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forehead. With a bucket in each hand, he couldn’t do anything about it, but he didn’t care. Allie had smiled at him, confided in him, and wanted him to pray for her.

    “Hey, Walt.” George pointed to the old wooden barn and winked.
    Walt shot his friend a warning glare.
    Betty pulled on her fiancé’s arm. “Georgie, once we’re married, you’ll have to tell me. That story’s been around since high school.”
    “Sorry, darling, I promised.” George nodded to Walt.
    He nodded back and leaned his forearms on the rough split rail fence. He could trust his friends not to tell stories told in confidence, even foolish boasts.
    From around the corner of the corral, Allie gave him a curious tilt of her head. Walt rolled his eyes, and she smiled. Good. She understood.
    An old red and white cow ambled toward him. Walt offered some grass. “Hiya, Flossie.”
    Grandpa Novak swung the corral gate open. “She can’t hear anymore, you know. Stone deaf.”
    Walt nuzzled Flossie’s fuzzy nose. “She can read my lips. You’re still the prettiest girl in town, Floss. See, she knows me. She’d better. I named her.”
    “Yeah. Original,” Art said with a grin.
    Another head tilt from Allie. This one he could answer. “Hiram Fortner owns a dairy nearby, has a statue of a cow by the gate. Everyone calls her Fortner’s Flossie.”
    “Except she disappeared the day before Pearl Harbor was bombed,” Grandpa said. “Some kids pulling a prank, no doubt.”
    “Yeah,” Walt said. “If Jack hadn’t been at Pearl, I would have suspected him.”
    Grandpa chuckled and unbolted the barn doors. “That boy could never stay out of trouble. By the way, got a letter from him the other day.”
    “Yeah? I haven’t heard from him for a while.” Walt left the group behind and followed his grandfather into the barn. He savored the smell of hay, old wood, and livestock.
    “That boy thinks he and his B-17 can take on the Japanese single-handedly.”
    “Great bird. Now we need to get Ray in a Fort too.”
    Grandpa mumbled and scratched his nose—the Novak nose. The only time Walt liked his nose was when he was with Grandpa.
    “What?” Walt asked. “Ray needs to get out of that easy training job.”
    Grandpa shook his head. “Nope. Ray’s a quiet soul. He’s not cut out for the rough-and-tumble of combat like you and Jack.”
    Walt’s shoulders felt straighter and broader. Grandpa thought he could handle combat.
    “Okay, boy, put those Army muscles to use. Let’s get the tarp off old Jenny .”
    Walt sprang forward, eager to prep the biplane for flight. The men worked in silence, another reason Walt loved the farm. Grandpa never talked much. In Walt’s opinion, his parents had named the three boys well. Ray after Grandpa Garlovsky, soulful and musical. Jack after Dad, outgoing and driven. And Walt after Jacob Walter Novak, although he was glad his parents had reversed the names. Jacob was so old-fashioned.
    “ Jenny hasn’t flown since Ray’s last leave. Helped with the crop dusting.”
    The rudder felt stiff, so Walt squirted oil on the hinge. “Don’t you think Ray wants to go to combat?”
    Grandpa snorted. “Ray doesn’t want to go to combat any more than you or Jack want to be pastors.”
    “Huh? Jack’s wanted to be a pastor all his life.”
    “No, your father’s wanted him to be a pastor all his life. Sooner Jack realizes that, the better.”
    Walt wiped his hand on a rag. True, he could never picture Jack in the pulpit—Jack, who was always coming up with schemes and getting Walt to cover for him. Still, Jack was a grown man and could pick his own career. And he had Dad’s approval while Walt didn’t. Grandpa understood, though. “You know, I never thanked you for how you encouraged me, stood up for me.”
    Grandpa grunted—but an appreciative grunt. “Didn’t think the Army trained a bunch of sentimental fools. Come on, boy, let’s get Jenny in the air.”
    Before long, the plane sat in the pasture.