Even when the war ended and letters from lost soldiers ceased, Fred did not stop running errands or tending to the needs of others. He had become part of the rhythm of Hillcrest: a steady presence among absent ones, a silent helper who never allowed the weight of grief to show fully.

He lived quietly, his coat worn at the elbows, satchel patched and frayed, heart heavy with the knowledge that he carried everyone else’s burdens so he didn’t have to carry his own.