Mom turned the key, and the old Ford caught on the first try. There was no knock and no rattle, only a deep, steady rumble that rolled across the gravel. The crowd cheered, and Merle wiped his eyes with a rag. Then Garrett walked up to the driver’s window, his jaw tight and his face gone gray. He looked like he had rehearsed his speech all week.

Before he could speak, Mom lowered the window and held out a small brass plate, black with old grease. “Read it out loud, Garrett,” she said. His hands shook as he took it, and the color drained from his face. “Grandma,” he whispered, “did you know this was in there?” Mom looked him straight in the eye. “Since the year you were born. I knew every minute you stood in my yard offering me four hundred dollars.”