I folded Todd’s paper in half, then in half again, and put it in my purse. In the pocket where I keep my checkbook.
Todd watched me do it. He didn’t say anything. Something moved across his face that I couldn’t read at the time. I’ll tell you later what it was.
Then I went out to my Buick and sat in it for a minute with both hands on the wheel.
I should tell you about the farmhouse, so you understand why I couldn’t just stay put.
Dale was a hired man. I say that with my chin up. He worked for Jim Olson south of town for thirty-one years. And for thirty-one years we lived in the hired man’s house on the Olson place. A square white two-story with a bad north wind and the best garden dirt I ever put a spade in.
