“Did he ask about the farm?”

“No,” Nate said.

“He looked at the floor and said the house looked nice from the road.”

I stepped down off the bottom step and walked across the damp grass toward the corner of the house.

The old concrete cistern lid sat flush with the green grass near the limestone foundation.

Around its gray rim, where a pale red shoot had pushed up through the dead leaves two months ago, full green leaves now stood waist high.

Heavy dark red peonies were opening in the morning light, their thick petals drooping under the wet dew.