He had formally retired from active military service six months ago.
He was now the Master Chief Instructor for the Bennett Sanctuary, spending his Saturday mornings teaching young apprentices how to survey coastal land parcels with antique brass transits.
Carter set the tray on the cedar table between our chairs.
He didn’t speak immediately.
He took a deep, clean breath of the sweet prairie air, looked out over the blooming white hydrangeas where two bald eagles were circling high on the thermal updrafts above the bluffs, and smiled—a real, wide, magnificent smile that held zero debts, zero lies, zero grief, and zero graves:
“The morning shipping reports just cleared the strategic transport office at Offutt, Clara,” Carter said softly, his deep, gravelly baritone filled with an un-shakeable, eighty-year peace that filled the quiet morning:
“The fleet is running.”
“The channels are clear.”
“The foundation stands upon solid stone.”
