“Jack Lily went out to their place for some eggs and found the front door flapping against its post, a one-legged crow hopping from empty room to empty room. The Woodrows were not the first—the Morgantowns, the Nickelbaits before them—but he was surprised that Jonas Woodrow, beaten down so long by that spit of land, had the gumption to simply pack up and go. Of course they hadn’t told anyone they were going. No one wanted to admit defeat, Jack thought. Just yesterday he had seen one of the boys ...digging out fence posts half-buried by sand drifts. Desperation, he knew, though, was not something you make a plan for. He tilted his chair back onto two legs and looked out at the old farmers who were leaning against the post office, taking cover from the heat under the gutter’s thin stripe of shade. The rain gutter. A cruel irony these days. He used to see Jonas Woodrow out there biting his fingernails, rubbing the scar where his pinkie had been. The light in Jack’s office held the dust like a snow globe, like the one he’d given Charlotte a lifetime ago—Chicago seemed impossibly distant now—a sleigh covered in buttercream snow, made in Germany, bought in that little shop on Michigan Avenue.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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