Shortly before my father died, he started writing down memories of his childhood in Missouri. Guv was a powerful writer, but the tumor had done its work, chewing away portions of his brain, and his memories came out flat and fragmented. A couple of them were about his Aunt Mary, his mother's older sister.
Gramma and Mary had both married German men. Mary's husband was a farmer named Frank Hollenbach. They had two sons, Francis and Verne; Verne was just a few years older than Guv and they spent a lot of time together when they were growing up.
Later in life, Mary had another baby. Here is the story that Guv wrote, six or seven months before he died:
I was kneeling over by the statue of Saint Francis when Sister Olga hurried down the aisle coming toward me through the dim light of St Mary’s side altar... She pointed with the rosary end of her crucifix and handed me a piece of paper torn out of an exercise book. “Someone is very sick,” was printed in pencil on the note. She whispered, pointing outside where Sister Perpetua and my mother were standing by the sacristy door.
My aunt Mary had had a stillborn baby.
His fragment stops there and goes on after an empty half-page, picking up another memory about Mary chastising her little brother Tomy for drinking too much, and Tomy defying her by opening up more and more bottles of beer. There was no more information about the dead baby.
I heard a different version of the dead-baby story when I was growing up, though I can no longer remember where I heard it. I do remember that back when I was peppering Verne with questions about family history, Guv forbad me from asking him about this story. Mary, after all, was Verne's mother, and he might not know the story--or might not want the story known.