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“Uh-huh. Papa builded this table, and that chair.” Charlie pointed to the rocker in the corner.
Kaitlin gave the table a little shake; much more sturdy than the rickety thing left behind by Mr. Finch. “So that’s your trade? You’re a carpenter?”
“No, I just build things when they need building,” Tripp said. “I’m a farmer.”
“You abandoned your farm to come here?”
Tripp shifted in his chair. “Not exactly.”
“We lived with a whole bunch of people,” Charlie said around a mouthful of biscuit. “They had lots of kids.”
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