"It’s in your blood, boy," his father, Elias, had grumbled over breakfast, staring at Jace’s clean fingernails. "The farm needs a third pair of hands. Your grandfather ran it alone until he couldn't. I ran it with him. Now it’s your turn. There is no other work for a man out here."
One crisp autumn afternoon, three years after he had left, Jace drove his van back up the long gravel driveway of the McGregor farm.
"It’s in your blood, boy," his father, Elias, had grumbled over breakfast, staring at Jace’s clean fingernails. "The farm needs a third pair of hands. Your grandfather ran it alone until he couldn't. I ran it with him. Now it’s your turn. There is no other work for a man out here."
One crisp autumn afternoon, three years after he had left, Jace drove his van back up the long gravel driveway of the McGregor farm.