Whenever Clarence tried to press crumpled cash into her apron pockets to cover the ingredients, Rebecca politely pushed his hands away and insisted that neighbors look after each other without keeping score.

Then came a chilly evening in late spring when Clarence noticed something that unsettled his conscience deeply.

As Clarence later confessed to me while sitting on my own sofa, Rebecca had brought him a generous portion of roasted chicken, green beans, and mashed potatoes.

When Clarence casually asked her whether she had already eaten her own supper, the young mother offered her usual bright smile and claimed that she had enjoyed a late lunch and felt no hunger whatsoever.

Three nights after that conversation, Rebecca’s eldest daughter Amanda walked across the lawn to deliver another warm container filled with beef stew and warm biscuits.