“He thinks he has the only signed land agreement in Portsmouth,” Daniel said.

“He’ll find out otherwise at nine on Monday morning,” I said.

Clara adjusted her scarf against the damp breeze.

“Judge Simmons doesn’t tolerate loud talk in his hallway, Evelyn.

Keep your head up.”

“I plan to,” I said.

By five o’clock that evening, the winter sun had dropped completely behind the pine trees on Cedar Lane, throwing long shadows across the unheated floorboards.

I carried the navy uniform jacket downstairs to the narrow front hallway, where my grandfather’s oval wall mirror hung between the coat hooks.