming loose. Her small hands were clenched tight against her chest.

Travis planted himself in front of her and jabbed a finger toward the aisle. “Somebody get her out of here. Now.”

It was strange, June would think later. Her son didn’t look angry. He looked scared. And he kept glancing at the church door.

June rose, crossed to the girl, and knelt down.

“Open your hand, sweetheart.”

The girl’s fingers slowly uncurled. Inside was a worn silver harmonica, the initials E.D. rubbed nearly smooth. Earl had carried it in his shirt pocket for fifty years. June had laid it in the casket herself that morning.

“Where did you get this, honey?”

The girl’s chin trembled. “He gave it to me. Every Sunday, he taught me his song.”

Every Sunday.

For two years, Earl had skipped Sunday service. He said he was riding fence lines. June had stopped asking.

“What song?” she whispered.

The girl raised the harmonica with shaking hands and played four slow notes.

June’s heart stopped.

Earl had made up that little tune the night their daughter was born. He played it for Annie every night until she was grown. He never played it for anyone else. Not once. Not even for June.

“He only played that for our daughter,” she breathed.

Then she turned and looked at her son.

Because eight years ago, Travis had come home in the middle of the night, soaked from the rain, and told his mother that Annie was dead.

Travis wasn’t looking at her.

He was backing slowly toward the church door.