twenty-two springs. I’m not going to beg my brother for a job on the land I thought I’d spend my life farming.”
Theresa sighed.
“He might not know how to ask.”
“Then he needs to learn.”
She didn’t answer.
She simply gave me another slice of pie.
That was Theresa’s way of telling me I was being stubborn without starting an argument.
—
By late April, the soil was warm enough to plant.
Neighboring farmers began working their fields.
Dad’s land remained untouched.
I drove past it twice a day in
