Biff's Cousin is Murdered

One day, I found out I had a cousin.

I was riding on my train when George came running up, all out of breath.

"Biff, your Daddy got a telegram." George had to trot to keep up with the locomotive. "He wants to see you in the parlor."

I kept going.

George stopped. "You'd better hurry," he called out.

I set the brake and turned the throttle down to idle. "George, would you mind taking the engine back to the machine shed?"

He nodded. "No problem," he said.

Daddy wore a serious expression; not worry, because Daddy didn't ever worry about anything. Sad, he looked sad. He motioned for me to sit down next to him. He looked me in the eyes. I got that queasy feeling in my stomach.

"Biff, you have..." he paused. "You had a cousin named Callista. She was murdered."

I looked away.

"I needed to tell you this before you hear it at school. I'm taking you to the funeral, which will be in about 10 days."

"Okay, Daddy." I didn't know what else to say.

"Your cousin's father is my brother. He's never amounted to anything much. But since she was my niece, and the papers will be sending reporters, we are paying for a nice service for her."

Now he looked away. "They caught the sick bastard who killed her. He tied her up, raped her, and then cut crosses in her flesh. She bled to death. She was only eleven. I would be very surprised if that filth lives long enough to get a trial."

Neither one of us said anything for a minute.

"Daddy, do the crosses mean the sick bastard is a Christian?"

"I don't know. Maybe he thinks he is. God knows Christians have committed plenty of atrocities."

"What's that mean, Daddy?"

"You'll learn soon enough what kinds of people call themselves Christians. Run along now and play."

I walked away slowly. Did I have other cousins? Maybe kids my age? I didn't ask myself why Daddy never told me about my cousin.