Outside, Carl’s pickup truck pulled into the gravel driveway, its engine rumbling to a stop near the machine shed.

“Nora,” Carl called from the yard.

“We’ve got twenty more crates ready for the morning haul.”

I walked to the back door and stepped out onto the porch, where Ben and Daisy were finishing the last batch of sweet corn.

Ben looked up from his galvanized tub, holding out a clean ear of corn.

“Did we do enough for the track shoe money?”

“You did more than enough,” I said.