When a Soldier Came Home to Find Her Family Living in Her House, She Checked the Deed
I knelt on the hardwood floor of the front hall with a flathead screwdriver and a heavy steel chisel next to my knee.
The brass strike plate Richard had put in three years ago was flimsy, cheap metal held on with short screws that backed out of the wood after two quick turns of the blade.
I brushed the loose wood shavings out of the doorframe with my thumb.
The deep mortise pocket Grandfather Arthur had cut into the solid oak frame in 1994 was still clean and undamaged beneath the old brass dust.
I lined up the heavy steel strike plate from the hardware store with the original pocket in the wood.
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