Old Mister Taddewald built the shop behind the house and made wooden things that his wife, Betsy, sitting in a chair by the window, interrupting her knitting, sold until she died. He could make more toy trucks, tops, and bird houses in a day than she could sell in a month. It was enough; they had social security. She had her quilting circle. He had his shop, watched TV, and took walks into town where he bought coffee at Redwood Café so he could sit down for a spell.