John Davis, Mitch's uncle, sat on the porch, his foot touching the floor every so often to keep the rocker moving. The noise from the night bugs filled the cool air with a sense of peace, and the country farm smell of the horses in the barn was a relaxing elixir. He missed his wife Elizabeth of almost fifty years. She'd been good to him, took care of him, but they never had any children. He had no one to give his last name to, let alone any legacy. When he died, the Davis name would ...