Chapter 24: The Ridge in Spring

In April, the well at the Ridge ran sweet and cold.

Ray fixed the pump himself, with Jonas holding the wrench.

I sat on the porch rail with a bowl of peas on my knees and watched them argue.

"Left," Ray said.

"It's already left."

"Then more left."

My stepsister sat on the step with Jonas's sister, shelling peas into the same bowl and pretending not to listen.

"They sound married," she said.

"They sound like two plumbers," said Jonas's sister.

My mother came out of the cabin with a shoebox.

She sat beside me and put it in my lap without a word.

Inside were birthday cards.

Eight of them, in Ray's blocky handwriting, each signed with the same line.

Hope this is the one where you call. R.

I read the first card, and the second, and then I had to put the lid back on.

"He never mailed them," my mother said. "He didn't want to push."

"Mom."

"I know." She patted my knee. "Go thank him in a way that won't embarrass him. Pass him a beer."

I passed Ray a beer.

He looked at me, and at the shoebox in my mother's hands, and he said, "Don't make it weird."

I kissed his stubbly cheek in front of everyone.

He went red to the cap.

The chaplain drove out at noon with the old man and a letter.

It was signed by the whole council, and it named me Warden of the East Gate.

The Anchor wanted me there on the weekends, and the Ridge was to be a second post.

"You have a gate named after you," the old man said. "Nobody asked, but it's done."

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