I looked down at the hand-carved inscription on the arm of the cedar rocking chair beside my knee:
BUILT PLUMB. HELD TRUE.
MERCER HOMESTEAD // ESTABLISHED 1944
A slow, radiant, permanent smile broke across Natalie Mercer’s face—a smile that held zero fear, zero debts, zero lies, and zero graves.
I looked out over the forty miles of clean, sweet lake water where my grandfather's memory, my husband's true devotion, and my daughter's future had finally taken root upon solid rock:
“The line is plumb, Grandpa Arthur,” Natalie whispered into the morning breeze:
“The doors are locked from the inside.”
“The foundation stands upon solid stone.”
“The thieves are in their cages.”
“Eleanor is laughing.”
“Garrett is home.”
“The uniform held true.”
“The ledger is closed.”
“And around here...”
We stood up from the chairs, holding Eleanor, Garrett, Thomas, and Uncle David's hands toward the limitless blue sky as the distant chimes of the valley chapel began to strike twelve times across the peaceful water:
