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laughed and ran to him with her arms out. He jumped down and hugged her like a kid, but he didn’t cry. He was thirteen years old, after all. And he felt even older. The farm looked run-down, paint peeling, fences leaning like toothpicks. Only the willows along the creek were as wonderful as his memories. They, and the love he felt around him.
    “Grandmother knows where I am,” he told them, when they were all sitting on the porch. “I sent her a letter. My parents are somewhere in Europe.” Sponging off their friends .
    “My Lord, my Lord,” Mrs. Mackenzie said, sinking into a chair and pulling at the apron over her jeans. “Artie, what were you thinking?”
    He shrugged, embarrassed. “I hate school.” I hate everything , he added to himself.
    “Me too,” Lily chirped. “I’m in kindergarten, and I’m bigger than everybody else. Even the boys.”
    He looked down at her in wonder. She sat by his feet at the base of a rocking chair and watched him with wide blue eyes. She was plump and freckled, missing a front tooth, and fuzzy bits of red hair stuck out of her braids. Apple slime was smeared on the white T-shirt inside her overalls.
    It would be a long time before she’d turn into anything he might want to marry. She was only three years older than his youngest sister, Julia. Besides, he’d decided a long time ago that he wouldn’t get married. Not if it made him act like his parents.
    Yet he reached over and pretended to thump her head,and a feeling of protectiveness stole over him. “I’m sorry I scared you out of my tree.”
    “It’s my tree. I take care of it.”
    “You’ll have to be the Old Brook Princess’ to own my tree.”
    Her face became solemn. She looked up at him the way she had under the willow, when he’d smiled at her. Mrs. MacKenzie grinned down at her. “Lily doesn’t want to be a princess, she wants to be a farmer.”
    Lily blushed red from the hair down. “And a princess,” she whispered, then got up and ran into the house.
    Mr. MacKenzie drove him to Aunt Maude’s house, in town. Drew MacKenzie couldn’t work the farm very well with one good hand and only Mrs. MacKenzie to help him. Artemas was shocked to realize Mr. MacKenzie had brought him to Aunt Maude’s because the farm had no phone. Then he remembered it hadn’t ever had one. That merely curious fact from Artemas’s childhood now became a grim one as he understood: The MacKenzies couldn’t afford a phone.
    During the ride to town he cast pensive glances at Mr. MacKenzie, who was still a strong giant with a smile for everyone. But he looked grim and tired, and his brown hair had thinned so much that Artemas could glimpse the freckled tan scalp of his crown. He wasn’t old, but his shoulders were stooped. He’d lost his left hand in a hunting accident as a boy, and the metal hook he wore had fascinated Artemas. Now, he saw that the hook was tarnished and dented, ugly, pitiful.
    Artemas called his grandmother in New York. She lectured him about his responsibilities and said she’d arrange a plane ticket for him. She’d negotiate with the school about his punishment.
    Grandmother said he’d only end up bitter and small, like Uncle Charles, if he didn’t stay at school. A military career was her dream for him; a Colebrook could redeem the family’s name with discipline and service. She’d use herconnections to have him nominated to West Point after he graduated from prep school.
    After all, he was a top student, a leader, and a Colebrook. That might not mean much to the rest of the world anymore, but it meant everything to her. The whole world sat on Artemas’s shoulders.
    Humbled and depressed, Artemas barely touched his dinner of peas and corn bread with the MacKenzies that night. Grandpa MacKenzie had died a year ago. Grandma MacKenzie had heart trouble and stayed in bed all day, knitting and reading her Bible. They helped her to the table. As she gummed corn bread and buttermilk, she watched him with