BUILT PLUMB. HELD TRUE.
BENNETT HOMESTEAD // ESTABLISHED 1944
A slow, radiant, permanent smile broke across Clara Bennett’s face—a smile that held zero fear, zero debts, zero lies, and zero graves.
I looked out over the forty-two miles of clean, blue prairie earth where my daughter would grow up with an un-broken name, an un-stolen home, and an un-compromised life:
“The line is plumb, Lily,” Clara Bennett whispered into the autumn breeze:
“The doors are locked from the inside.”
“The foundation stands upon solid stone.”
“The thieves are in their cages.”
“The house is clean.”
“And around here…”
I stood up from the chair, holding my daughter toward the limitless blue sky as the distant church bells of the village began to chime twelve times across the peaceful prairie:
“…nobody ever, ever… calls an honest woman weak again.”
Barnaby let out a soft, contented sigh on the porch rug, his tail thumping once against the cedar boards: thump.
The eagles climbed into the limitless blue sky.
The river ran deep and clear.
The ledger was closed forever.
