No pension.
No large insurance settlement.
No magical inheritance.
She worked.
That was her answer to everything.
When one field flooded, she planted another.
When the tractor failed, she borrowed one.
When the roof leaked, she climbed up with Samuel’s old tools until a neighbor physically removed the ladder.
My husband, Ethan Bennett, was her youngest son.
By the time I married Ethan at twenty-six, his siblings had already left Willow Creek.
His oldest brother, Daniel, worked in commercial construction.
His other brother, Marcus, owned two tire shops.
His sister, Leah, had married a dentist and moved into a new development three hours away.
They loved their mother.
I believe that.
But love can become very theoretical when someone else is doing the difficult part.
At first Margaret remained on the farm.
Then arthritis made climbing stairs painful.
Then she fell outside one winter.
Then she forgot a pot on the stove.
