He stepped onto the concrete lid and bounced his weight once to test the steel reinforcement underneath.

“Cistern holds water,” he said.

“We’ll need a deep well eventually, but the hand pump works for washing the floors while we clean.”

He took a small yellow pad and a pencil stub out of his coverall pocket.

He pressed his thumb against his index finger, staring at the gray porch steps while his pencil moved across the paper.

“We have forty thousand five hundred in the savings account,” I told him.

“Plus fifteen hundred in diner tip cash in my dresser drawer.”