the prairie takes on a sweet rolling pitch as it tucks into a nebraska corner, an hour south of omaha. here, the rich black topsoil has grown generations of solid and faithful americans. a tiny remnant of whom have planted themselves in and around a place called murdoch, the sort of place where heads turn when a stranger drives by. and a family s name is carved in the local stone. it was easter sunday afternoon, 2006. a big farmyard, and like every year, and easter egg hunt. it was grandma and papa s yard. or mom and dad to tammy, who brought her own son like always. they found their easter eggs and found their easter basket.