The sun wasn’t even high enough to dry the dew when Elsie May strolled through the front door with a basket full of seeds and a pep in her step.

“Henry, come on out here, sugar. We’re gonna start your flower patch today.”

The young boy looked up from his tin soldier battle, his big blue eyes Bright with wonder. “Can I pick where they go?”

“Long as it ain’t the outhouse, baby.”

From his corner chair, George rattled the pages of his newspaper. “Flowers? Ain’t that a bit… frilly?”

Elsie May didn’t miss a step as she tied her apron tighter. “Frilly’s good for the soul.”

George lowered the paper and raised a brow. “He’s a boy, Elsie. He ought to be helping me mend the gate or fix the plow, not flouncing around in a damn flower garden.”

Henry turned to her, unsure. “Mama, is planting flowers flouncing?”

She smiled and crouched down beside him. “No, baby. It’s feedin’ the earth. And there’s lots of fun things to learn about flowers.”

“Like how the sunflowers turn their faces so they soak up all the sun?”

“That’s right,” she said, giving his little nose a tap. “They don’t miss a drop. Now run along, and Mommy’ll meet you outside.”

Henry beamed and darted out the front door, the screen clapping shut behind him.

George snorted behind his newspaper. “Lord help us all. Next you’ll have him dancing barefoot with a flower in his hair.”

Elsie May stood up slow, wiping her hands on her apron. “Go on and teach him how to fix every tool in the barn, George. But if he don’t know what to do with the plow once it’s fixed, then he’ll just be sittin’ on a big ol’ pile of iron come winter.”

George folded his paper and tossed it on the table. “With the war going on, he’s gonna need to know more than how to water pansies.”

She nodded toward the sweating glass on the table, finger pointed. “Oh? And what else you plannin’ on teachin’ him to turn him into a man? How to sit in the rockin’ chair and drink bourbon all day?”

George nodded once, jaw tight. “All right… I reckon I deserve that.”

Elsie May’s face softened. “Look, George. I’m just sayin’. Flowers, crops—it all begins the same way. In the dirt.”

He leaned back in his chair. “Yeah? And what if they send him off to war? You wanna turn him into some delicate little dandelion before he goes?”

Elsie May scoffed and rolled her eyes. “He’s seven, George. He’s got a lotta years before he’s sent off anywhere.” Chin raised, she stared him down. “And if you wanna plant your seed in my garden tonight, I suggest you get off your damn high horse.”

George looked at her, then looked at Henry outside, patting down the soil with his little hands. He scratched the back of his head and sighed.

“I guess I’ll go get the spade.”

With a triumphant smile, Elsie May headed toward the front door. “Smart man,” she said, before letting the screen door slam shut behind her.