All but one.

Ames Lockridge, Rhett’s father — the old man they all deferred to and none of them resembled — mailed a single Christmas card to my Army post office box the winter after the divorce, and I kept it folded inside my Bible for years, because it was the only kindness anyone with that name had ever shown me.

I did not know, that first year, what the card meant.

I thought it was an old man’s manners.