Walt wrote back on lined paper with a ballpoint that skipped. He told her about a calf born early and living. He told her about the barn dance committee already arguing over whether to try again next Thanksgiving. He told her he had practiced dancing in the kitchen with a broom, and the broom was a poor partner, and Margaret had walked in and laughed until she cried.
In early March a letter came that was shorter than the others.
They're extending the session through April. I said yes before I could talk myself out of it. I hate this. I also love the work. I don't know how to hold both. Tell me the porch light is still on.
Walt sat at the kitchen table a long time. Then he drove into Lexington and bought a money order and a bus ticket voucher and mailed them with a note that said: Porch light's on. Ticket's for whenever you need it. No expiration. Keep both truths. —W
April turned the fields to mud and then to the first green. Walt repaired the windmill. He planted a garden Eleanor had always kept and Ruth had admired—tomatoes, beans, a row of sunflowers for no practical reason. Margaret said he was nesting. Dale said nesting was fine. Walt said nothing and watered the sunflowers anyway.