Bobby cracked open the front door of the house, peered outside, and spotted him in the cab, and after a quick look back over his shoulder, stepped out and quietly closed the door behind him. He pulled his jacket closer and came around to the truck’s open window. “You all right, Brad?” he asked, pitching his voice low. His adopted brother had an instinct for knowing when to keep a conversation private.

Brad let out a little sigh before he answered. “I’m all right. You guys finished eating?”

“We saved plenty for you.”

“But you ate your share, right?”

“We ate our share. Your ma says she’s going to make veal hash tomorrow.”

“Sounds good,” Brad said, pushing at the door handle, and Bobby stepped back. He was fifteen now and looked as if he’d always be slight of build, but no peer and few grown men were tougher, and what Bobby lacked in brawn, he made up for in brains and will.

“Was my mother worried about me?”

“A little. I told her you were fine.”

Not that she’d listen, Brad was sure. His mother did not rest easy now that he was working full days at Cramer’s Lumber Yard, where his father had met the accident that had killed him. Brad had been offered the job the night of his high school graduation, and he had snapped it up. It meant steady work and a definite increase in wages with weekends off and a few health benefits thrown in besides. Jared Cramer, son of the man his father had worked for, was a much more competent and fairer employer than his namesake. He had improved safety conditions with the update of facilities and purchase of more modern equipment. Brad had gone on the company payroll three years ago as a member of a sawing crew. He was now to be promoted to lumberyard manager, where he’d be in charge of work assignments, deliveries, lading, and a variety of other responsibilities—his old friend Joe Carlyle’s job. Brad had not accepted the promotion with any great pleasure, and he could not think of his increase in pay as anything but blood money. He’d promised the job back to Joe when he returned from the war.

Only because by the time I get back, you’ll be running the whole show, and the boss will be living in Florida off the profits you make for the company, Joe had said, good-naturedly.

“Did you forget about the goose?” Bobby asked quietly.