I told Wyatt that if he wanted help, he could call me himself, without an audience, and that the offer had nothing to do with the land.

He called in February. Alone. We talked for two hours and it was the first honest conversation we have ever had, about our father, about the years I left, about what she said to each of us separately to keep us apart. I did not buy the note. I hired him. He runs my finish carpentry crew now and he is very good, and he earns it, and the land went to auction and I let it go.

Rosalind has not spoken to me since. Delphine sends Christmas cards addressed to both of us. Braden apologised for the tool boy thing, unprompted, which I did not require but accepted.

Wyatt milled the mantle for his own place last spring, mesquite, by hand, off my land.

I built this house because I learned early that anything solid I wanted I would have to build myself. What I did not expect was that the same principle applies to a brother. Nobody is coming to hand you a place in your own family. You make one, and then it is finally yours.