on the painted white railing.
Down near the calf hutches, Mason was hauling a green five gallon bucket full of warm milk replacer.
“Hold the bucket higher, Mason,” Kaylee called out across the yard. “He is going to spill it on your dress shoes.”
Mason pulled the plastic rim up with both hands, kicking his heels against the frozen dirt as the black and white calf bucked against the rubber nipple.
Kaylee watched her brother for a long moment before turning her gaze toward the south timber line.
Travis was carrying four heavy steel T posts on his broad shoulder, walking twenty paces ahead of Dad’s old tractor.
“He did not take his truck down to the bottom field,” Kaylee said quietly.
“No,” I said, standing beside her on the porch step. “He left it parked by the grain bin.”
“Grandpa told me something last night while you were putting
