The baby had never gone into the ground behind the Methodist church at all.

Evelyn had sealed this christening gown in the five-and-dime shirt box on the very day she handed my daughter over to Thomas Rountree’s family in Tyler, Texas.

I picked the paring knife up off the table mat, my thumb resting heavy on the cool cherrywood handle.

The steel blade caught the sunlight from the window and reflected the bright white spot of the gown lying open in the cardboard box.

I opened my fingers all the way.