He pointed to a photograph of a veteran named Isaac with a blue tarp over his leaking roof.

“That man’s wife kept buckets beside the bed.

Walter came out with me and fixed it himself, even after the project shut down.”

On the back of the picture was a date.

It was six weeks before Grandpa died.

I looked at the tired faces in the binder and felt ashamed that I had thought of Walter’s legacy only in terms of wood, land, and taxes.

“Why didn’t you come forward?” I asked Samuel.