I got the call, three weeks after the wedding, that Granddaddy had died. Someone found him facedown in the pea patch. I’d wondered how I’d react on that day, if I’d cry or shiver with grief, but I did neither. I laughed instead. This might sound strange, but it’s what I felt. He died doing precisely what he liked. He died on the land. It was like him to have his way, to make Death come for him in the middle of the field. That’s why I laughed, because Granddaddy had the last word—as usual.
