Chapter 1

“Fifty-one years is a long time,” I thought to myself, taking one last look at the solid, brick building behind me. I couldn’t quite get used to this being a school. It had only been completed two years ago. Low and sleek, it just didn’t feel right to me. Maybe I’d spent too damn much time in the old schoolhouse, north of town. And even before that, in a small two-room building, the same one I’d spent my time in as a student.

“Well,” I said to myself, “I’d better get on home. Martha will have dinner on, and we’ll probably have some of the kids over as well.”

My legs were feeling pretty good this afternoon. My knee joints didn’t hurt half as bad as most times.

I made my way to the old Ford, parked in its usual spot, next to the dumpster. Don’t know why I’d ever started parking there; it sure wasn’t close to the door. Guess I’d just gotten used to it and didn’t see any sense in changing.

The old car stared right off. I guess George had managed to finally find the time to tune it up. It was good to have a son who could fix things. God knows his father didn’t have much in the way of any mechanical ability.

As I drove through town, I noticed that someone was moving into the old Curtis house. I remembered hearing something about a new State Trooper being assigned to this part of the county. Maybe it was he, but all I could see was a young woman, lugging a trunk from the back of one of those SUV’s that was parked in the driveway. I didn’t give it much more thought. I’d find out sooner or later. There wasn’t much to talk about in town, and a new family moving in would be the subject of conversation for weeks to come.

I followed the hardtop down to the grain elevator, west of town. Unconsciously, I made the turn north on the dirt road towards home.

Like always, I stopped at the top of the sand hill, east of the farm, and looked out over the prairie. Like as not, I usually stopped here for a few minutes on my drive home from work. It gave me a sense of connection to look down and see the old farm below. Being early spring, the sun was still high in the western sky. There were no clouds, and the sky was a brilliant blue. I don’t think I’ve ever seen that same shade of blue anywhere but on the plains during a clear, cloudless day. But then, I wasn’t some kind of world traveler either. It didn’t matter much; I enjoyed the view. I always did, no matter the weather. It was home.