Chapter 7

Steve Morrison sat on the top of the newly repaired steps that leads to the front porch. There was a time when the porch held pumpkins with lit candles, cornstalks, and a few scarecrows. So long ago. Now the porch was empty, just the way he was empty.

It was full dark now, a breeze swept over the tops of the trees to make them sway. an hour past supper. The only thing he'd eaten today was a frozen Tv dinner at lunchtime that tasted like cardboard because the pot of stew he'd made wasn't done cooking. Sometimes he wondered why he even bothered. He sighed.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see a line of headlights heading out of the fields. The drivers of the vehicles wouldn't see him sitting on the steps because of the big blue spruce at the corner of the house blocked the view of the porch. Les's workers, that's how he thought of them, wouldn't be grazing about anyway. They'd be in a hurry to get home to their families and a warm supper. Les would be the last one to come down the