“How can a pipe be a promise?”
Frank smiled sadly.
“Sometimes a promise is something people build because they don't trust words to last long enough.”
Noah didn't understand.
He asked again the following week.
Then the next month.
But Grandpa always gave the same answer.
“When you're older, we'll talk.”
Then Frank became ill.
And the conversation never happened.
The illness began with exhaustion.
Frank stopped working long afternoons.
Then he began forgetting where he placed things.
He insisted it was nothing serious, but Grace noticed changes in his health that worried her. She arranged medical appointments, helped him follow his treatment plan, and gradually assumed more responsibility for the farm.
Noah tried to remain cheerful.
He brought Grandpa tea.
Read him newspaper articles.
And sat beside his bed describing the garden.
Sometimes Frank smiled.
Sometimes he closed his eyes and listened.
One evening, Noah found him staring toward the window.
“Grandpa?”
Frank looked up.
“Yeah, son?”
“Are you thinking about the farm?”
The older man nodded.
“Always.”
Noah sat beside him.
“Are you scared we'll lose it?”
For a moment, Frank didn't answer.
Then he reached for the boy's hand.
“I'm more worried you'll think losing land means losing your family.”
Noah frowned.
“What does that mean?”
Frank smiled faintly.
“A farm's important. But it's not more important than the people living on it.”
The boy looked toward the floor.
“I don't want to leave.”
“I know.”
Grandpa squeezed his hand.
“Then help your mother however you can, but don't turn yourself into an old man before you've had a chance to be a boy.”
Noah nodded.
For several minutes, they sat quietly.
Then Frank reached toward the bedside drawer.
He removed the green notebook.
Noah looked surprised.
“That's mine.”
Grandpa smiled.
“I borrowed it.”
The boy laughed.
“You're supposed to ask.”
Frank chuckled.
“Fair complaint.”
He handed it back.
“I added a few things.”
Noah opened the book.