Caleb stood at the end of my planted rows with his hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets. His eyes were red, and he looked like he had not slept. “Aunt Joanne, I am not here to argue,” he said quietly. “I came to ask you something, and I need you to hear all of it before you answer.” Behind him, Wayne had not moved from the roadside, but his arms hung stiff at his sides.

Maggie climbed down from the tractor and stood beside me in her father’s cap. Caleb knelt to look at her. Then he pulled a folded paper from his pocket and held it out with shaking fingers. “Uncle Henry gave me this last winter,” he whispered. “He told me to wait until you were planting.” I unfolded it, and the first line stopped my breath.