Chapter 19 - The Foundation Stone
Brett walked up the wooden ramp, his boots hitting the cedar decking with a solid, reassuring thud.
Paulette looked up, brushing a strand of gray hair from her forehead and smiling as her son approached. "You went down to the old place, didn't you?"
Brett nodded, leaning against the porch railing. "It's gone. The speculator already cleared the lot."
Paulette set her shears down on the porch floor and wiped her hands on her apron. "Good. Let the new owner build whatever he wants down there. This mountain belongs to the people who actually stayed long enough to build something that wouldn't blow away in the first winter gale."
Vernon pushed open the screen door, stepping out onto the porch with a cup of coffee in his hand. He looked down past the treeline toward the valley, then turned his gaze up toward the high peaks of the Green Mountains, where the last patches of winter snow still clung stubbornly to the granite ledges.
"You know, Brett," Vernon said, his voice quiet and steady. "When I drove that delivery truck for thirty-three years, I thought I knew every road in this county. Thought I knew every house, every family, every shortcut."
Brett looked at his father. "And?"
"And I was wrong," Vernon said, taking a sip of his coffee. "I spent my whole life driving past the places where people actually lived, never realizing that the most important thing a man can do isn't just surviving the winter... it's making sure the people he loves never have to feel the cold."
Brett didn't answer. He reached out, his hand brushing the smooth, sturdy grain of the cedar porch railing Harlo had set deep into the bedrock.
May you like
Down in the valley, the wind continued to blow across the empty mud flats of Proctor, but up here on the ridge, the air was warm, sweet with the smell of cedar and pine, and steady as the mountain itself.
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