His brothers laughed, and Clay joined in, then laughed harder at the wonder of it, of laughing with them again.

Adler smiled and shook his head. “Never thought this day would come.”

A twinge of pain in his right side, but the laughter had been worth it. “Reckon we’ll still have moments.”

“Reckon so.” Sobering, Wyatt gestured to the nightstand. “Please read my letter. Adler’s too.”

“Yeah,” Adler said. “Easier to write all that than to say it, and it hurt like blazes to write.”

“I will.”

“I sent my check to Daddy,” Wyatt said. “Three thousand dollars.”

“What?” Clay gaped at him. “Three thousand? I’d only saved two.”

“I charged myself interest and a fine.” Wyatt pulled a notepad from the breast pocket of his white shirt. “Between that and the GI Bill, college and medical school should be about covered.”

“Medical school?”

Adler leaned forward on his knees. “You still want to be a doctor, don’t you?”

“I . . .” Did he dare glance in the direction of that dream? He closed his gaping mouth. “The GI Bill. I’ve heard the fellows talking about it, but I paid it no mind. I thought it had to do with loans.”

“And education.” Wyatt flipped pages in his notepad. “Roosevelt signed it a few days ago. The bill is pretty restrictive, but it seems tailor-made for you. I took notes.”

An accountant to the core, and Clay leaned closer to see.

Wyatt tapped a page filled with his neat handwriting. “You get one year of benefits, plus an additional year for each year of service, up to a maximum of four years.”

If Clay stayed in the service until February, that’d be two years of service—three years of benefits. He tried to make sense of the figures before him, the hope before him.

Wyatt moved his finger down the page. “Five hundred dollars a year for school expenses, plus fifty dollars a month for living expenses.” Then he laughed. “No, seventy-five—you have dependents. Use the GI Bill benefits for the first few years while my check collects interest in the bank, then use the savings. If you work summers, you’ll have plenty.”

Clay did the math in his head. If he couldn’t convince Leah to stay married to him, he’d need to work for a year or two before starting college, but . . . “I could do it.”

“You’d better,” Adler said. “You’re meant to be a doctor. I’d be glad to help out if you need it.”

They thought—both brothers thought he ought to be a physician. For three years he’d assumed they thought the profession was too good for him. Clay’s throat swelled, and he coughed to clear it.

Not a half-breed. Not a half brother.

“If you don’t do this . . .” Adler glared at him. “This time, I’ll beat you up.”