A Greenhouse in Late September and the Harvest That Saved My Husband

touched the sleeve of my blue linen shirt.

“We have eighty crates to harvest before the first hard frost,” he said.

“We will do thirty tomorrow,” I said.

“The young helper from the high school said he could come on Saturday,” Arthur said.

“We will pay him fifteen dollars an hour,” I said. “He is a good worker.”

Arthur smiled, the small lines around his continue reading …