On that night back in January, something broke inside me and a bitterness had poured out of the wound. Vance happily packing up and moving did nothing but make that bitterness spread like an irritating rash. Shoot, I couldn’t even stand myself most days lately. His school workload was hefty. When he managed to come home, it was for a family function that I didn’t have time to attend. Our visits had become a hit-or-miss deal, and when he did show up, it was always accompanied with treats for the kids and lots of sweet-talking and sugared-up excuses for me. Something else I was right sick of.

Grumbling under my breath, I pushed Vance —and missing him —out of my thoughts for the moment so I could focus on washing the gunk off the goats’ trough. The smell was just as sour as my attitude, reminding me of how long Peg had ignored this particular chore.

Peg came hobbling over again, and so I waited for him to start the next round, but instead his face looked more perplexed than furious.

“What now?”

“You seen the new chicken coop?”

“Yeah.” I dropped the scrub brush and grabbed the hose. I doused the trough, sending a stream of green goop and suds to puddle at my feet.

“No. I mean have you got a real good look at it?”

I picked up the scrub brush and held both it and the hose a little higher. It was all I could do to not knock him upside the head with the brush. “I ain’t got time to inspect a lame chicken coop since I’m stuck doing your chores!”

Peg yanked the brush out of my hand and sent it to the ground. “You need to see this.” He started toward the coop and shouted over his shoulder, “For real, Ox!”

Resigned to go see what else mess awaited, I dropped the hose and wiped my damp hands on the sides of my jeans before following him. We came to a stop in front of the new structure Pa had just completed last week on one of his whims. He’d expanded on the old one and even added a second story to it.

“What?” I huffed.

“Notice anything about the wood he used?” Peg jabbed a finger at it as if the coop was offensive.

Crossing my arms, I focused on the mismatched wood slates. Squinting and angling closer, my eyes roved over it until settling on a set of small holes in one of the slates and an outline showing where a hinge used to be. My breath hitched. “I’ll be danged.” I was dumbfounded that the wood grain, which matched the kitchen, hadn’t caught my attention before now.

“The mystery of the kitchen cabinet doors is solved,” Peg said with disdain instead of relief or amusement. For us, there certainly wasn’t anything amusing about it.