Instead he had, without intending to, forged her into the strongest part of them.

I do not thank him for it.

But I look at what she made of the wound, and I am prouder of her than of anything I ever accomplished myself.

“The dock report came back,” she said.

“Four of the west-side posts are starting to rot.

Fifty-two hundred to replace them before the spring melt.

The timber lease on the upper parcel covers it without touching the main fund.”

“Your mother,” I said, smiling into Faye’s mug, “would have cut and set those posts herself.”