Walter had been a carpenter, not a wealthy man.

He patched churches, built wheelchair ramps, and fixed farm roofs with the same methodical patience.

During my deployments he wrote me letters about weather, hickory trees, and his neighbor’s stubborn donkey.

He never complained about money.

His hidden note revealed that in the final years of his life he’d organized volunteers to repair houses for disabled veterans.

The project had raised donations through a nonprofit called the Ridge County Homefront Fund.

Donald had offered to manage its accounts because, as he put it, his aging father shouldn’t have to worry about paperwork.